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 nest of robbers and contrabandistas.  At the venta in Atajate, they urged us to take a guard, but my valiant Jose declared that he had never taken one, and yet was never robbed; so I trusted to his good luck.  The weather, however, was our best protection.  In such a driving rain, we could bid defiance to the flint locks of their escopettes, if, indeed, any could be found, so fond of their trade, as to ply it in a storm

  “Wherein the cub-drawn bear would crouch,
  The lion and the belly-pinched wolf
  Keep their furs dry.”

Nevertheless, I noticed that each of the few convoys of laden mules which we met, had one or more of the guardia cicia accompanying it.  Besides these, the only persons abroad were some wild-looking individuals, armed to the teeth, and muffled in long cloaks, towards whom, as they passed, Jose would give his head a slight toss, and whisper to me:  “more contrabandistas.”

We were soon in a condition to defy the weather.  The rain beat furiously in our faces, especially when threading the wind-blown passes between the higher peaks.  I raised my umbrella as a defence, but the first blast snapped it in twain.  The mountain-sides were veined with rills, roaring downward into the hollows, and smaller rills soon began to trickle down my own sides.  During the last part of our way, the path was notched along precipitous steeps, where the storm was so thick that we could see nothing either above or below.  It was like riding along the outer edge of the world, When once you are thoroughly wet, it is a great satisfaction to know that you can be no wetter; and so Jose and I went forward in the best possible humor, finding so much diversion in our plight that the dreary leagues were considerably shortened.