es._

The frequent passing of men as well as women and children through our
Plaza San Fernando and the prevalence of men asleep on the benches; the
immense majority of boys everywhere; the moralized _abattoir_ outside
the walls where the humanity dormant at the bull-feast wakes to hide
every detail of slaughter for the market; a large family of cats basking
at their ease in a sunny doorway; trains of milch goats with wicker
muzzles, led by a milch cow from door to door through the streets; the
sudden solemn beauty of the high altar in the cathedral, seen by chance
on a brilliant day; the bright, inspiriting air of Seville; a glorious
glimpse of the Giralda coming home from a drive; the figure of a girl
outlined in a lofty window; a middle-aged Finnish pair trying to give
themselves in murmured talk to the colored stucco of the Hall of the
Ambassadors in what seems their wedding journey; two artists working
near with sketches tilted against the wall; a large American lady who
arrives one forenoon in traveling dress and goes out after luncheon in
a mantilla with a fan and high comb; another American lady who appears
after dinner in the costume of a Spanish dancing-girl; the fact that
there is no Spanish butter and that the only good butter comes from
France and the passable butter from Denmark; the soft long veils of
pink cloud that trail themselves in the sky across our Plaza, and then
dissolve in the silvery radiance of the gibbous moon; the yellowish-red
electric Brush lights swinging from palm to palm as in the decoration
of some vast ballroom; a second drive through Triana, and a failure to
reach the church we set out for; the droves of brown pigs and flocks of
brown sheep; the goatherds unloading olive boughs in the fields for
the goats to browse; a dirty, kind, peaceful village, with an English
factory in it, and a mansion of galvanized iron with an automobile
before it; a pink villa on a hillside and a family group on the shoulder
of a high-walled garden; a girl looking down from the wall, and a young
man resting his hand on the masonry and looking up at her; the good
faces of the people, men and women; boys wrestling and frolicking in the
village streets; the wide dust-heap of a road, full of sudden holes; the
heat of the sun in the first November week after touches of cold; the
tram-cars that wander from one side of the city street to the other, and
then barely miss scraping the house walls; in our drive home fro