and was built something in the Moorish taste, with a quadrangular court in the centre, beneath which was an immense algibe or tank, serving as a reservoir for rain-water.  All the houses in Toledo are supplied with tanks of this description, into which the waters in the rainy season flow from the roofs through pipes.  No other water is used for drinking; that of the Tagus, not being considered salubrious, is only used for purposes of cleanliness, being conveyed up the steep narrow streets on donkeys in large stone jars.  The city, standing on a rocky mountain, has no wells.  As for the rain-water, it deposits a sediment in the tank, and becomes very sweet and potable:  these tanks are cleaned out:  twice every year.  During the summer, at which time the heat in this part of Spain is intense, the families spend the greater part of the day in the courts, which are overhung with a linen awning, the heat of the atmosphere being tempered by the coolness arising from the tank below, which answers the same purpose as the fountain in the southern provinces of Spain.

I spent about a week at Toledo, during which time several copies of the Testament were disposed of in the shop of my friend the bookseller.  Several priests took it up from the mostrador on which it lay, examined it, but made no remarks; none of them purchased it.  My friend showed me through his house, almost every apartment of which was lined from roof to floor with books, many of which were highly valuable.  He told me that he possessed the best collection in Spain of the ancient literature of the country.  He was, however, less proud of his library than his stud; finding that I had some acquaintance with horses, his liking for me and also his respect considerably increased.  “All I have,” said he, “is at your service; I see you are a man after my own heart.  When you are disposed to ride out upon the sagra, you have only to apply to my groom, who will forthwith saddle you my famed Cordovese entero; I purchased him from the stables at Aranjuez, when the royal stud was broken up.  There is but one other man to whom I would lend him, and that man is Flinter.”

At Toledo I met with a forlorn Gypsy woman and her son, a lad of about fourteen years of age; she was not a native of the place, but had come from La Mancha, her husband having been cast into the prison of Toledo on a charge of mule-stealing:  the crime had been proved against him, and in a few days he was to depart for Malaga, with the chain of galley slaves.  He was quite destitute of money, and his wife was now in Toledo, earning a few cuartos by telling fortunes about the streets, to support him in prison.  She told me that it was her intention to follow him to Malaga, where she hoped to be able to effect his escape.  What an instance of conjugal affection; and yet the affection here was all on one side, as is too frequently the case.  Her husband was a worthless scoundrel, who had previously abandoned her and betaken himself to Madrid, where he had long lived in concubinage with the notorious she-thug Aurora, at whose instigation he had committed the robbery for which he was now held in durance.  “Should your husband escape from Malaga, in what direction will he fly?” I demanded.