We breakfasted at Mataro, a considerable and once a flourishing sea-port, famous for the excellence of its wine; and, till lately, famous for its linens and laces, which were exported to the colonies; and about mid-day we left the sea-coast, and entered the mountains. New and charming scenes awaited us in passing through these mountains to Gerona. Covered with stately pine, their sides were also clothed with the richest underwood of evergreens, flowering shrubs, and fragrant plants; among which the beautiful arbutus was particularly distinguished. After emerging from the mountains, we entered the fertile and sheltered valley of Gerona, where we arrived about sunset. This was once a place of importance, now chiefly attested in the number of its religious edifices, for here there are no fewer than thirteen churches, besides the cathedral and eleven convents. The bishopric is richer than that of Barcellona. At Gerona we supped, and slept, and set out next morning about day-break. Between Gerona and Figueras, I saw nothing that deserves to be recorded, excepting the change in temperature; a bitter wind blew off the Pyrennees, and reminded me that I had left the regions of the south behind; and when we reached Figueras I hailed a blazing fire upon the hearth, with the satisfaction of a northern traveller. The fuel here, attracted my notice; it was a thin dark cake, which, upon inquiry, I found to be the refuse of the olive, after it is pressed, and which, I have no doubt, might be given with advantage to the cattle. I learned, however, that it is not put to this purpose, though it is given to pigs and poultry. The price of this cake is sixteen reals (3_s._ 4_d._) the 100 lb. It is singular, that at this town, so near the frontier, the inn should still be in all respects, the Spanish posada: it is just as little French as the posada of Murcia or Andalusia: the fire still blazes in the middle of the floor; coffee and tea are still unattainable; and meat is to be found not in the inn, but in the market: how numerous and expressive must be the shrugs of the Frenchman who makes Figueras his first halting place. _Caffé au lait_, or _coutelettes_, are alike out of the question.