races to-day.

This is one of the most ancient cities in the country, having been the
capital of Moorish Spain a thousand years ago. The walls which still
surround it are flanked by octagonal and square towers of Saracenic
origin. From the ninth to the twelfth century it boasted a million
inhabitants, and we read of its public library which contained six
hundred thousand volumes. The present population cannot exceed forty or
fifty thousand. Is it possible that this was once the largest city in
the western world,--once the centre of European civilization? So at
least history informs us. Not even one foundation of its three hundred
mosques can be found to-day. Seneca and Lucan were born here before the
time of Christ, and the guide rehearsed with voluble facility some other
high-sounding names of historic fame who were natives of the place, but
who were quite unfamiliar to us. When we pointed, however, to the broad,
pale-yellow river crossed by the old Roman bridge, and asked its name,
he replied: "The Guadalquivir," and the name rang softly on the ear like
a strain of half-forgotten music. The old stone bridge, with its broad,
irregular arches, was an object of much interest, and is, undoubtedly,
with its two flanking towers, the oldest visible object in Cordova,
though it was an important city in Caesar's time. The bridge is about the
sixteenth of a mile in length, and after two thousand years of battling
with the elements is firm and substantial still. Romans, Moors, and
Spaniards have fiercely battled at its entrances, the tide of victory
and of defeat sweeping again and again across its roadway, which has
many times been made slippery with human blood. How often has it
witnessed royal pageants, ecclesiastical parades, murderous personal
conflicts, and how often been the rendezvous of lovers and of whispering
groups of conspirators. Here have been enacted many vivid scenes in the
long line of centuries. What a volume might that old bridge furnish of
history and of romance! During our brief stay this spot was a favorite
resort, usually supplementing our visits to the cathedral, which is near
at hand. Leaning over its stone barriers, we watched the rapid stream
which doubtless flows on just as it has done for twenty centuries.
Palaces temples, towers, and shrines crumble, nations rise and fall, but
the Guadalquivir still flows on. Just below the bridge, perhaps fifty
yards away, are the ruins of an ancient Moorish grist-