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Virgin. Now all hasten to the Tertulias, or evening visits, and the theatres; the rattling of carriages resounds in every street. The lamps before the houses, or the images of the Virgin, are already lighted: the merchants and dealers have illuminated their warehouses and shops, and the sellers of wine and lemonade their stalls. Every where are seen rush-lights, paper lanthorns, and wax candles, on the tables of the fruit-women and cake-men.

Now what a crowd again appears on the square of the Gate of the Sun. Here is a group listening to the soft sounds of the guitar-there another, eagerly devouring the tale of the last murder, which a female

ballad singer is telling in rhyme. But hark!-the rosary is passing! --and the equipages are returning from the theatres.

Night hastens on ;-the crowds begin to disperse. It is midnight! All the streets are still and quiet, save where the tinkling of a solitary guitar disturbs the solemn silence!-Madrid, good night!

MADRID is the capital of NEW CASTILE, and is also the metropolis of the Spanish Empire. It stands almost in the centre of Spain, and is the highest capital in Europe. Its elevation, 2,000 feet above the level of the sea.

LATITUDE, 40 degrees North.
LONGITUDE, nearly 4 degrees

West.

The air of Spain is very pure.
The summers very hot.

The soil very fertile.

PRODUCTIONS, &c.-Hemp, flax, cotton, wheat, apples, pears, peaches, oranges, lemons, citrons, pomegranates, dates, figs, almonds, raisins, melons, prunes, a plant called alazor, useful in dying, sumach, barilla, glasswort. Excellent wines, especially sack and sherry. Fine wool, and silk in abundance. Plenty of cattle. Various minerals and metals, particularly iron, which the Spaniards work to such perfection that the sword blades

of Toledo were long esteemed the best in the world.

RELIGION,-Roman Catholic.

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In Ferdinand and Isabella's reign

The Moors were driven from the land of Spain.

THE ORPHAN BOY.

(Thelwall.)

Alas! I am an Orphan Boy,

With nought on earth to cheer my heart: No father's love, no mother's joy,

Nor kin, nor kind, to take my part.
My lodging is the cold-cold ground;
I eat the bread of charity;

And, when the kiss of love goes round,
There is no kiss, alas! for me.

Yet once I had a father dear,

A mother too, I wont to prize, With ready hand to wipe the tear, If chanc'd a childish tear to rise:

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