oved to be one of great and lasting
interest, although it was mingled with a sense of disappointment, not as
to its historic interest, nor its unrivaled monuments "mellowed by the
stealing hours of time;" but we missed the bright sunny fields of
France, we found none of the soft loveliness of the Italian climate or
vegetation, and were ever contrasting its treeless surface with
well-wooded Belgium and Switzerland. When gazing upon its stunted
shrubbery and dry yellow grass, it was natural to recall the lovely
valleys and plains of Japan, and even the closely-cultivated fields of
China, where every square foot of soil contiguous to populous districts
is made to produce its quota towards the support of man. The pleasant
oases to be found here and there, the exceptional bits of verdant fields
and fertile districts which we have described, only prove what the
country in the possession of an enterprising race might be made to
produce. Now it is little more than a land of sun and blue skies. The
Spanish people seem to be imbued with all the listlessness of those of
the tropics, though not by the same enervating influence. Nature is
willing to meet men more than half way, even in Spain, but will not pour
out there her products with the lavishness which characterizes her in
the low latitudes. The country is not composed of desolate sierras by
any means, but its neglected possibilities are yet in such strong
contrast to the most of continental Europe as to lead the tourist to
very decided conclusions. The beautifully shaded avenue at Burgos along
the Arlanzon, and the road to Miraflores forming a charming Alameda,
show very plainly what can be done by planting a few hundred suitable
trees to beautify the environs of a half-ruined, mouldering, mediaeval
city. It is to be hoped that those who planted these luxuriant trees may
have lived to enjoy their grace and beauty. Under Ferdinand and
Isabella, Spain was a great and thriving nation, almost beyond
precedent. Her colonial possessions rivaled those of the entire world;
but her glory has vanished, and her decadence has been so rapid as to be
phenomenal, until she is now so humbled there are very few to do her
honor.

The distance from Bayonne to Bordeaux is one hundred and twenty-five
miles, a dull and uninteresting journey, the route lying through what
seemed an interminable pine forest, so that it was a decided relief when
the spires of this French capital came into view. Bordea