Towards evening, our horses being in some degree refreshed, we rode into the park of the Escurial, which is of considerable extent, and lies adjacent to the village, producing pretty good pasturage, but infested by prowling wolves and wild boars. The trees are generally of small growth, consisting of oak, carob, ash, and cork. The front of the palace of the Escurial looks towards the mountains of the Guadarama, and is built of a grey granite, in the shape of a gridiron. This culinary utensil is represented in the books of mass, on the doors, and in various parts of the building, which is perforated by innumerable windows. The pantheon of the palace is octagon, composed of marble; about fourteen niches are occupied by embalmed kings and queens; and there are a variety of other curiosities worthy the observation of the traveller. Returning towards the village, the old man of the house assured us the effect of the extraordinary edifice we had explored was nothing to the wonder and astonishment we should experience at the grand bull fights of Spain. The tears rolled down his furrowed cheeks as he ran about the room, (which was paved with red tiles,) representing the wild Andalusian bull staring with surprise on first entering the arena; and then, getting astride of a chair, showed us how the _Picador_ received the bellowing bull on his lance, and the way he was frequently tossed, mangled, and killed, by the infuriated animal. Then again, he skipped and danced about the room to represent the men insinuating the pointed darts and crackers into the animal's neck; and finally gave us the _graceful Matador_, with a red cloak slung over one arm, and a short sword in his hand, making his obeisance with a profound bend to the _señoras_ and _caballeros_, who excite him by countless _vivas_, and the waving of the white hands, and whiter pocket-handkerchiefs, to dispatch the staggering bull at one thrust. At length the ancient _caballero_ became so much exhausted by his exertions and feelings, that he fell back motionless in his chair, exclaiming, "_Oh, los ladrones Franceses!_ they have eaten up all our Andalusian bulls, killed our poultry, corrupted all our _mozas_, and knocked all our _Santa Marias_ from the altars, and out of their _sacred niches_ by the road side." During this rhodomontade we remained quiet spectators, quaffing the excellent wine which our host had extracted from a concealed deposit.