weight of their fruitage. We afterward
visited Pilate's House, as it is called--a fine Spanish-Moresco palace,
now belonging to the Duke of Medina Coeli. It is very rich and elegant,
but stands in the same relation to the Alcazar as a good copy does to the
original picture. The grand staircase, nevertheless, is a marvel of tile
work, unlike anything else in Seville, and exhibits a genius in the
invention of elaborate ornamental patterns, which is truly wonderful. A
number of workmen were busy in restoring the palace, to fit it for the
residence of the young Duke. The Moorish sculptures are reproduced in
plaster, which, at least, has a better effect than the fatal whitewash
under which the original tints of the Alcazar are hidden. In the courts
stand a number of Roman busts--Spanish antiquities, and therefore not of
great merit--singularly out of place in niches surrounded by Arabic
devices and sentences from the Koran.

This morning, I climbed the Giralda. The sun had just risen, and the clay
was fresh and crystal-clear. A little door in the Cathedral, near the foot
of the tower, stood open, and I entered. A rather slovenly Sevillana had
just completed her toilet, but two children were still in undress.
However, she opened a door in the tower, and I went up without hindrance.
The ascent is by easy ramps, and I walked four hundred yards, or nearly a
quarter of a mile, before reaching the top of the Moorish part. The
panoramic view was superb. To the east and west, the Great Valley made a
level line on a far-distant horizon. There were ranges of hills in the
north and south, and those rising near the city, clothed in a gray mantle
of olive-trees, were picturesquely crowned with villages. The
Guadalquivir, winding in the most sinuous mazes, had no longer a turbid
hue; he reflected the blue morning sky, and gleamed brightly between his
borders of birch and willow. Seville sparkled white and fair under my
feet, her painted towers and tiled domes rising thickly out of the mass of
buildings. The level sun threw shadows into the numberless courts,
permitting the mixture of Spanish and Moorish architecture to be plainly
discerned, even at that height. A thin golden vapor softened the features
of the landscape, towards the sun, while, on the opposite side, every
object stood out in the sharpest and clearest outlines.

On our way to the Museo, Bailli took us to the house of a friend of his,
in order that we might taste real Manza