nun's dress, was to be seen kneeling before the shrine, apparently
engaged in prayer. Presently the kneeling figure rose slowly to her
feet, walked across the dimly-lighted chapel, and disappeared. The
exhibition was so timely, and the visitors to the church were brought to
the spot in such a business-like fashion, to say nothing of the pose and
manner of the nun, that one could not but feel that the little tableau
was gotten up for the special effect it might have upon strangers.

In the small railroad depot of Burgos, while the slow purgatory of being
served with tickets was endured, a traveler found fault in good Saxon
English as to the stupidity of such delay about trifles, and also
complained of having been robbed of some small article of luggage.
Another Englishman, particularly disposed to palliate matters, said
there must be some mistake about it; he had been here before, and the
people of Burgos were proverbially honest. By and by a great excitement
was apparent on the platform, when it came to light that the apologist
and indorser of the good people here was declaring that a leather strap
had been purloined from his trunk, between the hotel and the depot, and
the contents of his hat-box abstracted. What was to be done? The engine
was screeching forth the starting signal with unwonted vigor, and there
was no time to be lost. He who had spoken so favorably of the local
population a few moments before, was now red in the face with anger and
improper language. He had barely time to get into his seat before the
train moved onward, and doubtless left his trust in humanity behind him
with the stolen property. It was only an instance of misplaced
confidence; and thus we bid farewell to the sleepy but picturesque old
city.

From Burgos to San Sebastian, still northward, is a hundred and fifty
miles by rail, but Spanish dispatch requires ten hours for the trip. It
was a beautiful, soft, sunny day, full of the spirit and promise of
early spring. The fruit trees were in blossom, the green fields strewn
with wild flowers; flocks of grazing sheep were constantly in sight, and
men and women busy with field labor, the red petticoats and white caps
of the latter forming charming bits of color against the green
background. Sparkling water-courses, with here and there a fall giving
power to some rickety old stone mill, added variety to the shifting
scenery. On the not far-off hills were veritable castles, border
fortresses in ruins, whose gray, moss-covered towers had borne witness
to the conflicts of armor-clad warriors in the days of Castilian
knighthood and glory. What enchantment hangs about these rude
battlements, "rich with the spoils of time!" In looking back upon the
ancient days it is fortunate that the mellowing influence of time dims
the vision, and we see down the long vista of years as through a
softening twilight, else we should behold such harshness as would arouse
more of ire than of admiration. The olden time, like the landscape,
appears best in the purple distance.

The general aspect of the country, since we left Malaga in the extreme
south, had been rather disappointing, and the rural appearance on this
beautiful trip from Burgos to San Sebastian was therefore appreciated.
It should be called the garden of Spain, the well-watered plains and
valleys being spread with carpets of exquisite verdure. In the far
distance one could detect snow-clad mountains, which, in fact, were not
out of sight during the entire trip. Thousands of acres were covered by
the vine, already well advanced, and from the product of which comes the
sherry wine of commerce. The vineyards were interspersed with fields of
ripening grain. Wheat and wine! Or, as the Spaniards say: "The staff of
life and life itself." It was impossible not to feel a sense of elation
at the delightful scenery and the genial atmosphere on this early April
day. Nature seemed to be in her merriest mood, clothing everything in
poetical attire, rendering beautiful the little gray hamlets on the
hill-sides, dominated by square bell-towers, about which the red-tiled
cottages clustered. Outside of these were family groups sitting in the
warm sunshine, some sewing, some spinning, while children tumbled and
played in the inviting grass. We had seen nothing like this for many a
day--certainly not in Spain. Presently we came up to the lofty
snow-capped mountains, which had for a while ranged just ahead of us,
when one of them seemed suddenly to open a wide mouth at its base as if
to swallow the train. In it rushed puffing and snorting through a dark
tunnel nearly a mile long, until at last we emerged on the opposite side
of the mountain into a scene of great beauty, overlooking a valley
worthy of Japan. Far up towards the blue sky was the snow under which we
had been hidden in the darkness of the tunnel, while in this lower range
we were surrounded with verdure and bloom. Here were graceful trees,
smiling bits of landscape, flocks of sheep, tumbling cascades, so
grouped and mingled as to seem like a theatrical effect rather than
nature.

