air to break
off into pieces like tinder under the brush; there was also a constant
thickening in the throat, causing slight discomfort, and a penetrating,
impalpable dust which nothing ever laid, and which formed a veritable
cloud reaching far above the heads of the promenaders in the Salon del
Prado. A very short time changed all this. Twice a day the streets were
watered with far-reaching hose, a constant stream ran about the stems of
the trees in the Prado, gardens were planted and constantly watered, and
while the hitherto barren, dust-laden places began to blossom as the
rose, the air itself became softer, less trying, and, perhaps, there is
rather more uncertainty about the weather, or at any rate a greater
rainfall. At one time there were but two rainy seasons--spring and
autumn--and never a cloud in between. For about three days clouds would
be gathering gradually in the sky, beginning with one literally "no
bigger than a man's hand." Whenever there was a cloud, you might be
certain of rain, past or to come. Then one day, when there was no longer
any blue to be seen, the heavens opened and the rain came down. There
could be no mistake about it. When it rains or thunders in Madrid, it
tries to get it all over as quickly as possible. There is nothing like
doing a thing well when you are about it, and Madrid thoroughly
understands this matter of rain. It never ceases, never tempts people to
go out and then drowns them. No, if you go out, it is with a thorough
understanding of what you are undertaking; and if you are disposed to be
critical about anything in the municipal management of La Corte now, try
to imagine what it was when the water from the roofs was carried out in
wide pipes a few feet from the edge, and allowed to pour on the heads of
the defenceless foot-passengers, or almost to break in the roof of
carriage or cab which had to pass under them. This is the time to learn
why the bridges over the Manzanares are so wide and so strong; not one
whit too much of either, if they are to withstand the mighty on-rush. We
used to go off to the Casa de Campo the moment the rain was over, for
the sake of seeing Madrid as one never sees it at other times--its
magnificent Palace crowning the steep bluff, round which a mighty river
is rushing to the sea.

The rain lasts a week, a fortnight, or even more, and then the sky takes
at least three days to clear, during which it resembles our English
white-flecked blue, or it