as old as the time
of the Moors. The water, gushing out from the arches of one, drives the
wheel of that below, so that a single race supplies them all. I descended
by a very steep zig-zag path nearly to the bottom. On a little point or
promontory overhanging the black depths, there is a Moorish gateway still
standing. The sunset threw a lovely glow over the brown cliffs and the
airy town above; but they were far grander when the cascades glittered in
the moonlight, and the gulf out of which they leap was lost in profound
shadow. The window of my bed-room hung over the chasm.

Honda was wrapped in fog, when Jose awoke me on the morning of the 22d. As
we had but about twenty-four miles to ride that day, we did not leave
until sunrise. We rode across the bridge, through the old town and down
the hill, passing the triple lines of the Moorish walls by the original
gateways. The road, stony and rugged beyond measure, now took to the
mountains. From the opposite height, there was a fine view of the town,
perched like an eagle's nest on the verge of its tremendous cliffs; but a
curtain of rain soon fell before it, and the dense dark clouds settled
around us, and filled up the gorges on either hand. Hour after hour, we
toiled along the slippery paths, scaling the high ridges by rocky ladders,
up which our horses climbed with the greatest difficulty. The scenery,
whenever I could obtain a misty glimpse of it, was sublime. Lofty mountain
ridges rose on either hand; bleak jagged summits of naked rock pierced
the clouds, and the deep chasms which separated them sank far below us,
dark and indistinct through the rain. Sometimes I caught sight of a little
hamlet, hanging on some almost inaccessible ledge, the home of the
lawless, semi-Moorish mountaineers who inhabit this wild region. The faces
of those we met exhibited marked traces of their Moslem ancestry,
especially in the almond-shaped eye and the dusky olive complexion. Their
dialect retains many Oriental forms of expression, and I was not a little
surprised at finding the Arabic "_eiwa_" (yes) in general use, instead of
the Spanish "_si_."

About eleven o'clock, we reached the rude village of Atajate, where we
procured a very good breakfast of kid, eggs, and white Ronda wine. The
wind and rain increased, but I had no time to lose, as every hour swelled
the mountain floods and made the journey more difficult. This district is
in the worst repute of any in Spain; it is a very ne