After the soup, we had the _puchero_, an eminently Spanish dish, or rather the only Spanish dish--for they eat it every day from Irun to Cadiz, and reciprocally. A comfortable _puchero_ is compounded of a quarter of veal, a piece of mutton, a fowl, some pieces of a sausage stuffed full of pepper, and called _chorizo_, with allspice and other spices, slices of bacon and ham, and, to crown all, a violent tomato and saffron sauce. So much for the animal portion. The vegetable part, called _verdura_, varies with the season; but cabbages and _garbanzos_ always play a principal part. The _garbanzo_ is not much known at Paris, and I cannot define it better than "as a pea which aspires to be considered as a haricot-bean, and succeeds but too well." All this is served up in different dishes, and the ingredients then mixed up on your plate, so as to produce a _Mayonnaise_ of a complicated description and excellent flavour. This mixture will appear rather barbarous to those connoisseurs who read Carême, Brillat-Savarin, Grimat de la Reynière, and Mons. de Cussy; it has, however, its charm, and cannot fail to please the Eclectics and Pantheists. Next come fowls cooked in oil, for butter is an article unknown in Spain; trout or salt cod, roasted lamb, asparagus, and salad; and, for dessert, little macaroons, almonds browned in a frying-pan, and of a most delicious taste, with goats'-milk cheese, _queso de Burgos_, which enjoys a high reputation, that it sometimes deserves. As a finish, they bring you a set of bottles with Malaga, sherry, brandy, _aguardiente_, resembling French aniseed, and a little cup (_fuego_) filled with live cinders to light the cigarettes. Such, with a few trifling variations, is the invariable meal in all Spain. We left Astigarraga in the middle of the night. As there was no moon, there is naturally a gap in our account. We passed through the small town of Ernani, the name of which conjures up the most romantic recollections; but we did not perceive aught save a heap of huts and rubbish vaguely sketched on the obscurity. We traversed Tolosa without stopping. We saw some houses decorated with frescoes, and gigantic blazons sculptured in stone. It was market-day, and the market-place was covered with asses, mules, picturesquely harnessed, and peasants of singular and wild appearance. By dint of ascending and descending, of passing over torrents on bridges of uncemented stone, we at last reached Vergara, where we were to dine. We experienced a decided degree of satisfaction on our arrival, for we had almost forgotten the _jicara de chocolate_, which we had gulped down, half asleep, in the inn at Astigarraga. CHAPTER III. FROM VERGARA TO BURGOS. Vergara--Vittoria; the Baile National and the French Hercules--The Passage of Pancorbo--The Asses and the Greyhounds--Burgos--A Spanish Fonda--Galley Slaves in Cloaks--The Cathedral--The Coffer of the Cid.