The principal town gateway, that of Sta. Maria, is close to the cathedral; its rear is a very simple but massive work of the thirteenth century, and rather Italian in its design. The front facing the Prado and the river was so much altered by Charles V. that it is doubtful whether any of the old work remains; it is now a very picturesque jumble of circular towers and turrets, battlemented and crenellated, and looking rather like one of those mediæval castles which are seen either in an illumination, or in a canopy over a figure in stained glass, than like a real and useful fortified gateway. It will be seen how full of interest to the ecclesiologist Burgos is. My notes are, I have no doubt, not by any means exhaustive; and I have equally little doubt that one who had more time at his disposal would discover much more than I found; besides which, I was under the impression, when I was at Burgos, that the Monastery of San Pedro de Cardeña, so intimately connected with the story of the Cid, and where he lay peacefully till the French invasion, had been entirely destroyed, whereas, in truth, I believe the church founded in the thirteenth century still remains; and, if so, must certainly reward examination. It is but a few miles from Burgos. The great promenade here is along the river-side, where the houses are all new, bald, and uninteresting; but the back streets are picturesque, and there is a fine irregularly-shaped Plaza, surrounded by arcades in front of the shops, where are to be found capital blankets and _mantas_, useful even in the hottest weather if any night travelling is to be undertaken, and invariably charming in their colour. CHAPTER III. PALENCIA--VALLADOLID. It was after a day of hard work at Miraflores, Las Huelgas, and Burgos, taking last looks and notes, that we drove to the railway station _en route_ for Palencia. Castile does not improve on acquaintance, and, so far as I could judge in the hurried views obtained from the railway-carriage, we missed nothing by moving apace. The railroad follows the broad valley of the Arlanzon, bounded on either side by hills of moderate height, occasionally capped with sharp cones and peaks, but everywhere of an invariable whitish-grey colour, which soon wearies the eye unspeakably. The few villages seen from the valley seemed generally to occupy the slopes of the hills, and to have large, shapeless, and unattractive churches. Indeed, it is not possible to go very far in Spain without feeling either that Spanish architects seldom cared for the external effect of their buildings, or that whatever they did has been ruthlessly spoilt in later days. Even in a city like Burgos this is the case, and of course it is even more so in villages and smaller towns.