It was with real regret we left Toledo, as one leaves some rare old book, only glanced at, but enticing months' study. Notwithstanding the depressing gloom and stagnation of the old city, we loved it for its beautiful and precious monuments, and for the historic solemnity hanging round each. We Liked the people too—Cabezas our invaluable guide; our hotel-keeper; Pepa, our bright little chambermaid ; and the homely but respectful waiters, who were so slow to understand what we wanted, and so slow to bring it when understood. When you leave a Spariish Fonda there is none of that obsequious crowding round you that you find in France and England. Chambermaids and waiters never hover about you, hinting by their looks that they expect vails, but say simply “Adios, adios,” and go their ways.

But I especially dwell on the civility we met with at the Fonda de Leno, because we afterwards heard it so terribly abused. We were dining at the table d'hote at Granada, and a party of American travellers began talking of fondas in general, and of the fondas at Toledo in particular.

“I shan't easily forget the boorishness of the landlord,” said one; “I really thought he would have turned us clean out-of-doors. Why, we civilly asked what there was for breakfast, and he said ‘Eel and chops,’ and turned on his heel without asking which we chose to have! And what cooking! everything tasted of tomatoes and garlic!”