While the mules were being changed, we ran to the market to lay in a stock of oranges and to take ices, or rather lemon snow batter, at one of those refreshment shops which are met with in the open air, and which are as common in Spain as wine-shops are in France. Instead of drinking pots of bad wine and _goes_ of brandy, the peasants and market-women take a _bebida helada_, which does not cost more, and which does not, at all events, get into their heads to besot their intellects. The absence of drunkenness renders the people of the lower class much superior to the corresponding class in those countries of ours, which we fancy to be civilized. The name of Aranjuez, which is composed of two words, _ara_ and _Jovis_, tells us pretty plainly that this edifice is built on the site of an ancient temple of Jupiter. We had not time to visit the interior of it, but this we do not regret, for all palaces are alike. Such, too, is the case with courtiers; originality is to be met with but among the people, and the rabble only appear to have preserved the privilege of being poetical. The scenery from Aranjuez to Ocaña is picturesque, without, however, being very remarkable. Hills of graceful form, well developed by the light, rise on each side of the route, and when the eddies of dust in which the diligence is running, like a god wrapped up in his cloud, are cleared away by a favourable breath of air, they present you with a very pleasant sight. The roads, though badly kept, are in pretty good order, thanks to this wonderful climate, where it hardly ever rains, and to the scarcity of vehicles, nearly all the carrying being done by beasts of burden only.