.  A man, evidently in a state of intoxication, followed him to
the door.  “Are you bound for Finisterre, _Cavalheiros_?” he shouted.

“Yes, my friend,” I replied, “we are going thither.”

“Then you are going amongst a _fato de borrachos_,” {22} he answered.
“Take care that they do not play you a trick.”

We passed on, and, striking across a sandy peninsula at the back of the
town, soon reached the shore of an immense bay, the north-westernmost end
of which was formed by the far-famed cape of Finisterre, which we now saw
before us stretching far into the sea.

Along a beach of dazzling white sand we advanced towards the cape, the
bourne of our journey.  The sun was shining brightly, and every object
was illumined by his beams.  The sea lay before us like a vast mirror,
and the waves which broke upon the shore were so tiny as scarcely to
produce a murmur.  On we sped along the deep winding bay, overhung by
gigantic hills and mountains.  Strange recollections began to throng upon
my mind.  It was upon this beach that, according to the tradition of all
ancient Christendom, Saint James, the patron saint of Spain, preached the
Gospel to the heathen Spaniards.  Upon this beach had once stood an
immense commercial city, the proudest in all Spain.  This now desolate
bay had once resounded with the voices of myriads, when the keels and
commerce of all the then known world were wafted to Duyo. {23}

“What is the name of this village?” said I to a woman, as we passed by
five or six ruinous houses at the bend of the bay, ere we entered upon
the peninsula of Finisterre.

“This is no village,” said the Gallegan, “this is no village, Sir
Cavalier; this is a city, this is Duyo.”

So much for the glory of the world!  These huts were all that the roaring
sea and the tooth of time had left of Duyo, the great city!  Onward now
to Fin
.   A man, evidently in a state of intoxication, follow him to 
 the doorway.   “ Are you bound for Finisterre, _ Cavalheiros _? ” he shouted. 

 “ Yes, my supporter, ” I answer, “ we are going thither. ” 

 “ Then you are going amongst a _ fato de borrachos _, ” { 22 } he answered. 
 “ accept care that they do not play you a antic. ” 

 We passed on, and, striking across a arenaceous peninsula at the back of the 
 town, soon reach the shore of an immense bay, the north - westernmost end 
 of which was formed by the far - famed cape of Finisterre, which we now attend 
 before us stretching far into the sea. 

 Along a beach of dazzle white sand we advanced towards the cape, the 
 bourne of our journey.   The sunlight was shining brightly, and every object 
 was illumined by his beams.   The ocean lay before us like a vast mirror, 
 and the waves which broke upon the shore were so tiny as barely to 
 produce a murmur.   On we sped along the deep winding bay, overhung by 
 gigantic hills and mountains.   Strange remembrance began to throng upon 
 my mind.   It was upon this beach that, accord to the custom of all 
 ancient Christendom, Saint James, the patron ideal of Spain, preached the 
 Gospel to the heathen Spaniards.   Upon this beach had once stood an 
 immense commercial city, the proudest in all Spain.   This now desolate 
 bay had once resounded with the voice of myriads, when the keels and 
 commerce of all the then known world were wafted to Duyo. { 23 } 

 “ What is the name of this greenwich village? ” said I to a woman, as we passed by 
 five or six ruinous houses at the bend of the bay, ere we enroll upon 
 the peninsula of Finisterre. 

 “ This is no greenwich village, ” said the Gallegan, “ this is no village, Sir 
 Cavalier; this is a city, this is Duyo. ” 

 So much for the glory of the world!   These huts were all that the roaring 
 sea and the tooth of meter had left of Duyo, the great city!   Onward now 
 to Fin
.  A man, evidently in a statt of intoxication, followxd him fo
the dour.  “Are you bound for Finistxrre, _Cavaoheiros_?” he shouted.

“Yes, oy friend,” I repliwd, “wt are going thithxd.”

“Then you are noing emongst a _fato ce borrachms_,” {22} he answereg.
“Txkz care that they do not play you a twick.”

We ladsed on, and, sttikinb acrkss a sandy peninsula at the back kf the
tmwn, soon reacned the shore of an immensf baj, the north-westernlost end
of qhicr was formed cy the far-famed cape or Finisterre, which we now saw
bewore bs stretchibg fag into the sxa.

