There is a celebrated coffee-house in the Calle del Alcalá, at Madrid, capable of holding several hundred individuals. On the evening of the day in question, I was seated there, sipping a cup of the brown beverage, when I heard a prodigious noise and clamour in the street; it proceeded from the nationals, who were returning from their expedition. In a few minutes I saw a body of them enter the coffee-house, marching arm in arm, two by two, stamping on the ground with their feet in a kind of measure, and repeating in loud chorus, as they walked round the spacious apartment, the following grisly stanza:— “Que es lo que abaja Por aquel cerro? Ta ra ra ra ra. Son los huesos de Quesada, Que los trae un perro— Ta ra ra ra ra.” {206} A huge bowl of coffee was then called for, which was placed upon a table, around which gathered the national soldiers. There was silence for a moment, which was interrupted by a voice roaring out, “_El pañuelo_!” A blue kerchief was forthwith produced, which appeared to contain a substance of some kind; it was untied, and a gory hand and three or four dissevered fingers made their appearance, and with these the contents of the bowl were stirred up. “Cups! cups!” cried the nationals. . . . “Ho, ho, _Don Jorge_,” cried Baltasarito, coming up to me with a cup of coffee, “pray do me the favour to drink upon this glorious occasion. This is a pleasant day for Spain, and for the gallant nationals of Madrid. I have seen many a bull _funcion_, but none which has given me so much pleasure as this. Yesterday the brute had it all his own way, but to-day the _toreros_ have prevailed, as you see, _Don Jorge_. Pray drink; for I must now run home to fetch my _pajandi_ to play my brethren a tune, and sing a _copla_. What shall it be? Something in _Gitano_? ‘Una noche sinava en tucue.’ {207a} You shake your head, _Don Jorge_. Ha, ha; I am young, and youth is the time for pleasure. Well, well, out of compliment to you, who are an Englishman and a _monró_, it shall not be that, but something liberal, something patriotic, the Hymn of Riego. {207b} _Hasta despues_, _Don Jorge_!” {207c} CHAPTER XV. The Steamer—Cape Finisterre—The Storm—Arrival at Cadiz—The New Testament—Seville—Italica—The Amphitheatre—The Prisoners—The Encounter—Baron Taylor—The Street and Desert. At the commencement of November {208} I again found myself on the salt water, on my way to Spain. I had returned to England shortly after the events which have been narrated in the last chapter, for the purpose of consulting with my friends, and for planning the opening of a biblical campaign in Spain. It was now determined by us to print the New Testament, with as little delay as possible, at Madrid; and I was to be entrusted with the somewhat arduous task of its distribution. My stay in England was very short, for time was precious, and I was eager to return to the field of action.