One of the most charming drives in the vicinity of Pontevedra is to Marin, a little fishing town which lies upon a crescent-shaped bay on the south-east coast of the _ria_; there is also a steam tramcar route, but it is far pleasanter to drive. Marin is a diminutive port, it has a little wharf, and is so safe and commodious that ships, all except the largest, can enter it in the most stormy weather, and its bottom affords splendid anchorage. As our carriage left the town behind us, we caught a fine view of the bridge over the Lerez, and the bull-ring near it. To our left we passed the handsome summer residence and grounds of the Marquis de Monfero Rios: here an orange grove had recently been planted, and some of the trees were laden with golden fruit; beside them was an avenue of tall pines which led up to the principal entrance of the villa. Hyacinths, nemopholi, and drooping narcissi covered the banks beneath the hedges that bordered our road as we proceeded, and behind them in the gardens were wisterias again, and camellias, and white roses creeping in profusion over the walls; but the principal feature of the whole drive was the vines; they showed as yet no signs of leaves, yet their dark knotted branches looked as if they had plenty of life in them, for tendrils were shooting all over the frames. These vines were not trained like hops on sticks, as they are in the Crimea, nor on trellis-work like those of the Austrian Tyrol, but rested upon bamboo canes from eight to twelve feet long, especially cultivated for that purpose; the cottages had bamboo brackets swinging out over their doors and lower windows to form supports for the vine branches; these make a deliciously cool covering in hot weather. The hills did not slope down to the water, but descended in terraces cut like steps; there were steps of vines, steps of corn, steps of grass, and steps of green peas; but always steps, never patches. At Marin we were kindly welcomed by some English Protestant missionaries, who do what they can to improve the condition of the poor fisherfolk; they have recently built a tasteful little chapel near their dwelling: the priests do not favour their presence, but the same liberty is accorded to them as is accorded to Mohammedans in England. At Marin numbers of fisherwomen are occupied in gathering cockles and other shell-fish on the shore; cartloads of cockles are taken up to the mountain villages, where the peasants live on them for days together. I constantly found groups of cottage children picking cockles out of their shells and making of them their mid-day repast. An excursion by boat upon the river Lerez was planned for us, but had to be abandoned on account of the rain; this is one of the most beautiful excursions that tourists can take from Pontevedra; the banks of the Lerez are thickly wooded, and are one mass of flowers and ferns in April and May.