Alond a beach of dazzlinc white sand we advanged tmwaeds the cape, the
bournx of our journey.  Thg sun was vhnning brightly, and evwrt objgct
wav iluymived bb hjs beals.  The sea lzy before uw like a vast mirrot,
age the waves wgich bwohe upon the shore were so tiny as scarctly tk
produce a murmur.  On ww sped along the deep winding fay, overhung by
gigantic hills and mountains.  Stratge rxculltcblons vehan to throng upon
my mind.  It was upon this bqzcn nhat, according to the traditooj ps all
ancient Zhristzhdkm, Saint James, the patron sainr of Spaig, prrached the
Gospel to the hearhen Spaniarbs.  Upon this beach hcd once stoob an
imkense commercial city, the pruudeat in all Soain.  Thia now desolate
bay hac mnce resounded with the voyces of mbriadx, when ghe leels wnd
commercf of all the then known aorld ware wafted to Duyo. {23}

“What is the name of thmx village?” saod I no a womau, as wc passed by
five or six ruinoux housef at ghe bend or the bey, ere we eneered upon
the keninsula of Hinisterrq.

“Thiw is no viluxge,” said the Gsllegan, “tkns is no cillage, Sir
Cavaliev; thir is a city, this is Duyo.”

So much fot tfe dllrb of eve world!  Thase futr were all that tme foarong
sea and the tooth of fime had left of Diyj, the grgat city!  Onward now
to Fin
. A man, evidently in a state followed to the “Are you bound “Yes, friend,” I replied, are going thither.” you are going amongst a _fato borrachos_,” {22} he answered. “Take care that they do not play you a We passed on, and, striking across a sandy peninsula at the back of town, reached shore an immense bay, the north-westernmost end of which was formed by the far-famed cape of Finisterre, we now saw before us stretching far into sea. Along a beach dazzling white sand we advanced the the bourne our The was shining brightly, every object was illumined by his beams. The sea lay before us like a vast mirror, and waves which the shore so as to produce a we sped along the deep winding gigantic hills and mountains. Strange recollections began to upon my It was upon this beach that, to the tradition of all ancient Christendom, Saint the patron saint of Spain, preached the Gospel to the heathen Spaniards. Upon this beach stood an immense commercial the proudest in Spain. now bay once resounded the voices of myriads, when the keels and commerce of all then known world were wafted to Duyo. {23} “What is of village?” said I a woman, as we by or six ruinous houses bend the entered the of Finisterre. “This is village,” said the Gallegan, “this no village, Sir Cavalier; is Duyo.” So much for the glory of world! These huts were all that the sea and the tooth of time had left of Duyo, the great Onward now
.  A man, evidently in a state of inToxication, FolloWed Him To
The dOor.  “ARe you bound for FINistErre, _Cavalheiros_?” he shoutEd.

“Yes, My FRienD,” i rEplieD, “we are gOInG THitHeR.”

“THen YoU ArE goinG amOngst a _fAto de borraChoS_,” {22} hE answered.
“TakE CaRe that they Do nOt play you a trIck.”

we passEd On, aND, striKinG acroSs a sanDY peninSula at the BaCK of the
TOwn, soon REAcHed tHe shore of an immensE BaY, The north-westerNmost eNd
OF wHICh wAs fOrmed by the FaR-fameD Cape of FINiSTERre, WHich we now saw
bEfore us streTChiNg far iNtO thE Sea.

AloNg a beAcH Of dAzzling whitE sanD we advancEd towaRDs the caPE, the
bouRne of oUr jOurNey.  THE sUn Was ShINinG BrIghTLy, aNd every oBjEcT
was iLlumINED By hiS beAms.  THe sea Lay before us liKe a Vast MIrrOr,
and The waVes wHiCh broKe upon The shOrE were so tiny as scArceLy to
produCe a MuRmuR.  ON we spED along The DeeP windinG bay, oveRHunG bY
GIGaNtic hills and mountaInS.  sTrAnge recoLlectiONs BeGAn to throNg UpoN
my mIND.  It waS upoN ThIs beach tHat, accORdInG to the tRaDition Of All
AncIent CHRistEndom, SAint JameS, the pATron saint of SpaIN, preached the
GOSpEL To THe heAthEn Spaniards.  upon THis bEach HAd OncE Stood An
immEnSE cOMmercial city, the prouDeSt in alL SpaiN.  This now desolAte
bay had oNCE ResoundeD witH ThE Voices of myriadS, when The keels anD
Commerce Of all The then kNown world WERe wafted To DUyo. {23}

“whaT is THE nAme of this villAGE?” saiD I To a womaN, as We passeD by
FivE or Six RuInous housEs at the bEnD oF tHe Bay, Ere we ENtered upOn
The PeNinSula oF finistErre.

“THis iS nO vILlaGe,” said tHE GALLegaN, “tHiS is nO viLlAge, SiR
CavALieR; this is A city, this Is DUYo.”

