And it is very well to bear in mind that persecution has its spirit, and some of its power, even where the victims are by law insured against fire. In the press and in the pulpit the venom of bigotry and the bitterness of intolerance may be poured on the heads of those who are guilty of other opinions than ours, and in God’s sight such persecution may be as offensive as the rack and boot of the Inquisition. The spirit of the Master rebukes the use of the sword, even in the hands of Peter, to cut off a servant’s ear, and the same spirit forbids us to be uncharitable towards the meanest of those who have not the light of the grace to see as we see, or to defend Christ in our way. They have no cathedral in Madrid, but their churches are many, and on Sunday morning they, women especially, go to church. The Spaniards are more devout than the Italians. There is a proverb that to go to Rome is to disbelieve. The people in Spain have not seen Romanism as it has been seen in Italy, until the popular mind is sick of it. But they make short work in Spain of their devotions. The Prado is their park, on the skirts of the town. And this is not enough for them on Sundays. We saw the crowds pouring out towards one of the gates, some in carriages, but most of them on foot,—men, women, and children, hundreds, thousands, in holiday attire,—and we followed. Beyond the Alcala gate, near which is the bull-ring, half a mile into the country, we came to the meadows over which these pleasure-seeking Castillians had spread themselves to enjoy their national and favorite pastime. A little later in the season, when the weather is warmer, thousands of these people would stop at the bull-ring, and see the battle of men and beasts. It is too cool as yet, and the bulls do not fight well except in hot weather. But it is not too cool to dance out of doors, and for this divertisement these thousands have come. On the wide meadows there is not a house, not a shanty, not a shed or booth. We have passed on the way scores of wine-shops; and there the people can resort if they choose. But on the grounds there is nothing to be had but the pure and blessed air. The people are distributed in groups all over the plain. The grass is green. The sun, a winter sun, is kind and genial. The city lies in full view, with palaces and domes and pinnacles. And in the distance, but in this blazing sun and lucid atmosphere apparently very near, long ranges of mountains stand covered with snow, white, pure, glistening like silver in the sunlight, and forming a magnificent background to the gay picture at our feet. In the centre of each of these many groups a dozen, more or less, of young men and women are dancing to music. This is furnished by one, two, or three musicians, strolling bands, with guitars and violins. Often one is an old man, blind. His wife and daughter are with him, with their instruments. The airs are not wild, not even lively, as compared with those of Italy. But