As the train moved away from Burgos, the city and the great cathedral melted away from our sight, and we glided over the wide African-like plains and dried-up watercourses, past the stony hills which, extending to the far horizon, reflected the dazzling rays of the sun. Not a blade of grass or sprig of green was there to refresh the eye of man, or for cattle to ruminate on. No wonder the butter of the country is made of lard, or the milk we drink taken from the mare! At a little station where the train stopped, an old lady, closely hooded in black serge, and looking like the popular representation of Old Bogey, entered our carriage, together with a monk. Where they came from it was impossible to conjecture, as there was no sign of village or habitation within sight of this very purposeless station in the desert. They were attended, however, by the usual escort in vogue in this country, a portion of which immediately leapt upon us and bit us. The poor insects had made but a scanty meal of their innutritious monk, and came to us for their _chasse café_, or rather _chasse moine_. We arrived in the evening at Valladolid, once the capital town of Spain. Indeed, in spite of its position in the centre of a wide, wind-swept, sandy plain, which causes the city to be the sport of a chronic simoom, it seems to be a capital town still. For trade and agriculture the situation appears convenient, for, wonderful to say, they have got some water amidst the _tierras de campos_, which consequently yield abundant produce; added to which, the river Duero connects the city with the Atlantic--in a rather difficult and spasmodic manner, however--and the railroad maintains its commercial relations with the south and north. The name of Valladolid is supposed to be derived from the Moorish Belad Walid, or land of the Walid. This may be, however, as "our bore" said at the _table d'hôte_, "inwalid," and not to be relied upon. In the Plaza Mayor of this city, the great Alvarez de Luna, "Spain's haughty constable," was beheaded. "Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown," and how uneasy must sit the head that trusts in princes, especially old princes who marry young queens, for all sense of honour, justice, and gratitude seems to walk out of the door when uxoriousness comes in at the window. Here, in 1506, Columbus departed this life, and Philip II., the fortunate possessor of our sweet queen, Mary of England, came into it on May 21st, 1527. Here, in the sixteenth century, _auto-da-fés_ and periodical bonfires of heretics were kept up with great spirit,--one being under the especial patronage of the above-mentioned blessed monarch, upon a scale of unprecedented magnificence. Here, Cervantes lived and wrote, and here, we regret to be obliged to add, the Duke of Wellington made his public entry, and took up his residence in the bishop's palace.