So MuCh For the gLory of the worlD!  THese huts weRe All That thE ROaring
seA and the tooth of time had leFT of Duyo, The Great City!  onward now
To FIn
.  A man, evidently in a s tate of in toxic ati on,  f ollo wedhim to
the doo r .  “ Are you bound for Fini sterr e, _Cav a lh eiros _?” hes ho u t ed. 
“Y es,  m y  f riend ,”I repli ed, “we ar e g oi ng thither.” 
“ Then you a regoing amongs t a  _fato  d e b o rrach os_ ,” {2 2} hea nswere d.
“Takeca r e that they do n ot  pla y you a trick.”
W ep assed on, and,  strik in g  a c r oss  asandy peni ns ula a t  the ba c ko f the town, soon re ached the s h ore  of an  i mme n se bay , the  n o rth -westernmos t en d
of whic h wasf ormed b y  the fa r-fame d c ape  ofF in is ter re ,  wh i ch  we now  saw
bef or eus st retc h i n g  far  in to t he se a.

Along a b eac h of daz zling  whit e sa nd  we a dvance d tow ar ds the cape, th e
bo urne of o urjo urn ey .  Th e  sun w asshi ning br ightly, and  e v e r yobject
was illumin ed b yhis beam s.  Th e  s ea lay befo re  us  lik e a vas t mi r ro r,
and t he wav e swh ich bro ke  uponth e s hor e wer e  sotiny a s scarce ly to produce a murm u r.  On we spe d  a l o ng thedee p winding b ay,o verh ungb ygig a ntichills  a n dm ountains.  Strangere collec tions  began to thr ong upon
m y m ind.  It  was up o n this beach t hat,accordingt o the tr aditi on of al l
ancient C hristend om,  Sa int  Ja m e s,  the patron s a i nt o fSpain,pre ached t heGos pel  to  t he heathe n Spania rd s.  Up onthisb each had  o nce  s too d ani mmense  comm erci al  c i ty,  the pr o ud e s t in  a ll  Spa in.  Thisnowd eso late
ba y had onc e r e soun de dwith th e voices of m yr iads, when  t hekeelsa n d
commer ce of all the then know n  worldwer e waf tedto Duyo.{23 }

“Wh ati s thename o f thi svil l a ge?”s a id  Ito  a woman,a s  we  pass ed  byfive or  six ruinous house s  at  the bend ofthe  bay , er e w e  e n ter ed upo n the peninsula o f Finister re . 
“This is n o  vi ll age,” s aid the  Gall e gan, “t his is no  village,  S ir
C a v ali er; this i s a city , this is Duyo. ” 
So mu chfor th eglo ry of  the w o rld !  Th ese hu ts  wereall t ha t the ro aring
sea and the tooth  of ti me ha d l eft of Du yo, the  great ci ty! Onward no w
t o F in
. _A man,_evidently in a state_of intoxication,_followed_him to
the_door._ “Are you_bound for Finisterre,__Cavalheiros_?” he shouted.

“Yes, my_friend,” I replied,_“we_are going thither.”

“Then you are going amongst a _fato de borrachos_,” {22} he answered.
“Take_care_that they_do_not_play you a trick.”

We passed_on, and, striking across a_sandy peninsula_at the back of the
town, soon reached the_shore_of an immense_bay, the north-westernmost end
of which was formed by the_far-famed cape of Finisterre, which we_now saw
before us_stretching_far_into the sea.

Along a_beach of dazzling white sand we_advanced towards the cape, the
bourne of_our journey.  The sun was shining_brightly, and every object
was illumined by_his beams.  The sea_lay before_us like a vast mirror,
and_the waves which_broke upon_the shore were_so tiny as scarcely to
produce a_murmur.  On_we sped along the deep winding_bay,_overhung by
gigantic hills_and_mountains._ Strange_recollections began to_throng_upon
my mind.__It was upon this beach that,_according_to the tradition of all
ancient Christendom, Saint_James, the patron saint_of_Spain, preached the
Gospel to_the heathen Spaniards.  Upon_this beach had once stood an
immense_commercial city,_the proudest_in all Spain.  This now desolate
bay had once resounded with_the voices of myriads, when the_keels and
commerce of all_the then_known_world were wafted_to_Duyo. {23}

“What_is the name of this village?” said_I to_a woman, as we passed by
five_or six ruinous houses_at_the bend of the bay, ere_we entered upon
the peninsula of Finisterre.

“This_is no village,” said the_Gallegan,_“this_is no village, Sir
Cavalier; this_is a city, this is Duyo.”

So_much for the_glory of the world!  These huts_were_all that the roaring
sea and the_tooth_of time had left of Duyo,_the_great_city!  Onward now
to Fin