Castilleja de la Cuesta 



Cuesta of a crusty old man, who, finding I came from 

 Seville, scolded me severely for coming so much out of 

 the right road, as if it was anything to him. What dis- 

 concerted me more than the snarling of the old man was, 

 that all the dogs barked after me as I passed through the 

 village, indicating that there was something peculiar and 

 suspicious about my appearance. 



The aloe-bordered lane into which I had turned ran 

 along the brow of the hill, and after about half a league 

 descended into Castilleja, a pretty little village (where 

 Fernando Cortez departed this life, as I since found in 

 the guide-book, which I should have done better to study 

 before I set out), in a hollow of the cuesta (hill-side). 

 Here I met a beggar, and asked my way to Santi Ponce. 

 Reflecting that I should not have inquired of such a person 

 if I had overtaken instead of meeting him, I amused myself 

 by fashioning the reason why into a refrain : — 



No preguntes tu caraino 



De mezquino — 

 Que quiza has de tenerlo 



Compaiiero. 



Never, in asking your way, 



Question a tatterdemalion, 

 Who, on informing you, may 



Offer to be your companion. 



\ 

 Turning to the left at the lower end of the village, the 

 path slanted across abruptly-undulating spurs of the cuesta, 

 down toward the plain again ; and descending upon Cama, 

 the tall towers of Santi Ponce's convent appeared about 

 four miles to the north. I had heard that there was a little 

 village about half a mile beyond the convent, and there I 



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