“Now as to work?" I asked. “Well we don’t do too much in that way. We cultivate what we need over there where the river runs. We make bricks for the towns where the people live in houses."--Truly a picture of an enviable state of modest requirements. There are still those who are satisfied with the tub of Diogenes. Indeed you may find many such all over Spain. I remember when at a little railway station finding only a lad deep in his after-dinner nap. For the rest, there was no one else to take my luggage, so I woke him up and asked him to help me. He stretched himself in all the bliss of laziness, took a couple of coppers out of his pocket, and showing them to me said: “I’ve earned 25 centimos to-day already; that’s all I need," turned over, and went to sleep again. I continued on my way recalling the words of the Indian philosopher: “He who is without wants is nearest to God." There is no cause to shrug one’s shoulders. Diligence and happiness are but relative conceptions. And just the poorest in Spain understand the art of doing nothing combined with extracting joy from next to nothing. They need a little shade in summer, and the sunshine in winter; a piece of bread, a tomato, a drop of wine. The whole earth with the sky for a roof is their bed-room; the highroad their field of labour. There is no master they would exchange positions with; they are their own masters; masters of their own time--verily a great possession this. Why then should they not spend it generously? “He whom God helps will go further than he who rises betimes" runs a Spanish proverb. And the Bible tells us: “Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them." * * * * * =Feria in Sepúlveda.=--A bull-fight. There is high holiday in Sepúlveda, (172, 173) an ancient little town far from the turmoil of the great world, and far even from the railroad, which indeed is nearly 100 kilometres away. The feria is the greatest day of the whole year. Men and women crowd into the place on horses and donkeys. Old friends meet again. Once more they see ‘life’. Above all it is the bull-fight that is the greatest attraction. It has been for weeks already the only topic worth speaking about. As however our little town has no arena, the market-place is used instead. All day the lively rat-tat of hammers is heard there. The windows of the picturesque dignified old town-hall gaze smilingly down on the lively scene. At last there is really something worth looking at again. Another long tedious sleepy year has gone by. There is hardly any one who does not go the hour’s walk outside the town to admire the bulls which have come from a long way off, and for the present are being kept at pasture. When the great day has come, every one is up with the sun. The arrival of the savage animals is feverishly expected. The bravest show their courage by going forth to meet the procession.