It was four o'clock of a beautiful morning that we sallied from Astorga, or rather from the suburbs in which we had been lodged; we directed our course to the north in the direction of Galicia. Leaving the mountain Telleno on our left, we passed along the eastern skirts of the land of the Maragatos over broken uneven ground, enlivened here and there by small green valleys and runs of water. Several of the Maragato women mounted on donkeys passed us on their way to Astorga whither they were carrying vegetables; we saw others in the fields handling their rude ploughs drawn by lean oxen; we likewise passed through a small village in which we however saw no living soul. Near this village we entered the high road which leads direct from Madrid to Corunna, and at last having travelled near four leagues we came to a species of pass formed on our left by a huge lumpish hill (one of those which descend from the great mountain Telleno), and on our right by one of considerably less altitude. In the middle of this pass which was of considerable breadth, a noble view opened itself to us. Before us, at the distance of about a league and a half, rose the mighty frontier chain of which I have spoken before; its blue sides and broken and picturesque peaks still wearing a thin veil of the morning mist, which the fierce rays of the sun were fast dispelling. It seemed an enormous barrier threatening to oppose our further progress, and it reminded me of the fables respecting the children of Magog, who are said to reside in remotest Tartary behind a gigantic wall of rocks which can only be passed by a gate of steel a thousand cubits in height.