A RAPID

SKETCH OF A DAY IN MADRID.

I wake; it is now four o'clock in the morning! The whole broad street of Alcala is spread before me like an immense square.Churches,-Palaces, and Con

vents at the farther end are the shady walks of the Prado,—a grand, sublime sight, which cannot be described.

The matin bell announces the early mass-the streets become

more animated. Veiled women in black and men in long brown cloaks

are passing along.

The doors

of all the balconies are thrown open, and water is sprinkled before every house.

Now the goat-keepers with their little herds enter the gates, crying "Milk! Milk! Goat's Milk ! Fresh and warm!

Who will have

any ?" There I see market women pass by with asses loaded with vegetables, bakers with bread in carts which are made of Spanish reed,-water carriers and porters hastening to commence their day's work, while, with a hoarse voice, two pompous-looking Alguazilsconstables-proclaim the thefts committed on the previous night.

By degrees, all the warehouses, shops, and booths, are opened. The publicans expose their wine cups; the chocolate women get their pots ready;—the water carriers begin to deafen me with their cries of "Water! Fresh water! Fresh from the fountain! Who drinks, gentlemen? Who drinks?" And the hackney-coach, and hackney-chaise drivers, with the persons who let mules for hire, take their usual stands.

Soon the whole street resounds with the various cries of numberless criers.

"Cod, white cod!"

"Onions! Onions from Gallicia!"

"Walnuts! Walnuts, from Biscay!"

"Oranges! Oranges, from Murcia!" "Hard smoked sausages, from

Estramadura !"

"Sweet citrons! Sweet citrons !"

"Barley water!"

"Ice water! Ice water!"

"A new journal! A new journal !" "A new gazette!"

"Water melons!"

Long Malaga raisins!"

"Olives! Olives, from Seville!" "Milk! Rolls! Milk, rolls, fresh

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and hot!"

'Grapes! Grapes!"

Figs! New figs!"

"Pomegranates! Pomegranates,

from Valencia !"

There, too, are the lime-sellers, sitting on their bags, dozing, or singing songs, and waiting for purchasers; whilst their donkeys, covered with lime-dust, are lying as quiet as the stones beneath them, or standing upon three legs with heads down and pensive.

It strikes ten;-the guards are mounted. What delightful strains of music are heard!-What a clatter of advancing hoofs !-There is to be a review on the Prado.Yonder comes a regiment of Lancers of the Royal Guard; a beautiful and well-mounted corps, in Polish uniforms. Each bears a lance, decorated with a red and white pennon. Next follows a band of about thirty musicians.