being rid of their tyrants—and by no means anticipated the serious events that were to grow out of it. The Principal was abandoned by the people, and again occupied by troops. Meanwhile, at other points, the mob was actively mischievous, or, I should perhaps rather say, it actively employed itself in revenging its wrongs on the authors of much of its misery. Below a window, in one of the most frequented and central thoroughfares of Madrid, which I occupied at intervals during the great part of that evening, the passage of strong bodies of the people continued. A great many weapons were now to be seen amongst them—muskets, fowling-pieces, blunderbusses, antiquated firearms of all kinds. At the same time the great majority were unarmed; but their blood was up, their will was strong, and their hands were ready for anything. That night was so full of events that few thought of looking at watches, and I cannot therefore give you the hour at which incidents occurred, or set them down in the exact order of their occurrence, especially as I often changed my place between the hours of eight and two, making excursions into different parts of the town, but frequently returning to the window before mentioned, which, as headquarters and central post of observation, was an excellent position. One of the first acts of violence committed was an attack on the house of Don Luis Sartorius, Conde de San Luis, a man whose name will ever be pre-eminently infamous in the annals of political crime. On their way to his house the people got a ladder, set it against the front of the Principe theatre, which had been endowed when he was in office, and broke to pieces a stone over the entrance on which his name was carved. On reaching his residence they turned his furniture, pictures, and valuable library into the street, and made a bonfire of them. I know of literary amateurs who, on hearing of this, hurried to the spot, hoping to rescue some of the rare and curious books he was known to possess: but their efforts were in vain; the people would allow nothing to be taken away, everything was for the flames. At first the second floor of the house was respected, but presently it was known that it had lately become the residence of Esteban Collantes, the minister of public works, who had sent in, it is said, only a few days before, twelve thousand dollars’ worth of furniture. After Sartorius, Collantes, Domenech minister of finance, and Quinto the civil governor, were the three men in Madrid most detested by the people. Collantes was the _gamin_, the mischievous scapegrace, of the San Luis cabinet, devoid alike of dignity, morality, and common decency. The discovery that he abode above his chief colleague was a godsend to the enraged mob, and his chattels quickly shared the fate of those of Sartorius. Similar destruction proceeded at the houses of the renegade liberal Domenech, of the Marquis de Molins, minister of marine