himself said, to desert me and make for the sea, operated rather powerfully upon my nerves.  I likewise considered that it was quite possible that we might be in the route neither of Finisterra nor Corcuvion, and I therefore determined to enter the first cabin at which we should arrive, in preference to running the risk of breaking our necks by tumbling down some pit or precipice.  No cabin, however, appeared in sight:  the moor seemed interminable, and we wandered on until the moon disappeared, and we were left in almost total darkness.

At length we arrived at the foot of a steep ascent, up which a rough and broken pathway appeared to lead.

“Can this be our way?” said I to the guide.

“There appears to be no other for us, captain,” replied the man; “let us ascend it by all means, and when we are it the top, if the sea be in the neighbourhood we shall see it.”

I then dismounted, for to ride up such a pass in such darkness would have been madness.  We clambered up in a line, first the guide, next the pony, with his nose as usual on his master’s shoulder, of whom he seemed passionately fond, and I bringing up the rear, with my left hand grasping the animal’s tail.  We had many a stumble, and more than one fall:  once, indeed, we were all rolling down the side of the hill together.  In about twenty minutes we reached the summit, and looked around us, but no sea was visible:  a black moor, indistinctly seen, seemed to spread on every side.

“We shall have to take up our quarters here till morning,” said I.

Suddenly my guide seized me by the hand:  “There is lume, Senhor,” said he, “there is lume.”  I looked in the direction in which he pointed, and, after straining my eyes for some time, imagined that I perceived, far below and at some distance, a faint glow.  “That is lume,” shouted the guide, “and it proceeds from the chimney of a choza.”

On descending the eminence, we roamed about for a considerable time, until we at last found ourselves in the midst of about six or eight black huts.  “Knock at the door of one of these,” said I to the guide, “and inquire of the people whether they can shelter us for the night.”  He did so, and a man presently made his appearance, bearing in his hand a lighted firebrand.

“Can you shelter a Cavalheiro from the night and the Estadea?” said my guide.

“From both, I thank God,” said the man, who was an athletic figure, without shoes and stockings, and who, upon the whole, put me much in mind of a Munster peasant from the bogs.  “Pray enter, gentlemen, we can accommodate you both and your cavalgadura besides.”

We entered the choza, which consisted of three compartments; in the first we found straw, in the second cattle and ponies, and in the third the family, consisting of the father and mother of the man who admitted us, and his wife and children.

“You are a Catalan, sir Cavalier, and are going to your countryman at Corcuvion,” said the man in tolerable Spanish.  “Ah, you are brave people, you Catalans, and fine establishments you have on the Gallegan shores; pity that you take all the money out of the country.”