lost
illusions. He that really knows it, like an ardent lover with his
mistress' imperfections, would have no difference; even the
Guadalquivir, so matter-of-fact, really so prosaic, has an unimagined
attractiveness; the crowded shipping, the hurrying porters, add to that
sensation of vivacity which is of Seville the most fascinating
characteristic. And Seville is an epitome of Andalusia, with its life
and death, with its colour and vivid contrasts, with its boyish gaiety.

It is a city of delightful ease, of freedom and sunshine, of torrid
heat. There it does not matter what you do, nor when, nor how you do it.
There is none to hinder you, none to watch. Each takes his ease, and is
content that his neighbour should do the like. Doubtless people are lazy
in Seville, but good heavens! why should one be so terribly strenuous?
Go into the Plaza Nueva, and you will see it filled with men of all
ages, of all classes, 'taking the sun'; they promenade slowly,
untroubled by any mental activity, or sit on benches between the
palm-trees, smoking cigarettes; perhaps the more energetic read the
bull-fighting news in the paper. They are not ambitious, and they do not
greatly care to make their fortunes; so long as they have enough to eat
and drink--food is very cheap--and cigarettes to smoke, they are quite
happy. The Corporation provides seats, and the sun shines down for
nothing--so let them sit in it and warm themselves. I daresay it is as
good a way of getting through life as most others.

A southern city never reveals its true charm till the summer, and few
English know what Seville is under the burning sun of July. It was built
for the great heat, and it is only then that the refreshing coolness of
the _patio_ can be appreciated. In the streets the white glare is
mitigated by awnings that stretch from house to house, and the half
light in the Sierpes, the High Street, has a curious effect; the people
in their summer garb walk noiselessly, as though the warmth made sound
impossible. Towards evening the sail-cloths are withdrawn, and a breath
of cold air sinks down; the population bestirs itself, and along the
Sierpes the _cafes_ become suddenly crowded and noisy.

Then, for it was too hot to ride earlier, I would mount my horse and
cross the river. The Guadalquivir had lost its winter russet, and under
the blue sky gained varied tints of liquid gold, of emerald and of
sapphire. I lingered in Triana, the gipsy-quarter, watchin