We came into San Sebastian in the early twilight; a somewhat famous
watering-place on the boisterous Bay of Biscay, drawing its patronage
largely from Madrid, though of late both English and Americans have
resorted thither. It is a small city, but the thriftiest and most
business-like to be found in Spain when its size is considered. The
place was entirely destroyed by fire when captured from the French by
the English,--a piece of sanguinary work which cost the latter five
thousand men. It was on this occasion that Wellington is reported to
have said: "The next dreadful thing to a battle lost is a battle won."
The dwellings are modern and handsome, the streets broad and well paved,
the squares ornamented by shrubbery and fountains, and the drives in the
environs and on the beach are very inviting. In short San Sebastian is a
model watering-place for summer resort with several good hotels. It will
be remembered that Wellington fought some severe battles in this
vicinity in 1813. On the way from Burgos the battle-field of Vittoria
was pointed out, where the French army was thoroughly routed. The
Spanish government has made a miniature Gibraltar of San Sebastian.
Overlooking the harbor is a lofty fortification which commands the town
and all of its approaches. From the fort, which costs a good climb to
reach, a very fine view is obtained of a broad extent of country. Whole
blocks of new buildings were in course of construction, and San
Sebastian seemed to be preparing for a large summer business. Seen from
a short distance, as one approaches in the cars, the grouping of the
town, with the lofty and frowning fortification, its neat white
dwellings and undulating surface, makes a pleasing picture, standing out
in bold relief against the blue sky hanging over the Bay of Biscay.

Our next stopping-place after leaving San Sebastian was Bayonne,--that
is "The Good Port,"--about forty miles further towards the French
frontier. It is a city of some thirty thousand inhabitants, located at
the junction of the Adour and Nive rivers, in the Lower Pyrenees. Here,
again, the cathedral forms nearly the only attraction to strangers;
though very plain, and with little architectural pretension, still it is
gray, old, and crumbling, plainly telling the story of its age. The city
has considerable commerce by the river, both in steam and sailing
vessels, and exports a very respectable amount of domestic products.
Most continental cities have their Jews' quarter,--the Ghetto, as it is
called; but in Bayonne the race is especially represented by the
descendants of those who escaped death at the hands of the Inquisition,
in the time of Philip II. They form fully one third of the population,
judging from appearances; and though not characterized by neatness or
cleanliness, their quarter is the home of numerous rich men. They have
retained their old Spanish and Portuguese names and fortunes. Many of
the Jewish capitalists of London, Paris, and Havre, are from Bayonne.
There is a decided difference in the manners and the dress of the people
from those of Spain generally, being more like those of the Basque
Provinces, to which it belongs geographically.

Here one sees the palace where Catherine de Medici and the Duke of Alba
planned the terrible massacre of the Huguenots. In and about the city
some very pleasant drives may be enjoyed. A large, well-shaded public
garden commences just at the city gates and extends along the left bank
of the Adour. It will occur to the reader that the familiar military
weapon, the bayonet, got its name from Bayonne, having been invented,
or rather discovered, here. It seems that a Basque regiment, during an
engagement with the Spaniards near this spot, had entirely exhausted
their ammunition; but fixing their long knives in the muzzles of their
guns, they thus successfully charged on and defeated the enemy. The
legend is mentioned, as every one must listen to it from the local
guides, though--between ourselves--it is a most gross anachronism.

We have not yet come to a conclusion as to what language our landlord
spoke. He certainly understood French, though he did not attempt to
express himself in it. It was not Spanish, that we know; therefore it
must have been Basque, the language which Noah received from Adam, if we
are to believe the residents of Bayonne. An out-door fair was visited,
upon an open square lying between the hotel and the harbor, where the
gay colors, shooting-booths, hurdy-gurdies, drums, fifes, flags, and
games, together with a wax exhibition, representing a terrible murder
and an assassin committing the deed with a poker painted red hot, all
served to remind us of a similar occasion at Tokio, in far-off Japan.
Striking scenic effects came in here and there, the distant summits of
the Pyrenees being visible beyond the mountains of Navarre.

A drive of five miles from Bayonne took us to Biarritz, situated a
little southwest of the old city, at the lower part of the Bay of
Biscay, being the Newport of southern France. Our postilion was gotten
up after the Basque fashion of his tribe, in a most fantastic short
jacket of scarlet, with little abbreviated tails, silver laced all over,
and with a marvelous complement of hanging buttons. He wore a
stove-pipe hat with a flashing cockade, and flourished a long whip that
would have answered for a Kaffir cattle-driver. The horses--large fine
specimens of the Norman breed--were harnessed three abreast, and
decorated with many bells, while their headstalls were heavy with
scarlet woolen tassels, and ornamented with large silver-plated buckles.
The vehicle was a roomy, old-fashioned barouche, comfortable, but about
as ancient as the cathedral. Altogether we looked with such unfeigned
amazement at the landlord, when this queer outfit drove to the door,
that he, native and to the manner born, could not suppress a broad
smile. It answered our purpose, however, and as the populace was
evidently accustomed to such florid display, we did not anticipate being
mobbed; but during the entire trip that harlequin of a driver, who was
as sober as a mute at a funeral, shared our admiration with the pleasing
and varied scenery. He was a thorough native. It would have been of no
use to attempt to talk with him, for the foreigner who can speak the
Basque tongue has yet to be discovered.

