Whenever Madrid is mentioned, the first objects that the word suggests to our minds are the Prado and La Puerta del Sol. Since then our inclination leads us to do so, let us now proceed to the Prado, as it is the hour of the evening promenade. The Prado consists of a number of alleys and cross-alleys, with a road in the middle for carriages. It is shaded by stunted pollards, whose roots are in connexion with a little basin lined with brick, into which the water is conveyed by small canals at the hours appointed for watering; without this precaution the trees would soon be devoured by the dust, and shrivelled up by the sun. The promenade commences at the Convent d'Atocha, passing by the gate of that name, as well as by the Puerta d'Alcala, and terminating at the gate of the Franciscan Friars. The fashionable world, however, frequents only the space bounded by the fountain of Cybele and the fountain of Neptune, from the Puerta d'Alcala to the Carrera de San Jeronimo. Within this space there is a large plot of ground called the _saloon_, surrounded by chairs, like the principal walk in the gardens of the Tuileries. Near the _saloon_ there is a cross-walk which bears the name of _Paris_. It is the Boulevard de Gand of Madrid, and the rendezvous of the fashionable world. The fashionable world, however, is not, as a general rule, particularly distinguished by a taste for the picturesque, and in this instance it has selected the most dusty, the least shady, and the least convenient part of the whole promenade. The crowd is so great in this narrow space, confined between the _saloon_ and the carriage-way, that you frequently find it a difficult task to put your hand into your pocket and take out your handkerchief. You must "lock up" and follow the stream as you would in the _tail_ at the doors of a theatre (that is to say, as you would have done when there were _tails_ at the doors of a theatre). The only possible reason there could have been for choosing this spot, is that you can see and salute the persons who are passing in their carriages (it always looks well for a foot-passenger to salute a carriage). The equipages are not very brilliant. Most of them are drawn by mules, whose long, blackish coat, large belly, and pointed ears, produce a most ungraceful effect; they resemble the mourning coaches which follow a hearse. The carriage of the queen herself has but a very simple and tradesman-like appearance. Any Englishman, with the slightest pretensions to being considered a millionaire, would most certainly look down upon it with contempt; there are, doubtless, some exceptions, but they are rare. The splendid Andalusian horses, however, on which the young fashionables of Madrid prance about, are charming. It is impossible to behold anything more elegant, more noble, and more graceful than an Andalusian stallion, with its plaited mane, long, thick tail reaching to the ground, trappings ornamented with red tufts,