There is a trade at Madrid of which no one in Paris has an idea. I allude to the retailing of water. The stock in trade of the water-seller consists of a _cantaro_ of white clay, a small reed or tin basket, containing two or three glasses, a few _azucarillos_ (sticks of porous caramel sugar), and sometimes a couple of oranges or limes. There is one class of water-sellers, who have little casks twined round with green branches, which they carry on their back. Some of them even go so far--along the Prado, for instance--as to exhibit painted counters, surmounted by little brass figures of Fame, and small flags, not a whit inferior in magnificence to the displays made by the _marchands de coco_ in Paris. These same water-sellers are generally young _muchachos_ from Gallicia, and are clad in a snuff-coloured cloth jacket, breeches, black gaiters, and a peaked hat. There are also some who are natives of Valencia, with their white linen drawers, their piece of stuff thrown over their shoulder, their legs bronzed by the sun, and their _alpargatas_ bordered with blue. There are also a few women and little girls, whose costumes present nothing worthy of notice, that sell water. They are called, according to their sex, _aguadores_ or _aguadoras_. In all quarters of the city do you hear their shrill cries, pitched in all sorts of keys, and varied in a hundred thousand manners: _Agua, agua, quien quiere agua? Agua helada, fresquita como la nieve!_ This lasts from five in the morning till ten in the evening, and has inspired Breton de los Herreros, a favourite author of Madrid, with the idea of a song, entitled _l'Aguadora_, which has been very popular all through Spain. This thirst of the population of Madrid is certainly a most extraordinary thing; all the water in the fountains, and all the snow of the mountains of Guadarrama, are insufficient to allay it. People have joked a great deal about the poor Manzanares, and its Naïad with her dry urn, but I should just like to see what sort of a figure any other river would cut in a town parched up by the same thirst. The Manzanares is drunk up at its very source; the aguadores anxiously lie in wait for the least drop of water, the slightest appearance of humidity which oozes forth between its dry banks, and carry it off in their _cantaros_ and casks; the laundresses wash the linen with sand, and, in the very middle of the bed of the river, a Mahommedan would not find sufficient water to enable him to perform his ablutions. The reader may, perhaps, recollect a delicious _feuilleton_, in which Méry describes the thirst of Marseilles. Exaggerate this six times, and you will have but a slight idea of the thirst of Madrid. The price of a glass of water is a _cuarto_ (about a farthing). What Madrid most stands in need of, after water, is fire, wherewith to light its cigars; consequently, the cry, _Fuego, fuego_, is heard in every direction, mingled incessantly with that of _agua, agua_. There is a desperate