In Portugal one feels the spirit of the South. The men are exceedingly small in stature, their hair black and their eyes quick in movement. The women, like many of the Oriental people, are beautiful in girlhood and young womanhood, but the hot, scorching sun soon dries them into old and ugly women. Even the women of the peasant class are remarkably beautiful, with their dark, bewitching eyes, long black silky hair and trim figures. The peddling on the streets is done by women. They wear large ear-rings and big bracelets around ankles and wrists. Their dress is of the simplest, and they wear neither shoes nor hats. On their heads they carry large flat baskets, loaded with their wares, and on every street one can hear them crying their goods and wares to the passing public. The principal beasts of burden in Portugal are donkeys and oxen. Of course, horses and mules are used, but they are for the richer classes. The wagons are pulled by oxen, sometimes four and six in hand. One car line in Lisbon is operated alone by mules and oxen. Those cars operated by electricity are generally patronized by the better living class, while the cars operated by mules are patronized by the poorer class. The shaggy ill-kept donkeys present a comical sight, with great big baskets securely tied on either side. The load often looks larger than the donkey. Once while tramping in Southern Portugal I saw a little donkey about the size of a mastiff, plodding along with two cages of chickens on either side and a woman and her babe comfortably seated on the donkey's back en route to market. One thing peculiarly common in Portugal and foreign to many other lands is the way in which the dairies are conducted. In the stores along the main thoroughfares milch cows are stalled, and when a customer arrives the proprietor simply milks the amount called for fresh from the cow. By this means the buyer is sure of the purity of the milk. Soon tiring of Portugal and its oddities, we secured tickets for Madrid, but before reaching there we had a rare experience. Leaving Lisbon about 9:30 we arrived at a station,--Baylo,--where we should have changed cars. There the train remained some minutes and during the wait we purchased two bottles of wine and four loaves of bread. The train moved slowly off, so being hungry, we settled comfortably back into our seats and soon fell to. As we were preparing to take our afternoon smoke, the conductor came around to collect the tickets. On looking at ours he told us we were on the wrong train. By this time we were some twenty-five miles from Baylo.