The _Fonda del Siglo de Oro_, although rather ambitious in its choice of a name, is a tolerable house enough, and the provision for the necessaries of life is not quite so primitive here as at Burgos. As regards that essential element of civilisation, the bath, the Spaniard seems still proudly wrapped in primeval darkness. On the morning after our arrival at the Hotel of the Golden Age,--where one would think all would be surrounded by pure delights,--the egregious desire for a bath took possession of us as usual; but, as in other places, we had some difficulty in obtaining that refreshing article. We pull the bell, the waiter appears; we utter the word "baños," in a low and rather humble tone, as if knowing it was vain to expect a favourable reply. The waiter inquires, "Caliente?" We answer, "No, frio." "Frio!" screams the waiter, with blanched visage, and instantly disappears like a harlequin through a trap. Presently, however, he reappears with another waiter, both looking as scared and uncomfortable as if they expected to be cross-examined at a coroner's inquest as two suspicious witnesses connected with our decease. Again we venture to ask timidly for "baños." Both waiters exclaim, in a tone of helpless amazement, "Frio?" to which query we reply in the affirmative by a nod, and they withdraw, muttering and gesticulating all down the stairs. The Spanish pathologist observes that the fit of hydromania generally attacks the Englishman between the hours of eight and ten. In a few minutes, after a deal of scuffling outside the door, the two waiters appeared again, followed by the landlord, his wife, and a strange gentleman, carrying between them an object which had some resemblance to the state-chair of St. Peter in the basilica of that name at Rome. When this ponderous piece of furniture was settled in the middle of our room, we discovered that the seat had been removed, and a square tin pan fixed beneath, containing about two pints of brown water. Into this we madly plunged, and although perfectly sober at the time, imagined we were enjoying a refreshing sponge bath. However, this sort of thing is one of the _cosas de España_, so we suppose it was all right.