MEETING with some American friends at Aranjuez, I proposed to them to hire a private conveyance to Granada, which would enable us to stop at our pleasure, and to see more of the country and people than if we took the diligence, which travels night and day. I therefore consulted with mine host, who thought the thing practicable; and we sallied forth in search of a vehiculum. After inspecting several curious, antiquated four-wheeled machines, we fixed upon one which we thought would prove most convenient for our journey, and forthwith struck a bargain with the

owner.

The next morning at day-light, our coach, drawn by three stout mules, driven by a gayly-dressed cochero, appeared before the hotel-door; and fortified with a good breakfast, we set forward upon our journey.

This

We were now about to enter La Mancha, the scene of the exploits of the famous Don Quixote and his honest, faithful Sancho Panza. province, like the Castiles, forms a part of the great central plateau of Spain. The eye of the traveller roams over a vast expanse of treeless, mountainous steppes, scorched up by the summer's heat, and exposed to all the fury of the cutting wintry blasts. The towns are few, and without interest; and the wretched villages are inhabited by a poorly-clad and half-starved-looking race of laborers.

Passing through a rocky gorge of volcanic hills, we soon reached Ocana, an uninteresting town, containing a population of about five thousand persons. Continuing our way, we also passed Madrilejos, a town of about seven thousand inhabitants, and in the evening arrived at Puerto Lapiche, a small, dirty-looking place, where we spent a most uncomfortable night in a shocking posada.

The next morning, at day-light, we continued our route, and the country, if any thing, appeared to grow more uninteresting, and the inhabitants more poverty-stricken. About mid-day we arrived at the Venta de Quesada, which the Don mistook for a castle, and where he performed his vigil-of-arms, and was knighted by the inn-keeper. This is a miserable one-story mud or adobie hut, used at present as a barrack for the civil guard stationed on this part of the highway.

The house is perhaps little changed since the day it was sketched by Cervantes. The well is still there where he makes the old knight perform his vigil-of-arms; and it is doubtless the original one, for it presents the appearance of great antiquity.

In the evening we arrived at Valdepeñas, a town of about ten thousand inhabitants, where we were fortunate enough to find a very comfortable inn.

I have before remarked the want of fire-places in Spanish houses, and after a very short experience, I found out that the kitchen was a most capital place to warm one's self after a long ride, and to smoke a cigar

after supper. Indeed, in the small towns, the kitchen is quite a fashionable place of resort, where I have picked up much useful information, and made many agreeable and valuable acquaintances. In this very place, I had hardly seated myself on the cosy stone bench in the chimney-corner, before a young gentleman in white vest and white gloves, who was sipping a cup of chocolate, fell into conversation with me, and finding me to be a stranger, invited me to a society-ball to be given that evening, and of which he was one of the managers. I accepted his invitation with much pleasure, and passed a most agreeable evening among the élite of Valdepeñas. So much for an acquaintance made in the kitchen.

Valdepeñas is celebrated for its wine, which is said to be the product of the Burgundy vine, transplanted into Spain. It is a red wine, of a rich fruity flavor, and when drunk on the spot, is most delicious; but when transported, it is put into pig-skins, which impart to it a disagreeable

taste.

The reader will remember that it was with pig-skins filled with this ruddy wine that the Knight of La Mancha created such havoc, to the sorrow of the inn-keeper.

Mine host was a vine grower, and had a bodega or wine-cellar in his establishment, which he invited me to visit. The wine was contained in immense tinajas, or earthen-ware jars, about seven feet in height, and of a goodly rotundity. A boy placed a ladder against one of these, and ascended to the top with a tumbler, which he filled with the sparkling liquor, and handed to me. It was delicious, and I drank nearly the whole of it. He went on a little farther, and ascended another jar, where he filled and handed me the glass, of which I likewise partook. The operation was repeated the third time; and as I saw no end to the different vintages the old gentleman wished me to taste, my politeness could hold out no longer, and I was obliged to decline taking any more, at the risk of offending him.

From Valdepeñas we proceeded to La Carolina, passing through the small town of Santa Cruz, and leaving dreary La Mancha through its natural gate-way, Despeña perros. Passing through this narrow mountain-gorge, we were welcomed into fair Andalusia by one of the most gorgeous sun-sets I have ever witnessed. The whole west was of that glorious gold-and-crimson hue, deepened towards the horizon, which is only seen in these southern latitudes. We had now arrived on the threshold of tropical vegetation. We leave the barren, treeless steppes of La Mancha for those blooming valleys where the olive and the graceful palm beautify the landscape.

