rattled down the steep streets. The
station was on a level with the sea, and in front of it stretched the
harbour with all its shipping. The train was in waiting, and to
Francisco's evident pride and enjoyment we were soon whirling away in a
first-class compartment. He had never travelled in anything beyond a
second.

The freshness of early morning was still upon everything, and our
interesting journey lay through scenery rich and varied. Before reaching
Reus, the train crossed the river, then came to an anchor. We found the
station crowded with country people going to a neighbouring fair. The
town rose in modern outlines, above which towered the hexagonal steeple
of San Pedro. It was evidently a bustling, prosperous town with
manufacturing signs about it. Everything seemed in direct opposition to
Tarragona. The one ancient and stately, with its historic and cathedral
atmosphere in strong evidence; the other given over to manual work. The
one quiet and conservative, the other quarrelsome and republican. It was
from Reus that our carters with a grievance had come the day we visited
the aqueduct: and back to Reus they had all gone to continue their
warfare.

We recognised two of them on the platform, on their way to the fairs.
They also recognised us and touched their large round hats with a broad
smile plainly meant to intimate that their bark was worse than their
bite.

It is in Reus that many of the French imitation wines are made and sent
over the world, passing for Macon, Chablis and Sauterne. Much imitation
champagne and many headaches come from here. Enormous wine-cellars, in
point of size worthy of Madrid or Barcelona, groan with their
manufactured stores. Reus has many branches of industry and might be a
happy community if it would subdue its revolutionary discontent. It has
yet to redeem its terrible murder of the monks of Poblet in 1835.

To-day, however, the crowd in the station were bent on pleasure or
business and the warring element was put aside to a more convenient
season. They scrambled into the train, and away we went up the lovely
Valley of the Francoli as far as Alcober: a favourite settlement of the
Moors, where many Moorish remains are still visible. The fine Romanesque
church was once a mosque, so that it is full of the traditions of the
past. Onwards through lonely, somewhat barren country to Montblanch;
another old town apparently falling into ruin, with picturesque walls,
towers and gates.