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 hanging ledges; higher and higher rise the tiny cubes of the white which tremble on the brink; deeper and deeper flows the Guadalevin, until at last our progress is arrested by rude natural barriers. We have seen enough, and gladly ascend to gayer scenes and brighter sunshine. My antique companion, in response to my wish to look upon the gorge from one of the houses on the brink, knocks at a door, makes known my desire. Thereupon we are conducted by the mistress of the house to a rear balcony or terrace. As I anticipated, it did indeed command a superb prospect.

OUR GUIDE

A RONDEÑO

Through the noble arch of the Spanish Bridge we look out at the verdant Vega, refreshed by the waters of the Guadalevin which we see just escaping from a dozen tiny mills. The path by which we first approached the city is now plainly discernible,