Walking late in the evening through the streets of Seville, (for I generally spent my evenings at a friend’s house, situated half a mile beyond the gate), I was frequently startled by the sound of broils,--some of which most probably ended in murder; and although often strongly tempted to approach the scene of contention, prudence always gained the victory over curiosity. Sounds and sights of a more agreeable, or more picturesque kind, sometimes awaited me. Once or twice, the sound of the guitar and an accompanying voice, rose suddenly from the shaded angle of a garden wall. Another time, the lover had been more adventurous, for the serenade rose from within the sanctuary of the garden. The night after, proceeding a little way along a narrow street, in which I heard the thrumming of a guitar, a cloaked caballero stepped from the shade of a wall which inclosed an orangery--the scene of the serenade--and crossed the street towards me. I thought it safest not to interrupt the affair, whatever it was; and returned to my lodgings by a more circuitous road: and once, in passing the garden of a female convent, I am strangely mistaken if I did not see two figures disappear from the top of the wall. It is certain, that while I was at Seville, there was a strange rumour respecting the arrest and private examination of two Frenchmen, said to have been detected in some forbidden exploit. Next to Toledo and Murcia, among the larger cities of Spain, superstition and bigotry have the firmest footing in Seville; and from my longer residence in Seville than in Toledo, I had more personal proofs of this, as well as better opportunities of receiving authentic information upon these matters. I will throw some facts together, as they occur to me.