In the autumn of this year I was able to gratify my taste for travel by a longer excursion than usual.  Hitherto my furthest flights had been to Paris, Belgium, and Holland, but now I went as far as Spain and Portugal.  F. K. was my pleasant companion and we travelled, via Paris, straight through to Madrid, where we stayed for a week at the Hotel de la Paix, in the bright and busy and sunny Puerto del Sol.  In Madrid we visited the Royal Palace (or so much of it as was shown to the public—­principally the Royal stables); the Escurial; the Art Galleries and Museums; drove in the Buen Retiro; witnessed a bull fight, which rather sickened us when the horses, which never stood a chance in the contest, were ripped up by the bull; admired dark-eyed senoritas, their mantillas and coquettish fans, enjoyed the southern sunshine and the Spanish wines; and then left for Lisbon by an express train that stopped at nearly every station.  At Lisbon three or four days were pleasantly passed, though we were annoyed sometimes by the crowd of persistent beggars that thronged the streets, and who, we were told, pursued their calling by license from the authorities.  This was a small matter, however.  He who travels should be proof against such minor annoyances.  Then Oporto was visited, and the Douro valley, the very centre of the port wine industry.  A young Englishman, a wine merchant, accompanied us in our journey through this sultry valley and was our cicerone.  Under his guidance we visited many famous “wine lodges,” sampled wonderful vintages in most generous glasses, drank old port, green port, tawny port, and I am sure too much port, and when, at last, we reached the port of Biarritz, where we stayed for several days, we blessed its lighter wines and refreshing breezes.  After Biarritz Bordeaux detained us for a day or two, and so did Paris, which we found very attractive and refreshing in early November.

This year also had for me a delightful week’s interlude, in the month of June, in the Committee Rooms at Westminster.  A certain Bill was promoted by an Irish railway company, which we considered an aggressive attempt to invade our territory, and, of course, we vigorously opposed it.  Again I had the pleasure of giving evidence and of being crossed-examined by Mr. Pembroke Stephens; but the Bill was passed and became an Act.  Further sign of vitality it never showed as the line was never made.  It is one thing, by the grace of Parliament to obtain an Act, but quite another by the favour of the public to obtain capital.  Parliament is often more easily persuaded than the shrewd investor, as many a too sanguine promoter knows.

CHAPTER XXIV. 
TOM ROBERTSON, MORE ABOUT LIGHT RAILWAYS, AND THE INLAND TRANSIT OF
CATTLE

By his friends and intimates he was called Tom, and mere acquaintances even usually spoke of him as Tom Robertson.  Rarely was he designated Thomas.  A man who is known so familiarly is generally a good fellow, and Tom Robertson was no exception, though he possessed some pretty strong qualities, and was particularly fond of getting his own way.