The next day verified the prediction of the Spanish surgeon; I had to a considerable degree lost my cough and fever, though, owing to the loss of blood, I was somewhat feeble. Precisely at twelve o’clock the horses were led forth before the door of my lodging in the Calle de Santiago, and I prepared to mount; but my black _entero_ of Andalusia would not permit me to approach his side, and, whenever I made the attempt, commenced wheeling round with great rapidity. “_C’est un mauvais signe_, _mon maître_,” said Antonio, who, dressed in a green jerkin, a _montero_ cap, and booted and spurred, stood ready to attend me, holding by the bridle the horse which I had purchased from the _contrabandista_. “It is a bad sign, and in my country they would defer the journey till to-morrow.” “Are there whisperers in your country?” I demanded; and taking the horse by the mane, I performed the ceremony after the most approved fashion. The animal stood still, and I mounted the saddle, exclaiming— “The _Romany chal_ {274a} to his horse did cry, As he placed the bit in his horse’s jaw, ‘Kosko gry! Romany gry! Muk man kistur tute knaw.’” {274b} We then rode forth from Madrid by the gate of San Vicente, directing our course to the lofty mountains which separate Old from New Castile. That night we rested at Guadarrama, a large village at their foot, distant from Madrid about seven leagues. Rising early on the following morning, we ascended the pass and entered into Old Castile. After crossing the mountains, the route to Salamanca lies almost entirely over sandy and arid plains, interspersed here and there with thin and scanty groves of pine. No adventure worth relating occurred during this journey. We sold a few Testaments in the villages through which we passed, more especially at Peñaranda. About noon of the third day, on reaching the brow of a hillock, we saw a huge dome before us, upon which the fierce rays of the sun striking, produced the appearance of burnished gold. It belonged to the cathedral of Salamanca, and we flattered ourselves that we were already at our journey’s end; we were deceived, however, being still four leagues distant from the town, whose churches and convents, towering up in gigantic masses, can be distinguished at an immense distance, flattering the traveller with an idea of propinquity which does not in reality exist. It was not till long after nightfall that we arrived at the city gate, which we found closed and guarded, in apprehension of a Carlist attack; and having obtained admission with some difficulty, we led our horses along dark, silent, and deserted streets, till we found an individual who directed us to a large, gloomy, and comfortless _posada_, that of the Bull, which we, however, subsequently found was the best which the town afforded.