“I want to see the customs of the country.”
“The only custom you will see will be smoking; and you can see that anywhere, except in the churches, where alone, I believe, it is not permitted. Everybody smokes, even the women and children. I have seen a youngster not more than five years old struggling with a cigarillo; and I suppose it made him sick before he got through with it; at least, I hope it did, for the nausea is nature’s protest against the practice.”
“But do the ladies smoke?”
“Not in public; but in private many of them do. I have seen some very pretty girls smoking in Spain.”
“I don’t remember that I have seen a man drunk in Spain,” said Sheridan.
“Probably you have not; I never did. The Spaniards are very temperate.”
This long talk brought the party back to the hotel just at dark. The next day was Sunday; but many of the students visited the churches, though most of them were willing to make it a day of rest, in the strictest sense of the word. On Monday morning, as the museum did not open till one o’clock, the doctor and his protégés took a berlina, and rode out to the palace of the Marquis of Salamanca, where they were permitted to explore this elegant residence without restraint. In one of the apartments they saw a large picture of the Landing of the Pilgrims, by a Spanish artist; and it was certainly a strange subject. Connected with the palace is a museum of antiquities quite extensive for a private individual to own. The Pompeian rooms contain a vast quantity of articles from the buried city.
“Who is this Marquis of Salamanca?” asked Sheridan, as they started on their return.
“He is a Spanish nobleman, a grandee of Spain I suppose, who is somewhat noted as a financier. He has invested some money in railroads in the United States. The town of Salamanca, at the junction of the Erie and Great Western, in Western New York, was named after him,” replied Dr. Winstock.
“I have been through the place,” added Sheridan.