ions of a strange
land. When I return from England it is always that subtle fragrance
which first strikes me, a mingling in warm sunlight of orange-blossom,
incense, and cigarette smoke; and two whiffs of a certain brand of
tobacco are sufficient to bring back to me Seville, the most enchanting
of all my memories. I suppose that nowhere else are cigarettes consumed
so incessantly; for in Andalusia it is not only certain classes who use
them, but every one, without distinction of age or station--from the
ragamuffin selling lottery-tickets in the street to the portly, solemn
priest, to the burly countryman, the shop-keeper, the soldier. After
all, no better means of killing time have ever been devised, and
consequently to smoke them affords an occupation which most thoroughly
suits the Spaniard.

* * *

I looked at Cordova from the bell-tower of the cathedral. The roofs,
very lovely in their diversity of colour, were of rounded tiles, fading
with every variety of delicate shade from russet and brown to yellow and
the tenderest green. From the courtyards, here and there, rose a tall
palm, or an orange-tree, like a dash of jade against the brilliant sun.
The houses, plainly whitewashed, have from the outside so mean a look
that it is surprising to find them handsome and spacious within. They
are built, Moorish fashion, round a _patio_, which in Cordova at least
is always gay with flowers. When you pass the iron gates and note the
contrast between the snowy gleaming of the street and that southern
greenery, the suggestion is inevitable of charming people who must rest
there in the burning heat of summer. With those surroundings and in such
a country passion grows surely like a poisonous plant. At night, in the
starry darkness, how irresistible must be the flashing eyes of love, how
eloquent the pleading of whispered sighs! But woe to the maid who admits
the ardent lover among the orange-trees, her head reeling with the sweet
intoxication of the blossom; for the Spanish gallant is fickle, quick to
forget the vows he spoke so earnestly: he soon grows tired of kissing,
and mounting his horse, rides fast away.

The uniformity of lime-washed houses makes Cordova the most difficult
place in the world wherein to find your way. The streets are exactly
alike, so narrow that a carriage could hardly pass, paved with rough
cobbles, and tortuous: their intricacy is amazing, labyrinthine; they
wind in and out of one another, leading no