This is the province of song and of the dance; of the sequidilla, the bolero, and the fandango; and the hot-bed of the smuggler, the bullfighter, and the bandit. The inhabitants are gay, social, and without formality the very opposites of those grave, dignified Dons of Castile and La Mancha.

At Carolina, a neat-looking town of three thousand inhabitants, we found a good inn, where we remained all night. After a tolerable supper, our land-lady sent out for a couple of her neighbors, very pretty dark-eyed Señoritas, who gave us a specimen of Andalusian dancing, to the music of a guitar, struck by no less a personage than our cochero. They per

formed the fandango, the sequidilla, and the bolero, with a grace and an abandon which I have seldom seen equalled on the stages of London or Paris. These were the originals, the others only the copies.

Leaving Carolina, we traversed a hilly country, passing through a few small villages and the miserable-looking town of Bailen. Just beyond this place we stopped at a small road-side inn, to rest and feed our animals. Here we found assembled several engineers, engaged in superintending repaire upon the road, one of whom was endeavoring to strike a bargain with another for a gun. The one who wished to purchase asked permission to test the piece, and it was forthwith loaded, and a mark put up at some thirty yards distant. The gun was fired at the mark, but unfortunately more of the contents issued through the touch-hole than through the end of the barrel; the nipple was carried away, which grazed the individual's head, and passed through the rim of his hat. It was a most wonderful escape; and the engineer attributed it to a miracle, and immediately went into the inn to search the calendar for the saint on whose day it had taken place, promising all manner of offerings to him. It never entered into this man's head to thank God for his escape; he could go no farther than the saint of the day, who was so obscure that he did not even know his name.

Continuing our way, toward evening we perceived Jaen in the distance, lying under its castle-mounted hill, and in about an hour after, we entered the gates of this venerable old town. Our cochero took us to the inn of El Santo Rostro, when we told him to take us to the Café Nuevo. We did not perceive our error until we had alighted; when one of our party became very much incensed, and took the cochero to task for bringing us to the wrong place. The land-lady in the meantime had come out to the door, but upon finding the state of the case, immediately retired. Our cochero got very sulky under the scolding; said 'he did not know where the Café Nuevo was, and that the Santo Rostro was the best posada in the town.'

And this was all true enough; for we found out, on inquiry, that the Café Nuevo had been out of existence for several years. But, unfortunately, we had so much affronted the land-lady of the Santo Rostro, that she refused to take us into her house. This was terrible news, after our long fast and hard day's ride. But what was to be done? Our spokesman, after the ill-humor he had at first manifested, could say nothing to mollify the enraged dame, and there appeared nothing left for us but to sleep out all night in our coach. As a last resort, I thought I would attack the old lady in a different way; for I had often heard it said, that in Andalusia it is necessary to go into an inn with your hat in your hand therefore, stepping up to her, I made a polite bow, and said there must be some misunderstanding in the matter; that we were strangers, and that we were not well acquainted with the language; and that it was doubtless owing to this that my friend and the cochero had differed as regards the house we were to stop at. I begged she would not take any offence at what had passed, for none was intended; and, making a low bow, I turned to enter the carriage. This coup de grace was successful. She invited us all to get out, gave us the most comfortable rooms in the house, and treated us with the utmost attention during our stay.

As the Santo Rostro is the type of an Andalusian inn, it may not be uninteresting for those who contemplate a visit to Spain, to give a slight sketch of it. A large arched door-way, which served alike for man and beast, gave entrance to the interior of the house. On one side of this was the stable, and on the other the kitchen, without any partition between them. Opposite the great entrance was the stair-case leading to the upper part of the building, devoted to the lodging of the better class of travellers.

The rooms were small, and without mat or carpet to cover the rough tile-floor; and the furniture consisted of a cot, whereon was a very hard bed, and two chairs, upon one of which there was a very small basin and pitcher. This want of the appliances of the toilet is noticed throughout Spain, but especially in Andalusia, where there appears to be a holy horror against ablution. Among the Moors, cleanliness is a part of their religion; and the Spaniards, in avoiding all the abominations of that hated race, have rushed on the other extreme in this particular.

