was on comparatively dry land.

I went on, still with no view of Mairena; but I was coming nearer. I met
a group of women walking with their petticoats over their heads. I
passed a labourer sheltered behind a hedge, while his oxen stood in a
field, looking miserably at the rain. Still it fell, still it fell!

And when I reached Mairena it was the most cheerless place I had come
across on my journey, merely a poverty-stricken hamlet that did not even
boast a bad inn. I was directed from place to place before I could find
a stable; I was soaked to the skin, and there seemed no shelter. At last
I discovered a wretched wine-shop; but the woman who kept it said there
was no fire and no food. Then I grew very cross. I explained with heat
that I had money; it is true I was bedraggled and disreputable, but when
I showed some coins, to prove that I could pay for what I bought, she
asked unwillingly what I required. I ordered a _brasero_, and dried my
clothes as best I could by the burning cinders. I ate a scanty meal of
eggs, and comforted myself with the thin wine of the leaf, sufficiently
alcoholic to be exhilarating, and finally, with _aguardiente_ regained
my equilibrium.

But the elements were against me. The rain had ceased while I lunched,
but no sooner had I left Mairena than it began again, and Seville was
sixteen miles away. It poured steadily. I tramped up the hills, covered
with nut-trees; I wound down into valleys; the way seemed interminable.
I tramped on. At last from the brow of a hill I saw in the distance the
Giralda and the clustering houses of Seville, but all grey in the wet;
above it heavy clouds were lowering. On and on!

The day was declining, and Seville now was almost hidden in the mist,
but I reached a road. I came to the first tavern of the environs; after
a while to the first houses, then the road gave way to slippery cobbles,
and I was in Seville. The Saints be praised!

XXXII

[Sidenote: Granada]

To go from Seville to Granada is like coming out of the sunshine into
deep shadow. I arrived, my mind full of Moorish pictures, expecting to
find a vivid, tumultuous life; and I was ready with a prodigal hand to
dash on the colours of my admiration. But Granada is a sad town, grey
and empty; its people meander, melancholy, through the streets,
unoccupied. It is a tradeless place living on the monuments which
attract strangers, and like many a city famous for stirring history,
seems utterl