Biarritz, which is in the department of the Basses-Pyrénées, yet a long
way from the mountain range, was unknown to fame until Eugénie, empress
of the French, built a grand villa here, and made it her summer resort;
being, however, over five hundred miles from the French capital, it
never became very popular with the Parisians. The emperor and empress
resorted thither annually, and, laying aside the dignity of state, were
seen daily indulging in sea-bathing. The building of the Villa Eugénie
made the fortune of Biarritz. The climate is particularly dry and warm,
proving, if we may believe common report, excellent for invalids. The
hot days of summer are tempered by a sea-breeze, which blows with great
regularity inland during the day. The town is elevated, being seated
upon a bluff of the coast, and has two small bays strewn with curiously
honey-combed rocks, worn into the oddest of shapes by the fierce beating
of the surf for ages. Art has aided nature in the grotesque arrangement
of these rocks, so as to form arches and caves of all conceivable
shapes. It must present a splendid sight here in a stormy day, when the
surf breaks over the huge rocks and rushes wildly through these
cavernous passages. Such a battle between the sea and the shore would be
grand to witness. The beach shelves gently, and is firm and smooth, so
that it is particularly well adapted for bathing.

Biarritz being in nearly the same latitude as Nice and Mentone, one
looks for similar foliage and vegetation, but there are no palms, aloes,
oranges, or trees of that class here. The place lacks the shelter of the
Maritime Alps, which the two resorts just mentioned enjoy; but bright,
sunny Biarritz will long live in the memory of the little party whom the
Basque postilion drove thither and back. The late imperial residence,
the Villa Eugénie, is now improved as a fashionable summer hotel. The
drive from Bayonne to Biarritz can be made by one road, and the return
accomplished by another. On the way back we passed through two or three
miles of thick, sweet-scented pine forest, still and shady under the
afternoon sun, except for the drowsy hum of insects, and the pleasant
carol of birds. Here and there were open glades where the sun lay upon
little beds of blue flowers of unknown name, but very like the gentian;
and there were also the wild daphne and scarlet anemones. The lofty
trees located on both sides of the road had been tapped for their sap,
and little wooden spouts were conducting the glutinous deposit into
small earthen jars hung on the perpendicular trunks,--reminding one of
the mode of "milking" the toddy palms in India and Ceylon, by which
ingenious means the natives obtain, a liquor which, when fermented, is
as strong as the best Scotch or Irish whiskey.

Our journey through Spain proved to be one of great and lasting
interest, although it was mingled with a sense of disappointment, not as
to its historic interest, nor its unrivaled monuments "mellowed by the
stealing hours of time;" but we missed the bright sunny fields of
France, we found none of the soft loveliness of the Italian climate or
vegetation, and were ever contrasting its treeless surface with
well-wooded Belgium and Switzerland. When gazing upon its stunted
shrubbery and dry yellow grass, it was natural to recall the lovely
valleys and plains of Japan, and even the closely-cultivated fields of
China, where every square foot of soil contiguous to populous districts
is made to produce its quota towards the support of man. The pleasant
oases to be found here and there, the exceptional bits of verdant fields
and fertile districts which we have described, only prove what the
country in the possession of an enterprising race might be made to
produce. Now it is little more than a land of sun and blue skies. The
Spanish people seem to be imbued with all the listlessness of those of
the tropics, though not by the same enervating influence. Nature is
willing to meet men more than half way, even in Spain, but will not pour
out there her products with the lavishness which characterizes her in
the low latitudes. The country is not composed of desolate sierras by
any means, but its neglected possibilities are yet in such strong
contrast to the most of continental Europe as to lead the tourist to
very decided conclusions. The beautifully shaded avenue at Burgos along
the Arlanzon, and the road to Miraflores forming a charming Alameda,
show very plainly what can be done by planting a few hundred suitable
trees to beautify the environs of a half-ruined, mouldering, mediæval
city. It is to be hoped that those who planted these luxuriant trees may
have lived to enjoy their grace and beauty. Under Ferdinand and
Isabella, Spain was a great and thriving nation, almost beyond
precedent. Her colonial possessions rivaled those of the entire world;
but her glory has vanished, and her decadence has been so rapid as to be
phenomenal, until she is now so humbled there are very few to do her
honor.

