"What would you

now, fellow!" said the duchess. do with this good man? Don't you consider he is a governor elect?" "Madam," quoth the barber-scullion "the gentleman won't let us wash him according to custom, as my lord duke and his master were." "Yes, marry but I will," quoth Sancho, in a mighty huff, "but then it shall be with cleaner suds, cleaner towels, and not quite so slovenly paws; for there is no such difference between my master and me neither, that he must be washed with angel-water, and I with the devil's lye: So far the custom of great men's houses are good as they give no offence. But this same beastly washing in a puddle, is worse penance than a friar's flogging. My beard is clean enough, and wants no such refreshing. Stand clear you had best; for the first that comes to wash me, or touch a hair of my head, (my beard I would say,) sir reverence of the company, I will take him such a dowse o' the ear, he shall feel it a twelvemonth after For these kind of ceremonies and soapings, do ye see, look more like flouts and jeers, than like a civil welcome to strangers."

The duchess was like to have burst her sides with laughing, to see Sancho's fury, and hear how he argued for himself. But Don Quixote did not very well like to see him with such a nasty dishclout about his neck, and made the sport of the kitchen pensioners. Therefore after he had made a deep bow to the duke, as it were desiring leave to speak, looking on the scullions, "Hark ye, gentlemen," cried he, very gravely, "pray let the young man alone, and get you gone as you came, if you think fit. My squire is as cleanly as another man; that

trough won't do; you had better have brought him a dram-cup. Away; be advised by me, and leave him; for neither he nor I can abide such slovenly jestings." "No, no," quoth Sancho, taking the words out of his master's mouth, "let them stay, and go on with their show. I'll pay my barbers, I'll warrant ye. They had as good take a lion by the beard as meddle with mine. Let them bring a comb hither, or what they will, and currycomb it; and if they find any thing there that should not be there, I will give them leave to cut and mince me as small as a horse." "Sancho is in the right,” said the duchess, still laughing," and will be in the right in all he says; he is as clean and neat as can be, and needs none of your scouring, and if he does not like our way of washing, let him do as he pleases. Besides, you who pretend to make others clean, have shown yourselves now very careless and idle, I dont know whether I mayn't say impudent too, to offer to bring your kneading-trough and your dishclouts to such a person, and such a beard, instead of a golden basin and ewer, and fine diaper towels. But you are a pack of unmannerly varlets, and, like saucy rascals as you are, cannot help showing your spite to the squires of knights-errant.

The greasy regiment, and even the steward who was with them, thought verily the duchess had been in earnest. So they took the cloth from Sancho's neck, and sneaked off quite out of countenance. Sancho, seeing himself delivered from his apprehension of this danger, ran and threw himself on his knees before the duchess. "Heaven bless your worship's grace," quoth he, "Madam Duchess.

Great persons are able to do great kindnesses. For my part, I don't know how to make your worship amends for this you have done me now. I can only wish I might see myself an armed knighterrant for your sake, that I might spend all the days of my life in the service of so high a lady. I am a poor countryman,- my name is Sancho Panza, children I have, and serve as a squire. If in any of these matters I can do you any good, you need but speak; I will be nimbler in doing than your worship shall be in ordering." "It is evident, Sancho," said the duchess, "that you have learned civility in the school of courtesy itself, and have been bred up under the wings of Don Quixote, who is the very cream of compliment, and the flower of ceremonies. All happiness attend such a knight and such a squire; the one the north-star of chivalry-errant, the other the bright luminary of squire-like fidelity. Rise, my friend Sancho, and assure yourself, that for the recompense of your civilities, I will persuade my lord duke to put you in possession of the government he promised you as soon as he can."

After this, Don Quixote went to take his afternoon's sleep; but the duchess desired Sancho, if he were not very sleepy, he would pass the afternoon with her and her women in a cool room. Sancho told her grace, that indeed he did use to take a good sound nap, some four or five hours long, in a summer's afternoon; but to do her good honor a kindness, he would break an old custom for once, and do his best to hold up that day, and wait on her worship. The duke, on his side, gave fresh orders that Don Quixote should be entertained exactly

like a knight-errant, without deviating the least step from the road of chivalry, such as is observable in books of that kind.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE SAVORY CONFERENCE WHICH THE DUCHESS AND HER WOMEN HELD WITH SANCHO PANZA, WORTH YOUR READING AND OBSERVATION.

THE story afterwards informs us that Sancho slept not a wink all that afternoon, but waited on the duchess as he had promised. Being mightily taken with his comical discourse, she ordered him to take a low chair, and sit by her; but Sancho, who knew better things, absolutely declined it, till she pressed him again to sit, as he was a governor, and speak as he was a squire; in both which capacities he deserved the very seat of Cid Ruy Diaz, the famous champion. Sancho, shrugged up his shoulders, and obeyed, and all the duchess's women standing round about her to give her silent attention, she began the conference.

"Now that we are private," said she, "and nobody to overhear us, I would desire you, my lord governor, to resolve me of some doubts in the printed history of the great Don Quixote, which puzzle me very much. First, I find that the good Sancho had never seen Dulcinea, the Lady Dulcinea del Toboso I should have said, nor carried her his master's letter, as having left the table-book behind him in Sierra

Morena; how then durst he feign an answer, and pretend he found her winnowing wheat? A fiction and banter so injurious to the reputation of the peerless Dulcinea, and so great a blemish on the character of a faithful squire!" Here Sancho got up without speaking a word, laid his finger on his lips, and, with his body bent, crept cautiously round the room, lifting up the hangings, and peeping in every hole and corner. At last, finding the coast clear, he returned to his seat. "Now," quoth he, "Madam Duchess, since I find there is nobody here but ourselves, you shall e'en hear, without fear or favor, the truth of the story, and what else you will ask of me, but not a word of the pudding. First and foremost I must tell you, I look on my master, Don Quixote, to be no better than a downright madman, though sometimes he will stumble on a parcel of sayings so quaint, and so tightly put together, that the devil himself could not mend them; but in the main I can't beat it out of my noddle but that he is as mad as a March hare. Now, because I am pretty confident of knowing his blind side, whatever crotchets come into my crown, though without either head or tail, yet can I make them pass upon him for gospel. Such was the answer to his letter, and another sham that I put upon him but the other day, and is not in print yet, touching my Lady Dulcinea's enchantment; for you must know, between you and I, she is no more enchanted than the man in the moon."

With that, at the duchess's request, he related the whole passage of the late pretended enchantment very faithfully, to the great diversion of the