He will pace the silent square at night, and discourse with Seneca. His ears will drink in the stoic counsels of Lucan, and his brain will grapple with the problems laid down by the sagacious Averroes. He will hear the Moslem call to prayer, and stand to gaze upon the band of the devout filing into the Mezquita. Clamours of battle will assail him, the clash of sword and shield will startle his slumber, and the night will tremble with the triumphant roar of the fierce, invading Goths. And in hours, fragrant with the scent of flowers--placid in contemplation of the simple happiness of Cordova’s youths and maidens in the Court of Oranges--he will weave romances of the ancient life, when the town was the seat of the cultured, the home of the arts, and the sanctuary of the pious. Doubtless the Cordova of to-day subsists like other towns upon the industry and the commercial energy of its inhabitants. There are shops and hotels in the streets; there are signs of handicrafts and of common daily employments. But there is no bustle, no indication of a strenuous existence for the people, and the siesta is long and undisturbed. There is a market, but its produce and merchandise do not suggest the wealth and commerce of earlier days. The _consumo_, or customs officer, levies his tax upon almost everything which the hard-faring peasants bring into the town, and we have seen a conflict between one of these officials and a countryman over a single live pigeon. The peasant questioned the tax, and the officer explained the case with the flat of his sword-blade. This incident is characteristic of Andalusia, and perhaps it may throw a light upon the discontent which is apt, at times, to manifest itself violently among the agricultural population of Spain. Certainly there are days of markets and ferias when Cordova arouses itself, and trains of mules and asses creep into the place, and flocks may be seen in the streets. Wine, oil, and fruit are produced in the environs, and grain-crops flourish on the plain. In mediæval times Cordova was famed for its mart, where silk and grain were sold. The district still bears repute for its horse-breeding, but the stock has suffered deterioration through injudicious selection. An anonymous American writer, who was here in 1831, speaks of the horses of Cordova as the finest in Spain, and asserts that they are the descendants of the pure Arabian breed. One still notes many good horses. It is said that the water from the Guadalquivir is as nourishing for horses as is the barley of certain districts of Spain.