imaginable, and reminded me--to continue
the comparison between Syria and Andalusia, which I find so striking--of
the gorge of the Barrada, near Damascus. Alhama is now a poor,
insignificant town, only visited by artists and muleteers. The population
wear long brown cloaks and slouched hats, like the natives of La Mancha.

I found tolerable quarters in a house on the plaza, and took the remaining
hour of daylight to view the town. The people looked at me with curiosity,
and some boys, walking on the edge of the _tajo_, or precipice, threw over
stones that I might see how deep it was. The rock, in some places, quite
overhung the bed of the Marchan, which half-girdles its base. The close
scrutiny to which I was subjected by the crowd in the plaza called to mind
all I had heard of Spanish spies and robbers. At the venta, I was well
treated, but received such an exorbitant bill in the morning that I was
ready to exclaim, with King Boabdil, "Woe is me, Alhama!" On comparing
notes with Jose, I found that he had been obliged to pay, in addition, for
what he received--a discovery which so exasperated that worthy that he
folded his hands, bowed his head, made three kisses in the air, and cried
out: "I swear before the Virgin that I will never again take a traveller
to that inn."

We left Alhama an hour before daybreak, for we had a rough journey of more
than forty miles before us. The bridle-path was barely visible in the
darkness, but we continued ascending to a height of probably 5,000 feet
above the sea, and thus met the sunrise half-way. Crossing the _llano_ of
Ace faraya, we reached a tremendous natural portal in the mountains, from
whence, as from a door, we looked down on all the country lying between us
and the sea. The valley of the River Velez, winding among the hills,
pointed out the course of our road. On the left towered over us the barren
Sierra Tejeda, an isolated group of peaks, about 8,000 feet in height. For
miles, the road was a rocky ladder, which we scrambled down on foot,
leading our horses. The vegetation gradually became of a warmer and more
luxuriant cast; the southern slopes were planted with the vine that
produces the famous Malaga raisins, and the orange groves in the sunny
depths of the valleys were as yellow as autumnal beeches, with their
enormous loads of fruit. As the bells of Velez Malaga were ringing noon,
we emerged from the mountains, near the mouth of the river, and rode into
the town to bre