of the river, we were half an hour in
reaching the landing-place. One sees nothing of the far-famed beauty of
Seville, on approaching it. The boat stops below the Alameda, where the
passengers are received by Custom-House officers, who, in my case, did not
verify the stories told of them in Cadiz. I gave my carpet-bag to a boy,
who conducted me along the hot and dusty banks to the bridge over the
Guadalquivir, where he turned into the city. On passing the gate, two
loafer-like guards stopped my baggage, notwithstanding it had already been
examined. "What!" said I, "do you examine twice on entering Seville?"
"Yes," answered one; "twice, and even three times;" but added in a lower
tone, "it depends entirely on yourself." With that he slipped behind me,
and let one hand fall beside my pocket. The transfer of a small coin was
dexterously made, and I passed on without further stoppage to the Fonda de
Madrid.

Sir John Potter engaged Antonio Bailli, the noted guide of Seville, who
professes to have been the cicerone of all distinguished travellers, from
Lord Byron and Washington Irving down to Owen Jones, and I readily
accepted his invitation to join the party. Bailli is recommended by Ford
as "fat and good-humored" Fat he certainly is, and very good-humored when
speaking of himself, but he has been rather spoiled by popularity, and is
much too profuse in his critical remarks on art and architecture.
Nevertheless, as my stay in Seville is limited, I have derived no slight
advantage from his services.

On the first morning I took an early stroll through the streets. The
houses are glaringly white, like those of Cadiz, but are smaller and have
not the same stately exteriors. The windows are protected by iron
gratings, of florid patterns, and, as many of these are painted green, the
general effect is pleasing. Almost every door opens upon a _patio_, or
courtyard, paved with black and white marble and adorned with flowers and
fountains. Many of these remain from the time of the Moors, and are still
surrounded by the delicate arches and brilliant tile-work of that period.
The populace in the streets are entirely Spanish--the jaunty _majo_ in
his queer black cap, sash, and embroidered jacket, and the nut-brown,
dark-eyed damsel, swimming along in her mantilla, and armed with the
irresistible fan.

We went first to the Cathedral, built on the site of the great mosque of
Abou Youssuf Yakoub. The tall Giralda beckoned to us over the