The distance from Bayonne to Bordeaux is one hundred and twenty-five
miles, a dull and uninteresting journey, the route lying through what
seemed an interminable pine forest, so that it was a decided relief when
the spires of this French capital came into view. Bordeaux was found to
be a much larger and finer city than we had realized. The topographical
formation is that of a crescent along the shore of the Garonne, which
here forms a broad and navigable harbor, though it is located some sixty
miles from the sea. There were many Roman antiquities and ancient
monuments to be seen, all interesting, venerable with the wear and tear
of eighteen centuries. The public buildings, commanding in their
architectural character, were found to be adorned with admirable
sculpture and some fine paintings. The ancient part of the town has
narrow and crooked streets, but the modern portion is open, airy, and
has good architectural display. The Grand Theatre is remarkably
effective with its noble Ionic columns, built a little more than a
century since by Louis XVI. Bordeaux is connected by canal with the
Mediterranean and has considerable commerce, especially in the
importation of American whiskey, which is sent back to the United States
and exported elsewhere as good Bordeaux brandy, after being carefully
doctored. The Sabbath was passed here, but its observance or
non-observance is like that common in Continental cities. It is a mere
day of recreation, the Roman Catholic element attending mass, and
devoting the balance of the day to amusement. There were performances at
all of the theatres, the stores and shops were generally open, and very
large fine shops they are. In the afternoon two balloons were sent up
from the Champ de Mars: one a mammoth in size, containing half a dozen
persons; the other smaller, containing but one person to manage it--a
lady. There were at least fifty thousand people in the great square to
witness the ascension,--a very orderly and well-dressed throng. A
military band played during the inflating process, and the promenaders
and loungers presented a gay concourse.

There was an unmistakable aspect of business prosperity about the
streets of the city. Everybody seemed active and engaged in some
purpose. There were few loungers, and, we must make a note of it, no
beggars. It was observable that the large Norman horses used in the
working teams were sleek and fat, splendid creatures; such as Rosa
Bonheur represents in her famous picture of the Horse Fair. What a
contrast these noble, well-kept animals presented to the poor,
half-starved creatures to be met with in the East, and, indeed, in only
too many of the European cities,--Rome, Florence, Antwerp, and Madrid.
We are now approaching such familiar ground that the reader will hardly
expect more of us than to specify the closing route of our long journey.

From Bordeaux to Paris is about four hundred miles. As we left the
former city the road passed through miles upon miles of thriving
vineyards, those nearest to the city producing the brands of claret best
known in the American market. The route generally all the way to Paris
was through a charming and highly cultivated country, vastly different
from northern and central Spain. The well-prepared fields were green
with the spring grains and varied crops, showing high cultivation. Sheep
in large flocks, tended by shepherdesses with tall white Norman caps,
and picturesque, high-colored dresses, enlivened the landscape. These
industrious women were knitting or spinning in the field. Others were
driving oxen, while men held the plow. Gangs of men and women together
were working in long rows, preparing the ground for seed or planting;
and all seemed cheerful, decent, and happy. The small railroad stations
recalled those of India between Tuticorin and Madras, where the
surroundings were beautified by fragrant flower-gardens,--their bland,
odorous breath acting like a charm upon the senses, amid the noise and
bustle of arrival and departure. Now and again, as we progressed, the
pointed architecture of some picturesque château would present itself
among the clustering trees with its bright, verdant lawns and neat
outlying dependencies; and so we sped on, until, in the early evening,
we glided into the station at Paris.

There was a clear sky, a young moon, and a full display of the starry
hosts, on the night of our arrival in this the gayest capital of the
world. Four hundred miles of unbroken travel that day, so far from
satiating, only served to whet the appetite for observation. Ten years
had passed since the writer had trod those familiar boulevards; and now
hastening to the Place de la Madeleine we renewed acquaintance with the
noble church which ornaments the square, the purest and grandest
specimen of architecture, of its class, extant. Thence passing a few
steps onward, the brilliantly-lighted Place de la Concorde was reached,
that spot so emblazoned in blood upon the pages of history. How the
music of the fountains mingled with the hum of the noisy throng that
filled the streets! What associations crowded upon the mind as we stood
there at the base of the grand old obelisk of Luxor, looming up from the
centre of the grounds. In front was the long, broad, flashing roadway of
the Champs Elysées, one blaze of light and busy life; for Paris does not
awake until after dark. Far away the Arc de Triomphe is just discerned
where commences the Bois de Boulogne. On the left, across the Seine, is
outlined against the sky the twin towers of St. Clotilde, with the
glittering dome of the Invalides; and to the eastward are seen the dual
towers of Notre Dame. The brain is stimulated as by wine, till one grows
dizzy. Proceeding through the Rue Rivoli we turn towards our hotel by
the Place Vendôme, looking once more upon that vast and beautiful
monument, the finest modern column in existence, and then to bed--not to
sleep, but to revel in the intoxication of that bitter-sweet--memory!

