Certainly the whole performance did not impress the British portion of the audience with a very high opinion of the state of the Spanish theatre. The house was small, ill-constructed, ill-fitted up, and ill-lighted with a few oil lamps, the nauseous fumes of which, mixed with those of oranges, cigars, and garlic, rendered the atmosphere very far from pure. The scenes were daubs, the attire of the actors rags, and the play destitute of talent; but the beauty of the bright-eyed ladies in the boxes, the pretty actress with her _tonadilla_, and the martial music in the orchestra, were sufficient to counterbalance other drawbacks and defects. Sir Rowland’s division lay two days in Toledo. On the evening before they marched, Ronald made a tour of the city to view all worth seeing. After visiting the famous sword manufactory, which yet flourishes as of old, he bent his steps towards the cathedral, the doors of which (like those of all continental churches) stood open day and night. It was almost dark when he entered it, and the appearance of that vast temple, when involved in gloom and mystery, is fully calculated to impress the mind with holy sadness, with pure veneration, and with awe. The pale light of the moon and stars, twinkling through eighty-six tinted and traceried windows, glimmered alternately on the scores of massive and magnificent columns that upheld the lofty roof, and showing them where the perspective of "the long-drawn aisles" vanished away in darkness and obscurity. Six tall candles twinkled before the dark painting on the altar, and many holy tapers gleamed fitfully in far recesses before the shrines and images of Eugenius, Casilda, Ildefonso, Leocadia, and other favourite saints of Toledo, before which many a solitary devotee knelt on the cold pavement in earnest prayer. The dark figures of monks and cavaliers,—the latter in broad hats and long cloaks, were gliding noiselessly about, adding greatly to the general effect of the scene. They moved like shadows: scarcely a foot-fall was heard as they trod lightly on the carved stones, beneath which sleep many a king and queen of fair Castile,—many a proud grandee and redoubtable warrior. After endeavouring to decipher by the dim light of a neighbouring shrine the pompous inscriptions on the marble tombs of the great Don Alvar de Luna, Cardinal Mendoza, and others, Ronald turned to leave the place, his mind filled with admiration and enthusiasm at its vastness, grandeur, solemnity, and magnificence. As he passed down one of the side-aisles, indulging in a train of these fine sentiments, they were cut short, somewhat abruptly, by a person coming violently against him in the dark. "Sir, you are very unceremonious," cried Ronald angrily, feeling for his sword. "What do you mean by coming against me thus rudely?"