turesque even than last night. Standing on
the bridge we looked down upon the dry bed of the river far below. The
altars of the chestnut-roasters were cold and dead; the demons absent.
But even at that moment there came down a small band of them to rake out
fires and prepare for action.

The ancient houses on either side make this view from the bridge one of
the most remarkable in the world. These rose straight from the
river-bed, and where water still ran their outlines were reflected:
houses looking old enough to date from the days of the deluge: a huge
mass once white, now yellow, brown and black with weather and age. All
the windows seemed to have been taken out, resulting in that curious air
of unglazed wreck and ruin so often seen in warm latitudes. Countless
balconies adorned with flowers and coloured draperies hung over the
water. Above all rose the outlines of the cathedral and other churches
in the background with striking effect. The distant view was closed in
by the winding river, where the houses on both sides appeared to join
hands. Just beyond this we had stood last night listening to the
rustling of the reeds, lost in the scene so vividly reflected by the
lurid glare of the torches.

[Illustration: STREET IN GERONA.]

People were gradually waking up and opening their stalls. All down the
long thoroughfare were more ancient and massive arcades, hardly noticed
last night in the restless crowd. In this country _par excellence_ of
arcades we had never seen such as these.

"Gerona is a discovery," said H. C. for the twentieth time. "The view
from this bridge is something to dream about. Yet one longs for sunshine
and lights and shadows. Remarkable as the scene is, it is a study in
grey. We want contrast."

But the town had more wonders in reserve, when presently our host's son
joined us and pointed out the hidden treasures of the narrow tortuous
streets. Houses with gabled ends, tiled roofs and windows ornamented
with magnificent wrought ironwork; the true tone of antiquity over
all--as yet unspoilt. Gerona, in its dying prosperity, has, like
Segovia, escaped the ravages of the restorer. Its substantial mansions
are firm and steadfast as in the far gone Middle Ages.

The irregularities of the place add to its charm. Built on rising
ground, the streets are a pilgrimage of rough, uneven, picturesque
steps. From these, narrow openings lead into many a _cul-de-sac_ crowded
with ancient outlines that are no