“Truth makes her home in all lands. I seek the light of her face under every sky.”
And, poor creeter! not findin’ it time and agin, I’m afraid. Though in our long talks about this country, which in tryin’ to stomp out Protestantism, had stomped out her own life; and in tryin’ to drownd out Religion in the blood of her saints, had drownded out her own civilization and progress—
Al Faizi and I talked this all over, but took comfort in thinkin’, after all, that good can be found in every country by them that seek her benine face. We took sights of comfort in talkin’ back and forth about the Archbishop of Grenada, and his self-sacrificin’, heroic doin’s in the great cholera plague of 1885.
No Methodist could have done any better than he did, no deacon or minister or anybody. I d’no as John Wesley could have come up to it.
Wall, as I sed, I felt well to think that we had saved a journey to Grenada, though I had kinder lotted on walkin’ under the Gate of Jestice that I knew had to be gone through to visit the Alhambra. But I sort o’ comforted myself by the thought that mebby it wuz only a name, after all.
I got real soothed for my dissapintment in not walkin’ through it by thinkin’ of our own Halls of Jestice, and a-meditatin’ that Jestice never sot her foot in ’em from one year’s end to the other, as nigh as I could find out.
CHAPTER XXXV.
THE QUEEN, ULALEY, AND A BULL-FIGHT.
Wall, we had a very fatiguin’ journey, durin’ which I will pass over the sufferin’s of my pardner from the hot, dry climate, the ever-present pangs of hunger, that wuz always with him, and the fraxiousness, that, alas! always overcomes him at sech tuckerin’ times.
I will draw a curtain of cretonne over the incidents of our tegus, tegus journey, and only draw it back agin, on its hot, dry, brass rings, when we are once more settled down in a middlin’ good tarvern at Madrid—I a-settin’ by the winder and Josiah a-layin’ on the bed fast asleep, the dressin’-gown folded lovin’ly round his small-boneded figger.