verse may
be a complete song, or the singer may continue as long as the muse
prompts and his subject's charms occasion. The Spanish song is like a
barbaric necklace in which all manner of different stones are strung
upon a single cord, without thought for their mutual congruity.

Naturally the vast majority of the innumerable couplets thus invented
are forgotten as soon as sung, but now and then the fortuitous
excellence of one impresses it on the maker's recollection, and it may
be preserved. Here is an example which has been agreeably translated by
Mr. J. W. Crombie; but neither original nor English rendering can give
an adequate idea of the charm which depends on the oriental melancholy
of the music:

Dos besos tengo en el alma
Que no se apartan de mi:
El ultimo de mi madre,
Y el primero que te di.

_Deep in my soul two kisses rest,_
_Forgot they ne'er shall be:_
_The last my mother's lips impressed,_
_The first I stole from thee._

Here is another, the survival of which testifies to the Spanish extreme
love of a compliment; and the somewhat hackneyed sentiment can only have
made it more pleasant to the feminine ear:

Salga el sol, si ha de salir,
Y si no, que nunca salga;
Que para alumbrarme a mi
La luz de tus ojos basta.

_If the sun care to rise, let him rise,_
_But if not, let him ever lie hid;_
_For the light from my lady-love's eyes_
_Shines forth as the sun never did._

It is a diverting spectacle to watch a professional improviser in the
throes of inspiration. This is one of the stock 'turns' of the Spanish
music-hall, and one of the most popular. I saw a woman in Granada, who
was quite a celebrity; and the barbaric wildness of her performance,
with its accompaniment of hand-clapping, discordant cries, and twanging
of guitar, harmonised well with my impression of the sombre and mediaeval
city.

She threaded her way to the stage among the crowded tables, through the
auditorium, a sallow-faced creature, obese and large-boned, with coarse
features and singularly ropy hair. She was accompanied by a fat small
man with a guitar and a woman of mature age and ample proportions: it
appeared that the cultivation of the muse, evidently more profitable
than in England, conduced to adiposity. They stepped on the stage,
taking chairs with them, for in Spain you do not stand to sing, and were
greeted with plentiful applause. The little fat man b