Vittoria may at present be considered a decayed town. Ever since the war of independence, it has been a falling place; and this may be easily accounted for, from the insecurity of possessions in a town lying so near the French frontier. At the time when Napoleon threatened to annex to France all that part of Spain which lies to the north of the Ebro, many left Vittoria; and several persons exchanged their estates in that neighbourhood, for possessions farther in the interior. At present, there are numerous houses untenanted, and not a few in a state of ruin; and the manufactures of which Vittoria formerly could boast, now scarcely exist,--no one being disposed to sink capital in establishing that which the first commotion upon the frontier might be the means of destroying. I experienced some difficulties at Vittoria with my passport. I had intended to have entered Spain by Perpignan, but having changed my intention, I was in possession of only a French provisional passport, backed by the Spanish Consul at Bayonne. I was at first told, that I could not be allowed to proceed; but, upon producing a letter of recommendation, from Lord Aberdeen to Mr. Addington, the British Minister at Madrid, the difficulties were overcome, and I was permitted to proceed. I was detained two days in Vittoria, waiting a vacant place in the Madrid diligence, which I stepped into at three o’clock on the morning of the third day; and, after a few hours’ drive through a well-cultivated corn country, we reached _Miranda_, and, crossing the _Ebro_, entered old Castile. The Ebro is here a very insignificant stream, little resembling the majestic river which I afterwards crossed in Catalunia; but the interest with which a river is regarded, is of a borrowed kind; even where the traveller is able to step over it, it is invested with a dignity commensurate with its future destinies. But the Ebro, even if it were possible to deprive it of that charm which is common to every great river when beheld near its source, has claims peculiarly its own; it is full of historic recollections--it gave its name to the whole of ancient Spain--and memory, set sail upon its waters, floats towards the empires of Carthage and of Rome. And the Ebro possesses still another source of interest to all who visit Spain; for it is upon its banks that we are first reminded of the exploits of the valorous Knight of La Mancha, and of the undying genius of Cervantes,--one of whose happiest inventions is the fancy of his hero, that his boat, floating down the Ebro, has crossed the equinoctial; and the proof of this, which he demands of Sancho.