We accordingly started from Ferrol; having first hired a pony for myself, and a guide who was to attend us as far as Rivadeo, twenty leagues from Ferrol, and on the confines of the Asturias.  The day at first was fine, but ere we reached Novales, a distance of three leagues, the sky became overcast, and a mist descended, accompanied by a drizzling rain.  The country through which we passed was very picturesque.  At about two in the afternoon we could descry through the mist the small fishing town of Santa Marta on our left, with its beautiful bay.  Travelling along the summit of a line of hills, we presently entered a chestnut forest, which appeared to be without limit:  the rain still descended, and kept up a ceaseless pattering among the broad green leaves.  “This is the commencement of the autumnal rains,” said the guide.  “Many is the wetting that you will get, my masters, before you reach Oviedo.”  “Have you ever been as far as Oviedo?” I demanded.  “No,” he replied, “and once only to Rivadeo, the place to which I am now conducting you, and I tell you frankly that we shall soon be in wildernesses where the way is hard to find, especially at night, and amidst rain and waters.  I wish I were fairly back to Ferrol, for I like not this route, which is the worst in Galicia, in more respects than one; but where my master’s pony goes, there must I go too; such is the life of us guides.”  I shrugged my shoulders at this intelligence, which was by no means cheering, but made no answer.  At length, about nightfall, we emerged from the forest, and presently descended into a deep valley at the foot of lofty hills.

“Where are we now?” I demanded of the guide, as we crossed a rude bridge at the bottom of the valley, down which a rivulet swollen by the rain foamed and roared.  “In the valley of Coisa doiro,” he replied; “and it is my advice that we stay here for the night, and do not venture among those hills, through which lies the path to Viveiro; for as soon as we get there, adios!  I shall be bewildered, which will prove the destruction of us all.”  “Is there a village nigh?” “Yes, the village is right before us, and we shall be there in a moment.”  We soon reached the village, which stood amongst some tall trees at the entrance of a pass which led up amongst the hills.  Antonio dismounted and entered two or three of the cabins, but presently came to me, saying, “We cannot stay here, mon maitre, without being devoured by vermin; we had better be amongst the hills than in this place; there is neither fire nor light in these cabins, and the rain is streaming through the roofs.”  The guide, however, refused to proceed:  “I could scarcely find my way amongst those hills by daylight,” he cried, surlily, “much less at night, midst storm and bretima.”  We procured some wine and maize bread from one of the cottages.  Whilst we were partaking of these, Antonio said, “Mon maitre, the best thing we can do in our present situation,