The American Hispanist, who goes to Madrid infrequently, quite properly begins his investigations in the Biblioteca Nacional.* It is the richest bibliographical storehouse in Spain and still so unexplored that there is always the possibility of unearthing a treasure. To be sure, after some days of work he begins to feel that merely finding a call number represents a major feat of research, and he may seek relief from frustration in the newly decorated bar or may even abandon those noble halls for the beguiling delights of some literary tertulia. He is tempted to say, as the Rev. Dr. Folliott in Peacock's Crotchet Castle