Having arrived after a long fast, as soon as we had inspected our apartments, I descended to the kitchen to forage for supper; for in a Spanish inn no smiling land-lord comes to inquire into your wants. Every one is indifferent to your coming and your going, and whatever you get appears to be granted as a favor. Around the fire were seated a half dozen muleteers, whose dark features, lighted up by a few smouldering embers upon the hearth, gave them the appearance of so many cutthroats. But, with that innate politeness of the Spaniard toward a stranger, they all rose and offered me the best place in the chimney

corner.

On inquiring into the state of the larder, our hostess informed me there were partridges; and these the traveller will find a standing dish throughout Spain. Now a partridge is a very good bird when properly cooked, but when stewed in one of those small round earthen-ware pots called a puchero, with garlic and rancid oil, it is most execrable.

'Is there any thing else, Senora?' said I.

'Yes, your worship, there are eggs, out of which I will make you a nice omelet.'

'Bueno! I will take the omelet; and if you will be so good as to give us some bread and grapes, we will be much obliged to you.'

Preparations were forthwith begun for the omelet. A huge frying-par was taken down from the wall and placed over the fire, into which was put a large piece of dirty-looking lard; by the time the grease had become boiling-hot, the eggs were prepared and poured into the pan. One side of the omelet being done, the pan was lifted from the fire, when immediately every one rose and retreated, as if they had received an electric shock.

The cause of this sudden movement was soon made evident. In order to turn this immense omelet on the other side, the hostess gave a flirt to the pan, which caused the mass to turn a somerset in the air and fall again into the scalding fat, which it spattered about in all directions. One unlucky wight received some of the burning liquid in his face, much to the amusement of the rest of the party, and apparently to the great gratification of the land-lady, whose sour-looking countenance relaxed for

a moment into a smile. After our meagre supper at the Santo Rostro-which was nevertheless much enjoyed, for it was well seasoned with the sauce of hunger- we retired for the night; and although our beds were on a par with the other accommodations, this did not prevent us from enjoying sweet repose.

Jaen is an old Moorish town, containing about seventeen thousand inhabitants. Its situation is extremely picturesque, standing like a sentinel at the entrance of the mountain-gorge which leads to Granada. It has a pretty alameda, and a handsome cathedral, which was built in 1525. That great relic, the Santo Rostro, the Holy Face of our SAVIOUR impressed upon the handkerchief of Santa Veronica, when she wiped the perspiration from His brow, is contained in the cathedral, and shown publicly on stated occasions. I endeavored to get the sacristan to show it to me, but he said it was impossible without an order from the bishop. After leaving Jaen, our next day's journey brought us to Campillo de Arenas, the road passing through a beautiful valley, where the hedge was of gigantic aloes, and the graceful palm-tree added a charm to the novel and picturesque landscape. Continuing our journey, the valley widened as we advanced; the Sierra Nevada with its crest of eternal snow rose before us; and as the last rays of the setting sun gilded the beautiful scene, fair Granada appeared in view. Seated at the base of several hills, with the beautiful rega, or plain, spread out before it, the snowy mountains in the back ground, and the far-famed Alhambra looming from its lofty eminence, it formed one of the most enchanting scenes I have ever witnessed, and well merits the boast of the Granadians, who say:

'QUIEN no ha visto a Granada,

No ha visto a nada.'

The first object of attention was the Alhambra, which the Moors styled the Palace of Pearls. This immense structure is built upon an eminence which overhangs the city, and the long lines of tapia, or reddish mudwalls and towers which surround it, disappoint the stranger, and give him little idea of the beauty of the interior. The Moors adopted this plain exterior for their palaces to avert the effects of the Evil Eye, and to mask the interior splendor of their abodes of oriental voluptuousness.

Ascending a steep street, I arrived at La Puerta de los Granadas, a large stone gate-way which gives entrance to the grounds of the Alham bra. Continuing my ascent through avenues of stately trees, where the sound of fountains and running waters produced a pleasing effect on the mind, which prepared it for the enjoyment of the enchanted spot, I arrived at La Puerta de Justicia, the Gate of Judgment, where formerly the king, as in the east, dispensed justice. Over the horse-shoe arch of the gate-way is seen a hand and a key. The first of these symbols was probably intended to represent power; and the second, which is the great emblem of Mussulman faith, denotes the authority given to the Prophet to open and shut the gates of heaven and hell.

Passing onward through the gate, and thence through a narrow wallenclosed lane, I entered the Patio de los Algibes, or the Court of the Cisterns, under which are immense tanks filled from the river Darro, which supplies the most wholesome water to the city. To the left of this