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THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 



THE START FROM SEO D URGEL FOR ANDORRA 



though eating were a rite. «The revolu- 

 tionists fill the streets at 5 o'clock and the 

 government is freshly torn down with 

 each fresh edition ; and from dinner time 

 until that hour in the morning when the 

 last reveler nods sleepily to bed, the cafe 

 concerts thump and squeal, and trams 

 rattle and taxis hoot, and an unending 

 stream of blind operators upon instru- 

 ments of music stops before the restaurant 

 terraces while their maimed agents clash 

 coppers in little pans. The pan, it ap- 

 pears, serves as a cash register. The 

 clank of a copper in the tin never fails to 

 register on the sensitive musical ear, no 

 matter with what fervor its owner may 

 be attacking a difficult harmony. De- 

 cidedly, 6 o'clock in the morning has its 

 somnolent attractions in Barcelona. It is 

 cool then and the streets are wide and 

 empty, and quiet comes to one as a balm. 



TRAVELING IN THE SORT OF CART IM- 

 MORTALIZED BY DON QUIXOTE 



At Ripoll a carrier's cart, of the sort 

 that was cursed and immortalized by 

 Don Quixote, waited. It had the body 

 of a prairie schooner swung on two 



wheels, while beneath the axle a net car- 

 ried such baggage as could not be thrust 

 upon the laps of the passengers or roped 

 on the conveyance somewhere above the 

 water line. We climbed in through a 

 gate at the rear and sat facing each 

 other, eight of us, all knees rubbing and 

 all voices going at once. Later on the 

 trunk of the boy who lived in Andorra 

 and was on his way home from his first 

 venture in the world was tied across this 

 gate. Then we climbed in and out of the 

 front end by clinging to the shaft and 

 the harness of the rightfully dissatisfied 

 wheel mule. 



One was compelled to sympathize with 

 this cynical beast. He did his part — one 

 would say that he overdid his part — and 

 certainly tugged quite as stoutly as did 

 either of the horses that led the caravan. 

 But the old man who drove the cart had 

 two whips — one for the horses and one 

 for the mule. The horse whip was a 

 long and ornamental affair, with which 

 he flicked at the rumps of the lead team ; 

 but the mule whip was a short, stout, 

 business-like bludgeon, with which he 

 battered that unfortunate. When the 



