s hurrying grey masses, and the cloud-shadows
fly over the wide landscape, now all suddenly changed to verdure, and
lie on the distant _sierra_, giving an unwonted charm to the scene. The
Casa de Campo, the Florida, and all green spots become carpeted with
wild flowers; the trees seem to have put on new leafage, so fresh are
they and free from the over-loading of dust. And then, gradually, the
Manzanares repents him of his anger and haste; no more foam is dashing
against the piers of the bridges, no more crested waves are hurrying
before the wind; he sinks gently and slowly back to his accustomed
lounging pace, "taking the sun" with lazy ease once more; and the
washerwomen come down and resume their labours under the plane trees;
and there is no more thought of rain for many a week, perhaps month, to
come; and that strangely deep, impenetrable vault of a blue unknown
elsewhere spreads its canopy over a clean, rain-washed city.

The Parque de Madrid, which lies high above the Prado, affords a
striking view of the country on all sides. An Englishman of wide
Continental experience, describing this prospect, says he was "more than
recompensed by the sudden apparition, through an opening between the
houses, of the exquisite _campagna_ that surrounds Madrid.... Compared
with that of Rome, it seemed to me clearer, and more extensive, while
the hue of the atmosphere that overspread it was of a rich purple." I
have quoted these remarks because it is so rare for English visitors,
accustomed to the lush green of our own meadows and woods, to find
anything to admire in what is too often called the "mangy," or at best
the "arid," surroundings of the capital of Spain. This, however, was
written in September, and there had been heavy rains; after the crops
are gathered and before the autumn rains come on, the prospect is
scarcely so much to be admired. That the view is extensive, no one can
deny; there is unbroken horizon, except where the rugged peaks of the
Guadarramas pierce the sky, and the atmospheric effects are often
marvellously beautiful, especially when the swift shadows of clouds pass
over the wide landscape, or lie upon the "everlasting hills."

For myself, this vast expanse, with the sense of immensity which we
generally are only able to associate with the sea, has always had an
extraordinary charm. I have seen it at all times of the year, early in
the morning, and at, or just before, sundown--nay, even once or twice by