The peasantry and the owners of the soil live on terms of the greatest amity and contentment. The distinction of class is recognised in no way that produces the slightest bitterness or heartburnings. For long years the happy islanders, separated from the rest of the world, have regarded each other as one family. They seem to care little, and even to know little, of other nations, or even of the country of which their island is one of the provinces. Absorbed in their patriarchal mode of existence, estranged in their habits and mode of life from their fellow-subjects of the peninsula, the simple islanders know nothing of the want, the sufferings, and the crimes which have too frequently thrown a gloom over the history of larger, more enlightened, and more civilised communities. In this small and peaceful island each one regards his neighbour with a trust that is rarely betrayed. There is a constant state of contentment, disturbed by no unreasonable desires. Humble competence, won by honest labour, well and persistently done, is all that is necessary to satisfy these simple people. FOOTNOTES: [25] Mallorca, in Spanish. [26] Ancient King of Majorca. Son of Jayme I., King of Aragon, called _El Conquistador_, from having conquered Majorca from the Moors, A.D. 1229. [27] A.D. 1498. [Illustration: [++] Decorative Image] [Illustration: [++] Decorative Image] CHAPTER XII. THE VALE OF SOLLER.--CHARACTER OF THE PEOPLE.--INTRODUCTION OF THE TELEGRAPH.--SUPERSTITION OF THE PEASANTRY.--PRODUCTIONS OF THE ISLAND.--THE ROAD.--GUARDIA CIVIL.--OBLIGING LANDLADY.--BRIDGE OF LA MÀ.--BATTLE WITH THE TURKS. The Vale of Soller, some thirty miles across the island, is the most delightful excursion the tourist can make. As, of course, we had resolved to visit it, behold us twisting round the sharp corners of the narrow streets of Palma in an open carriage, drawn by a team of four splendid mules at full gallop, with the driver's whip keeping up a running fire, and the driver himself uttering volleys of yells, while the people in the street flew right and left like parting waters, and a crowd of yelping dogs pursued us. After rattling through an old Moorish arch, and over a drawbridge, we dashed into the open country. In a short time we came upon a region of gigantic olive-trees. Many centuries must have fallen upon them, for they were grey and hoar. Some of the great gnarled trunks, fifteen feet in circumference, were twisted and tortured by wayward nature into a thousand weird and uncouth shapes. These wonderful trees, old when the Moor ruled the island, have outlived many a change in its history. Since their birth, whole peoples have become dust, and dynasties have passed away. They are relics of a younger world; and as twilight falls around them, they loom with their long, lean arms and distorted trunks, gaunt and ghastly, against the dull grey air, like an assembly of ancient ghosts.