We “had heard, but not believed,” that the line of railway between Granada and Malaga, as far as Loja, was to be opened on or about the day we proposed leaving; and we determined that, if the train really ran, we would be among its fcst passengers. But oh! the dreary difficulty of learning anything from anybody about anything in Spain! We ran hither and thither, we despatched messenger after messenger, but in vain; “No sé,” I know nothing — was the invariable answer received in each ease, and the nearer the time approached, the greater seemed the uncertainty. But had it not been officially announced, and were we not bound to believe an official announcement in official Spam, however at fault individual information might be? So we quietly allowed all doubts and disbeliefs to clear from our minds, and declared our intention of proceeding to Loja by the first train, trusting to miracles that the train would run. There is nothing like trusting to miracles in Spain. You are promised that such and such a thing shall be done; you speculate anxiously, it may be, but of necessity, curiously, as to the how and the when; you wait, and wait, and wait, and without any apparent intervention, the thing grows up like the prophet's gourd.

So it was in this case. Nobody took any trouble about the train; no one seemed responsible for the starting of the train ; no one but ourselves wanted to start by the train, and yet, after all, the train went.