Madrid, November 22, 1853.

When I think of the snow still covering the Guadarrama, my courage fails me. Nevertheless, the sun shines magnificently, but it shines in vain: it gives out no warmth. The nights are abominably cold, and the soldiers on sentry duty at the palace are required to stay out only a quarter of an hour each. Before leaving, I wish to attend several meetings of the CortÈs, which opened day before yesterday very modestly, and without the formality of a royal speech, His Majesty now being so near his end that he is shielded from all excitement. I keep in touch with the political situation here, and know a good many of the adherents of all the parties, so that now, when we are deprived of seeing bull-fights, I find the CortÈs interesting.

Since you do not care for buttons, I will bring you some garters. It was not without difficulty that I have found them. Civilisation is making such rapid strides that on almost all legs elastic has replaced the classic ligas of the past. When I asked the chambermaids here to tell me where the shops could be found, they crossed themselves in indignation, saying that they did not wear such old-fashioned things, and that they were fit only for the common people. French fashions are making frightful progress. Mantillas are seldom seen. Hats, and such hats! replace them. You would be highly amused to see the masterpieces of the dressmakers in this capital.

Several years ago I spent a part of the day at Aranjuez, at the house of my friend, M. Salamanca, a stock-broker. He is a bachelor, and the wittiest and jolliest fellow I have met. He makes heaps of money, apparently, and spends it nobly. He finds time to engage both in business and politics, for he has been a minister, and will be again, if he wishes it. This man is a typical Andalusian: he is grace itself.

We had, on the 15th, at the French Embassy, a ball in honor of the fÊte-day of Saint EugÉnie. Madame ——, the wife of the United States Minister, appeared in a costume which made every one choke with laughter—black velvet, edged with lace and tinsel, and a theatrical coronet. Her son, who has the appearance of a knave, made inquiries concerning the worth of the persons present, and after having obtained the desired information, sent a challenge to a duke who was very noble, very rich, exceedingly dull, and anxious to live a long time. The negotiations are still going on, but nobody will be killed. Good-bye.