From Madridlegos to Puerto Lapiche, there is nothing to interest. The nakedness of the country is in some degree relieved by olive plantations; but the soil is generally sterile and unproductive. Agriculture, throughout all these districts, including those parts of La Mancha which are not dedicated to the best wines, is in the lowest state: the natural indolence of the inhabitants is aided by old prejudices and ridiculous usages in husbandry, which they are by no means willing to relinquish; among these, one of the most injurious to the land, is the supposed necessity for allowing animal manure to rot before it be applied to the soil; the valuable gases fly off, and the vegetable fibre alone remains. The inhabitants of this part of Spain ought to be particularly careful that their manure be applied in the most effectual way, because they possess so little of it. The greater part of the husbandry of La Mancha, and of the southern parts of Toledo, is performed by hand labour; all the animal labour required, is performed by mules; and throughout the whole of La Mancha, horned cattle are scarcely to be seen. Another cause of the depressed state of these districts is, that in La Mancha and the neighbouring provinces, but especially in La Mancha, there are immense tracts of crown lands, the revenues of which are appropriated in grants for military and other service; these lands are managed by stewards of the crown, who rob the people, cheat the treasury, and, in fact, turn all the revenues to their own aggrandizement. At Puerto Lapiche we are in La Mancha, and it is at this place, or at least in its neighbourhood, that the famous adventure with the windmills is placed by Cervantes; for it was immediately after its unlucky termination, that Don Quixotte and his squire approached Puerto Lapiche. It was impossible to cast the eye towards the left, and see some windmills standing upon a small elevation, without calling to mind the chivalrous tone and heroic bearing of the knight of La Mancha. “Fly not, ye base and cowardly miscreants! for he is but a single knight who now attacks you.” A little farther on, a flock of sheep grazing at the foot of a hillock, naturally reminded me of another adventure of Cervantes’ hero. “This, oh Sancho! is the day that shall manifest the great things which fortune hath in store for me,--seest thou that cloud of dust before us? the whole of it is raised by a vast army, composed of various and innumerable nations that are marching that way.”