several date from the middle of the last century, when an attempt was made by a Spanish minister to people this wilderness with the children of a foreign land. At about midday we arrived at a place called Moncloa, which consisted of a _venta_, and a desolate-looking edifice which had something of the appearance of a _château_; a solitary palm tree raised its head over the outer wall. We entered the _venta_, tied our horses to the manger, and having ordered barley for them, we sat down before a large fire, which burned in the middle of the _venta_. The host and hostess also came and sat down beside us. “They are evil people,” said the old Genoese to me in Italian, “and this is an evil house; it is a harbouring place for thieves, and murders have been committed here, if all tales be true.” I looked at these two people attentively; they were both young, the man apparently about twenty-five years of age. He was a short thick-made churl, evidently of prodigious strength; his features were rather handsome, but with a gloomy expression, and his eyes were full of sullen fire. His wife somewhat resembled him, but had a countenance more open and better tempered; but what struck me as most singular in connexion with these people, was the colour of their hair and complexion. The latter was fair and ruddy, and the former of a bright auburn, both in striking contrast to the black hair and swarthy visages which in general distinguish the natives of this province. “Are you an Andalusian?” said I to the hostess. “I should almost conclude you to be a German.” _Hostess_.—And your worship would not be very wrong. It is true that I am a Spaniard, being born in Spain; but it is equally true that I am of German blood, for my grandparents came from Germany even like those of this gentleman, my lord and husband. _Myself_.—And what chance brought your grandparents into this country? _Hostess_.—Did your worship never hear of the German colonies? There are many of them in these parts. In old times the land was nearly deserted, and it was very dangerous for travellers to journey along the waste, owing to the robbers. So a long time ago, nearly a hundred years, as I am told, some potent lord sent messengers to Germany, to tell the people there what a goodly land there was in these parts uncultivated for want of hands, and to promise every labourer who would consent to come and till it, a house and a yoke of oxen, with food and provision for one year. And in consequence of this invitation a great many poor families left the German land and came hither, and settled down in certain towns and villages which had been prepared for them, which places were called German colonies, and this name they still retain. _Myself_.—And how many of these colonies may there be?