long grass closing over
their backs, evidently wondering what terrible thing had come among them
to torment the waters so. While we were looking, these grave old
animals, who had doubtless been within sight of human beings before,
wheeled slowly and were lost in the long grass which closed over their
backs, as sea waves cover a victim. But the black bull came farther out
from his covert, tearing the bank with his hoofs, erecting his tail like
a banner, ripping up the earth with his sharp horns, and bellowing a
defiance after us, that made me tremble where I stood. Heaven help the
matador, whom fate should throw into the path of that terrible creature.

"The banks of the Guadalquiver are Arcadian, after the prairies are
passed. As we approached the beautiful basin in which the old city of
Seville is built, villas and country houses were seen here and there
along the shores; clumps of gnarled old olive trees wound down to the
water; orange and citron trees in full blossom, and fruit, perfumed the
air; sometimes a single tree stood out alone large and symmetrical as a
New England pear tree; then whole orchards sloped down to the river,
with great golden piles of fruit heaped on the grass underneath, and the
blossoms showering down so thickly, that it seemed as if a squall of
snow must have swept by only an hour before. I think in the whole world,
there cannot be found trees so large, so perfect, and so vivid in their
greenness, as those we saw in the orange orchards, just before we came
in sight of Seville. How I longed to go ashore and bathe myself in their
perfume, and taste their delicious fruit!

"James Harrington was standing near, and he too must have felt the
influence of all that subdued me; for the scent of the orange blossoms
swept over us both, the rich amber-hued waves of the river whispered the
same music to him that I had listened to. We had conversed but
little,--a climate like this induces reverie, rather than speech; all
the sensibilities of one's nature exert themselves unconsciously, a
harsh word or bitter thought would melt into forgiveness, before either
could be spoken. Was he affected in this way? I cannot tell; my heart
deceives me if there was not unusual tenderness in his voice, a tremor
as if he feared to say what my heart paused to gather in. I dared not
look at him. In my soul there lay thoughts he might shrink from reading,
and I should perish with shame if he but guessed that they existed."