make to detain it.  “If you abandon me,” said I, “I am in a pretty situation; but there is a remedy for everything!” with which words I sprang into the saddle, and in a moment more the creature was bearing me at a rapid gallop in the direction, as I supposed, of Finisterra.  My position, however diverting to the reader, was rather critical to myself.  I was on the back of a spirited animal, over which I had no control, dashing along a dangerous and unknown path.  I could not discover the slightest vestige of my guide, nor did I pass anyone from whom I could derive any information.  Indeed, the speed of the animal was so great, that even in the event of my meeting or overtaking a passenger, I could scarcely have hoped to exchange a word with him.  “Is the pony trained to this work?” said I mentally.  “Is he carrying me to some den of banditti, where my throat will be cut, or does he follow his master by instinct?” Both of these suspicions I however soon abandoned; the pony’s speed relaxed, he appeared to have lost the road.  He looked about uneasily:  at last, coming to a sandy spot, he put his nostrils to the ground, and then suddenly flung himself down, and wallowed in true pony fashion.  I was not hurt, and instantly made use of this opportunity to slip the bit into his mouth, which previously had been dangling beneath his neck; I then remounted in quest of the road.

This I soon found, and continued my way for a considerable time.  The path lay over a moor, patched heath and furze, and here and there strewn with large stones, or rather rocks.  The sun had risen high in the firmament, and burned fiercely.  I passed several people, men and women, who gazed at me with surprise, wondering, probably, what a person of my appearance could be about without a guide in so strange a place.  I inquired of two females whom I met whether they had seen my guide; but they either did not or would not understand me, and exchanging a few words with each other, in one of the hundred dialects of the Gallegan, passed on.  Having crossed the moor, I came rather abruptly upon a convent, overhanging a deep ravine, at the bottom of which brawled a rapid stream.

It was a beautiful and picturesque spot:  the sides of the ravine were thickly clothed with wood, and on the other side a tall, black hill uplifted itself.  The edifice was large, and apparently deserted.  Passing by it, I presently reached a small village, as deserted, to all appearance, as the convent, for I saw not a single individual, nor so much as a dog to welcome me with his bark.  I proceeded, however, until I reached a fountain, the waters of which gushed from a stone pillar into a trough.  Seated upon this last, his arms folded, and his eyes fixed upon the neighbouring mountain, I beheld a figure which still frequently recurs to my thoughts, especially when asleep and oppressed by the nightmare.  This figure was my runaway guide.

Myself.—­Good day to you, my gentleman.  The weather is hot, and yonder water appears delicious.  I am almost tempted to dismount and regale myself with a slight draught.