After a weary time, as we rattled along the iron way--the _ferrocarril_, as they call the railroad in Spain--the white town of Barcelona began to come into view, with its handsome outlying villas and its busy manufactories, all glowing in the bright sun, in the midst of fruitful olives and gigantic aloes. When we had reached the Station, the ever-wakeful _aduanero_ was there to welcome us in his own peculiar way. A smile, a joke, the offer of a cigarette, and the title of _Señor_ to the dirty functionary, produced the usual satisfactory effects, and we were dismissed with a polite salute before even the Inspector arrived. Without the loss of a moment's time, we were seated on the knifeboard of an omnibus, which immediately began to wend its way through the pretty boulevards of the city, and amidst the gay houses flaunting with bright blinds and awnings, which look down on a beautiful double line of plane trees forming a grateful avenue in the midst. The Fonda de las Cuatro Naciones is a charming hotel in every respect, perhaps the best in Spain. Several of our countrymen had taken up their quarters here before us, and, according to custom, had made themselves remarkable by what we may call, if not the usual, at least the travelling peculiarities of the Briton _en voyage_. In the streets of Barcelona we again came across the Britisher prowling about as usual, looking very shy and miserable, the expression of his countenance seeming to say that he would be very grateful to any one who would tell him what to do with himself. Why is it that so many Englishmen creep about foreign towns as if they were ashamed of themselves--as if they were anxious to avoid the human eye, or had committed some awful crime? [Illustration: [++] Decorative Image] CHAPTER XVII. BARCELONA.--HISTORICAL REMINISCENCES.--CASTLE OF MONJUICH.--THE CATHEDRAL.--THE GRAND OPERA.--THE PLAZA DE TOROS.--THE LITTLE ROPE-WALKER.--MONTSERRAT.