which will give
unmistakable pleasure.

In such case you are looked for as a daily visitor; not ceremoniously,
but as using the house when in want of a more cheerful home than your
_posada_. AEolus has not yet been appointed here the arbiter of
smiles,[9] and your entrance is always the signal for the same animated
welcome. The only variation will be a good-natured remonstrance, should
your visits have undergone any interruption.

To return to my route. Aware of the inconvenience of Spanish inland
travelling, and with Seville for my object, I proceeded to Lyon. Nor had
I long to wait for the reward attendant on my choice of route. Getting
on board the steam-packet at six o'clock on an autumn morning, I
experienced at first some discouragement, from the fog, which I had not
reflected was the natural--or rather unnatural--atmosphere of that most
discouraging of all places, a prosperous manufacturing town. No sooner,
however, had we escaped, by the aid of high-pressure steam, from these
deleterious influences, than our way gradually opened before us, rather
dimly at first, but more and more clear as the sun attained height: the
banks of the Rhone having, during this time, been progressing also in
elevation and grandeur, by eight o'clock we were enjoying a rapidly
moving panorama of superb scenery.

This day's journey turned out unusually auspicious. Owing to some
favourable combination of celestial influences, (although I perceived no
one on board likely to have an astrologer in his pay,) no untoward
accident--so common on this line--befell us. No stoppages--no running
down of barges, nor running foul of bridges--nor bursting of engines.
The stream was neither too shallow, nor too full, so that we were
preserved both from running aground, and from being run away with. Our
boat was the fastest of the six which started at the same time; and one
is never ill-disposed by a speed of eighteen miles an hour, although it
may be acquired at an imminent risk of explosion.

There is many a day's journey of equal or greater beauty than the
descent of the Rhone; but I know of none which operates a more singular
effect on the senses. It is that of being transported by a leap from the
north to the south of Europe. The Rhone valley, in fine weather, enjoys
a southern climate, while all the region to the north of Lyon is marked
by the characteristics of the more northern provinces. That town itself,
with its smoke, its gloom, and its