he was by no means the profound philologist which the notary had represented him to be.

When I was about to depart from Pontevedra in the afternoon of the next day, the Señor Garcia stood by the side of my horse, and having embraced me, thrust a small pamphlet into my hand: “This book,” said he, “contains a description of Pontevedra.  Wherever you go, speak well of Pontevedra.” I nodded.  “Stay,” said he, “my dear friend, I have heard of your society, and will do my best to further its views.  I am quite disinterested, but if at any future time you should have an opportunity of speaking in print of Señor Garcia, the notary public of Pontevedra,—you understand me,—I wish you would do so.”

“I will,” said I.

It was a pleasant afternoon’s ride from Pontevedra to Vigo, the distance being only four leagues.  As we approached the latter town, the country became exceedingly mountainous, though scarcely anything could exceed the beauty of the surrounding scenery.  The sides of the hills were for the most part clothed with luxuriant forests, even to the very summits, though occasionally a flinty and naked peak would present itself, rising to the clouds.  As the evening came on, the route along which we advanced became very gloomy, the hills and forests enwrapping it in deep shade.  It appeared, however, to be well frequented: numerous cars were creaking along it, and both horsemen and pedestrians were continually passing us.  The villages were frequent.  Vines, supported on parras, were growing, if possible, in still greater abundance than in the neighbourhood of Pontevedra.  Life and activity seemed to pervade everything.  The hum of insects, the cheerful bark of dogs, the rude songs of Galicia, were blended together in pleasant symphony.  So delicious was my ride, that I almost regretted when we entered the gate of Vigo.

The town occupies the lower part of a lofty hill, which, as it ascends, becomes extremely steep and precipitous, and the top of which is crowned with a strong fort or castle.  It is a small compact place, surrounded with low walls, the streets are narrow, steep, and winding, and in the middle of the town is a small square.

There is rather an extensive faubourg extending along the shore of the bay.  We found an excellent posada, kept by a man and woman from the Basque provinces, who were both civil and intelligent.  The town seemed to be crowded, and resounded with noise and merriment.  The people were making a wretched attempt