A little before sunset, I climbed to the summit of a neighbouring height, to catch, if possible, a view of the Sierra Nevada,--the snowy Sierra of Granada--touched by the rosy light of evening; but just as I had climbed high enough to descry the summit of the range, a large, lean, and ferocious sheep dog made towards me, and I was satisfied to purchase an escape, at the expense of losing my labour. The ascent of this height had separated me a considerable distance from the gallera; and I still loitered behind, gathering the woodbine,--the first I had seen in Spain,--that grew profusely by the way side, until reminded of the propriety of joining my companions by the approaching dusk, and by a glimpse of two suspicious-looking men, who eyed me very scrutinizingly from a bank upon which they were sitting. Soon after overtaking the gallera, we crossed a rapid stream, by a deep, and rather dangerous ford; and after dark, we arrived at the Venta de Casin, our refuge for the night. At the same time with ourselves, another gallera arrived from Granada, so that the venta overflowed with travellers, and three quartos were all the accommodation it afforded. Very different is the reception which the traveller meets with at a Spanish venta, or even posada, and at an English inn. At the Spanish posada, no bustling waiter with his clean napkin, bows you into the house; no smart _demoiselle_ drops a curtesy, and leads the traveller forward with the glance of her black eyes. In the Spanish posada, the traveller is welcomed by nobody,--is never asked his pleasure, or what are his wants; he is left to feel his way along a stone wall; and is at last directed to the kitchen by a glare of light from the fire, which is kindled on the floor. It is a curious fact too, that the rank of the traveller makes no difference in his reception. There is not one kind of welcome for the gentleman traveller, another for the diligence traveller, and another for the visitor of low degree. All ranks find one level in a Spanish posada: no separate tables are set; no distinctive honours are paid; there is no scale of civility; the caballero, the merchant, the muleteer, is alike left to shift for himself.