After a few weeks passed in Paris, the journey homeward was renewed by
way of Antwerp, a city which owes its attraction almost solely to the
fact that here are to be seen so many masterpieces of painting. The
great influence of Rubens can hardly be appreciated without a visit to
the Flemish capital, where he lived and died, and where his ashes rest
in the Church of St. Jacques. This is considered the finest church in
Antwerp, remarkable for the number and richness of its private chapels.
Here are the burial-places of the noble and wealthy families of the
past, and among them that of the Rubens family, which is situated just
back of the high altar. Above the tomb is a large painting by this
famous master, intended to represent a Holy Family, and the picture is
in a degree typical of the idea. But its object is also well understood
as being to perpetuate a series of likenesses of the Rubens family;
namely, of himself, his two wives, his daughter, his father, and
grandfather. The painting is incongruous, and in bad taste, being quite
open also to criticism in its drawing and grouping. The whole production
appears like a forced and uncongenial effort. Vandyke and Teniers were
also natives of this city, where their best works still remain, and
where the State has erected fitting monuments to their memory. Jordeans,
the younger Teniers, and Denis Calvart, the master of Guido Reni, were
natives here.

The famous cathedral, more picturesque and remarkable for its exterior
than interior, is of the pointed style, and of about a century in age.
Did it not contain Rubens' world-renowned pictures, the Descent from
the Cross, the Elevation of the Cross, and the Assumption, few people
would care to visit it. A gorgeous church ceremony was in progress when
we first entered the church: some one of the three hundred and
sixty-five saints receiving an annual recognition on the occasion of his
birthday. A score of priests were marching about the body of the church
at the head of a long procession of boys, with silk banners and burning
candles, chanting all the while to an organ accompaniment. On the
borders of this procession the people knelt and seemed duly impressed.

The patter of wooden shoes upon the streets is almost deafening to
strangers, men, women, and children adding to the din. Probably it is
found to be cheaper to take a block of wood and hew out a pair of shoes
from it, fit to wear, than to adopt a more civilized mode of shoeing the
people; but these heavy clogs give to the inhabitants an awkward gait.
In all of the older portions of the town, the houses have a queer way of
standing with their gable ends to the street, just as they are addicted
to doing at Amsterdam and Hamburg, showing it to be a Dutch proclivity.
Dogs are universally used here for light vehicles in place of
donkeys,--one or more being attached to each vehicle adapted to the
transportation of milk or bread and other light articles. These are
attended by boys or women. Beggars there are none, to the credit of the
city be it said; nor is one importuned by hackmen or other public
servants; all are ready to serve you, but none to annoy you. Antwerp has
some fine broad squares, avenues, public gardens, and noble trees.

Belgium is a nation of blondes, in strong contrast with its near
neighbor, France, where the brunettes reign supreme. It is singular that
there should be such a marked difference in communities, differences as
definite as geographical boundaries, and seemingly governed by rules
quite as arbitrary. Why should a people's hair, eyes, and complexion be
dark or light, simply because an imaginary line divides them
territorially? No one for a moment mistakes a German for a Frenchman, an
Antwerp lady for a Parisian. The very animals seem to partake of these
local characteristics, while the manners and customs are equally
individualized. The French women of all classes put on their attire with
a dainty grace that contrasts strongly with the careless, though cleanly
costume of their sisters over the border. Æsthetic taste, indeed, would
seem almost out of place displayed upon the square, solidly-built women
of Flanders. Is it imagination, or can one really trace somewhat of the
same idea in Flora's kingdom? The Dutch roses, tulips, and other
flowers, like the naval architecture of the Low Countries, have a
certain breadth of beam and bluntness of prow that makes them differ
from the same fragrant family of France. Has any learned essayist ever
attempted to draw philosophical deductions from these aspects of the
vegetable world, as showing local kinship to humanity?

Embarking from Antwerp, July 14th, on board the Steamship Waesland, of
the Red Star Line, New York was reached after a voyage of twelve days,
July 24th, and Boston by the Shore Line the same evening, coming in at
the opposite side of the city whence we started a little more than ten
months previous; having thus, in a journey of about forty thousand
miles, completed a circuit of the globe.