cheered the eye. People were going into and coming out of the town, on
horseback and on foot, and the human movement, although not great, gave
some appearance of life to that great dwelling place whose architectural
aspect was rather that of ruin and death than of progress and life.
The innumerable and repulsive-looking beggars who dragged themselves on
either side of the road, asking the obolus from the passer-by, presented
a pitiful spectacle. It would be impossible to see beings more in
harmony with, or better suited to the fissures of that sepulchre in
which a city was not only buried but gone to decay. As our travellers
approached the town, a discordant peal of bells gave token, with their
expressive sound, that that mummy had still a soul.

It was called Orbajosa, a city that figures, not in the Chaldean
or Coptic geography, but in that of Spain, with 7324 inhabitants, a
town-hall, an episcopal seat, a court-house, a seminary, a stock farm, a
high school, and other official prerogatives.

"The bells are ringing for high mass in the cathedral," said Uncle
Licurgo. "We have arrived sooner than I expected."

"The appearance of your native city," said the young man, examining the
panorama spread out before him, "could not be more disagreeable. The
historic city of Orbajosa, whose name is no doubt a corruption of Urbs
Augusta, looks like a great dunghill."

"All that can be seen from here is the suburbs," said the guide, in
an offended tone. "When you enter the Calle Real and the Calle de
Condestable, you will see handsome buildings, like the cathedral."

"I don't want to speak ill of Orbajosa before seeing it," said the young