The outline of these mountains was bold and their scenery grand. Their sides and summits were studded throughout with towns, embosomed in the vast woods of chestnuts. They loomed beautiful and picturesque in the different intervals, and it wanted only water to render it an Elysium upon earth. After keeping this in view for several miles, and through a narrow and precipitous track, we came to a line of mountain scenery where the hills were altogether barren, except where, far down their sides, the corn fields were planted, where the road was much worse. We saw another town which went by the name of Gaucin also, and had a large redoubt to defend it, on its right flank; then the route circled round the mountains towards Attogate. We could not take our horses out of a foot pace, and very often I dismounted to lead mine down the craggy rocks. No horses but those shod in the Spanish fashion could manage to get through these descents. Towards the entrance of Attogate it was rather more uneven and dangerous, and I heard that one of the horsemen of the party that preceded us had been thrown. We passed through the miserable village, which was as wretched as any thing that I had ever seen even in Ireland, and went on still by a mountain path, and round by lofty hills, for about three miles. We then got sight of a very spacious plain, like an immense amphitheatre; to the west and to the east were the ranges of the Ronda hills, and to the north, as we approached, was a precipitous cliff of about two thousand feet in height, upon the summit of which was situated the town of Ronda. This seemed at the distance like a large perpendicular mass of earth. From the first place where we viewed it until our entrance to the town, the road or path was even more rugged than that which we traversed during most part of the day.