 my brother nationals walk up and down the Prado of a Sunday, with sticks in their hands, cudgelling all the suspicious characters, and it is our common practice to scour the streets at night, and then if we meet any person who is obnoxious to us, we fall upon him, and with a knife or a bayonet generally leave him wallowing in his blood on the pavement: no one but a national would be permitted to do that.

Myself.—Of course none but persons of liberal opinions are to be found amongst the nationals?

Baltasar.—Would it were so!  There are some amongst us, Don Jorge, who are no better than they should be; they are few, however, and for the most part well known.  Theirs is no pleasant life, for when they mount guard with the rest they are scouted, and not unfrequently cudgelled.  The law compels all of a certain age either to serve in the army or to become national soldiers on which account some of these Godos are to be found amongst us.

Myself.—Are there many in Madrid of the Carlist opinion?

Baltasar.—Not among the young people; the greater part of the Madrilenian Carlists capable of bearing arms departed long ago to join the ranks of the factious in the Basque provinces.  Those who remain are for the most part grey-beards and priests, good for nothing but to assemble in private coffee-houses, and to prate treason together.  Let them prate, Don Jorge; let them prate; the destinies of Spain do not depend on the wishes of ojalateros and pasteleros, but on the hands of stout gallant nationals like myself and friends, Don Jorge.

Myself.—I am sorry to learn from your lady mother, that you are strangely dissipated.

Baltasar.—Ho, ho, Don Jorge, she has told you that, has she; what would you have, Don Jorge?  I am young, and young blood will have its course.  I am called Baltasar the gay by all the other nationals, and it is on account of my gaiety and the liberality of my opinions that I am so popular among them.  When I mount guard I invariably carry my guitar with me, and then there is sure to be a function at the guard-house.  We send for wine, Don Jorge, and the nationals become wild, Don Jorge, dancing and drinking through the night, whilst Baltasarito strums the guitar and sings them songs of Germania:

“Una romi sin pachi
Le peno á su chindomar,” &c., &c.

That is Gitano, Don Jorge; I learnt it from the
