houses were crowded with people, and the balconies overlooking the streets were filled with ladies, who kissed their white hands, waved their veils, and tossed bouquets of flowers, and even their little gloves to the officers, crying ever and anon,—"_Long live Sir Rowland Hill! Sus valiente caballeros y soldados, viva!_" The balconies were decorated with garlands of flowers, quilts, carpets, and pieces of ancient tapestry; the banners of noble families, of corporations, and of Spain, waved from the windows amid gaudy pennons and streamers of every kind. Hurrah! it was indeed a magnificent scene of joy, noise, and uproar. Every man wearing the red coat was the friend of the Spaniard; and even the wearied little drum-boy, lugging along his drum, was a hero and a deliverer of Spain. That night solemn prayers for the success of the British arms were offered up in the great cathedral. The outside of its dome and spire were blazing with myriads of variegated lamps, and the town was illuminated with great splendour. The lighted-up spire presented a most singular appearance for leagues around. Rising from the glittering city, it stood like a vast column of fire against the dusky sky, causing the windings of the Tagus to gleam afar off, from the savage defiles and deep gorges through which it wanders. The soldiers were billeted on the inhabitants of the city, within the walls; and the general with his staff was received into the mansion of the governor, El Medico. The Highlanders and the left wing of an English regiment (the 66th, I believe) were quartered in the mouldering palace of the ancient kings of Castile,—the Alcanzar, a building which has since degenerated into a house of refuge for the poor. In the evening the theatre was thronged with officers of the division, the ladies and all fashionable people in the town, to witness the representation of a new piece. It was entitled _The Plains of Salamanca_, and composed by a young student of Toledo in honour of the late victory obtained by the British arms. Between the acts or _jornados_, the bands of the 34th regiment and of the Highlanders occupied the orchestra, and played a number of Spanish airs in compliment to the audience. A comic opera, called the _tonadilla_, closed the amusements of the evening. It was performed by a single person, a young and pretty actress, who sang, in a remarkably sweet voice, a long story or ballad full of drollery, love-adventures, and gallantry, drawing loud applause and astounding _vivas_ from the audience, with whom she appeared to be a decided favourite, the stage being strewed with the chaplets and bouquets of flowers tossed to her by cavaliers from the boxes and pit.