ust as I began to know the
principal persons of the city, I was obliged to sail.

"You will not expect a long letter after my riding so far 'on hollow
pampered jades of Asia.' Talking of Asia puts me in mind of Africa,
which is within five miles of my present residence. I am going over
before I go on to Constantinople.

"Cadiz is a complete Cythera. Many of the grandees who have left
Madrid during the troubles reside there, and I do believe it is the
prettiest and cleanest town in Europe. London is filthy in the
comparison. The Spanish women are all alike, their education the same.
The wife of a duke is, in information, as the wife of a peasant,--the
wife of a peasant, in manner, equal to a duchess. Certainly they are
fascinating; but their minds have only one idea, and the business of
their lives is intrigue.

"I have seen Sir John Carr at Seville and Cadiz, and, like Swift's
barber, have been down on my knees to beg he would not put me into
black and white. Pray remember me to the Drurys and the Davies, and
all of that stamp who are yet extant.[120] Send me a letter and news
to Malta. My next epistle shall be from Mount Caucasus or Mount Sion.
I shall return to Spain before I see England, for I am enamoured of
the country.

Adieu, and believe me," &c.

In a letter to Mrs. Byron, dated a few days later, from Gibraltar, he
recapitulates the same account of his progress, only dwelling rather
more diffusely on some of the details. Thus, of Cintra and Mafra:--"To
make amends for this,[121] the village of Cintra, about fifteen miles
from the capital, is, perhaps in every respect, the most delightful in
Europe; it contains beauties of every description, natural and
artificial. Palaces and gardens rising in the midst of rocks,
cataracts, and precipices; convents on stupendous heights--a distant
view of the sea and the Tagus; and, besides (though that is a
secondary consideration), is remarkable as the scene of Sir H.D.'s
Convention.[122] It unites in itself all the wildness of the western
highlands, with the verdure of the south of France. Near this place,
about ten miles to the right, is the palace of Mafra, the boast of
Portugal, as it might be of any other country, in point of
magnificence without elegance. There is a convent annexed; the monks,
who possess large revenues, are courteous enough, and understand
Latin, so that we had a long conversation: they have a large library,
and asked me if the _English_ had _a