more particularly the notorious Sergeant Garcia.  Such an accusation will of course merely extract a smile from those who are at all acquainted with the English character, and the general line of conduct pursued by the English government.  It was a charge, however, universally believed in Spain, and was even preferred in print by a certain journal, the official organ of the silly Duke of Frias, one of the many prime ministers of the moderado party who followed each other in rapid succession towards the latter period of the Carlist and Christino struggle.  But when did a calumnious report ever fall to the ground in Spain by the weight of its own absurdity?  Unhappy land, not until the pure light of the Gospel has illumined thee wilt thou learn that the greatest of all gifts is charity.

The next day verified the prediction of the Spanish surgeon; I had to a considerable degree lost my cough and fever, though, owing to the loss of blood, I was somewhat feeble.  Precisely at twelve o’clock the horses were led forth before the door of my lodging in the Calle de Santiago, and I prepared to mount: but my black entero of Andalusia would not permit me to approach his side, and whenever I made the attempt, commenced wheeling round with great rapidity.

“C’est un mauvais signe, mon maitre,” said Antonio, who, dressed in a green jerkin, a Montero cap, booted and spurred, stood ready to attend me, holding by the bridle the horse which I had purchased from the contrabandista.  “It is a bad sign, and in my country they would defer the journey till to-morrow.”

“Are there whisperers in your country?” I demanded; and taking the horse by the mane, I performed the ceremony after the most approved fashion: the animal stood still, and I mounted the saddle, exclaiming—

“The Rommany Chal to his horse did cry,
As he placed the bit in his horse’s jaw;
Kosko gry! Rommany gry!
Muk man kistur tute knaw.”

We then rode forth from Madrid by the gate of San Vincente, directing our course to the lofty mountains which separate Old from New Castile.  That night we rested at Guadarama, a large village at their foot, distant from Madrid about seven leagues.  Rising early on the following morning, we ascended the pass and entered into Old Castile.

After crossing the mountains, the route to Salamanca lies almost entirely over sandy and arid plains, interspersed here and there with thin and scanty groves of pine.  No adventure worth relating occurred during this journey.  We sold a few Testaments in the villages through which we passed