Here we saw some bright-eyed Spanish women in their dark mantillas and veils, and not a few in tha homely and assuredly less graceful bonnet and shawl of London and Paris, whose fashions are gradually, and, I think, unfortunately, superseding the more captivating dress of old Spain; we saw too, ferocious-looking soldiers in dark dresses, weaving yellow sashes, red forage caps, and enormous moustaches; old priests gliding stealthily along, with an aspect of meekness, and apparently crushed in spirit; for the Government presses with a heavy hand on the ecclesiastics; citizens clad in light stuffs of bright colours, with red sashes and low-crowned hats, having black silk tufts at each side; queer-looking Caballeros in large brown cloaks like that of Don Diego de Mendoza's "Poor Hidalgo," and wearing hats 'à la Kossuth.' As every man was smoking as if his salvation depended upon his doing so with vigour, the whole air was redolent of cigars. I had on my undress, a forage cap, and plain red jacket, with tartan trews, my sash and dirk; for I have found that the British uniform always ensures the wearer attention and respect in every part of the globe. We wandered long in that lovely Alameda, until the last of its fair promenaders had withdrawn; and then we returned to our hotel rather disappointed, that of all the black eyes we had seen flashing under veils of Madeira lace, not one had given us a glance of encouragement; that of all the pretty lips, which had been lisping dulcet Spanish mixed with the Arabic of Granada, none had invited us to follow; that of all the sombre cavaliers, not one appeared to be an assassin or a Grand Inquisitor; and that, of all the hideous old duennas whom we had seen cruising about us, not one had approached, and with finger on her lip, and an impressive glance in her eye, placed a mysterious note into either of our hands, and "disappeared in the crowd." Nothing remarkable happened, save that Hall had his pocket picked of his handkerchief and cigar-case, and we returned like other men to our hotel, where we supped on devilled turkey and the wine of the district, Tierno and Malaga; after which we turned into bed, warning the waiter to summon us early, and have a guide to lead us toward the neighbouring hills, where we intended to make some havock among the game next day. Punctually at five o'clock in the morning the mozo-de-cafe roused us, and, after coffee, we shouldered our double-barrelled rifles, and accompanied by a young 'gamin' named Pedrillo, for whose fidelity the waiter pledged his "honour," we departed on our ramble. If ever you saw the Spanish beggar-boys, as depicted by Murillo in his famous picture, which is now in Dulwich College, they will know perfectly the aspect of Pedrillo, our little guide.