Cadiz is less interesting than some others of the Spanish cities, because it is less purely Spanish: the number of foreign mercantile houses, and the concourse of strangers always to be seen in Cadiz, gives to the population a more mixed and motley aspect than that which belongs to the population of Seville, Madrid, Valencia, or indeed, of any Spanish city--with the exception, perhaps, of Barcellona: and in the mode of life, too, foreign usages have made great inroads upon the exclusiveness and peculiarities of Spanish customs. The table is better served in Cadiz than elsewhere, and strangers are more frequently seated at it: the hours of repast too are later. At the table of a person in the middle ranks of life, the puchero is seldom seen; and among the upper classes there is an affectation of a preference of French wines, sufficiently ridiculous in a city situated so near Xeres, and in a country in which every little district produces its own peculiar, and often exquisitely flavoured wine. But those very things that diminish, in some degree, the interest of Cadiz in the eyes of a stranger, render it the most attractive city in Spain, for one who desires to pass a few months agreeably. There is, there, no shrinking from the eye of the stranger; hospitality is understood in its true sense; and no one need fear, in Cadiz, that the time may hang heavy on his hands. Externally, Cadiz has its advantages and its drawbacks; the streets are clean, and many of them sufficiently wide for the climate, which is delightful; but which, in the latitude of thirty-six, cannot be otherwise than hot; and there is no want of finely situated, commodious, and even elegant houses, for those who can afford to live in them. But the chief external charm of Cadiz, is found in its ramparts, and in the delightful promenade which they afford. The day of my arrival in Cadiz, as well as the day of my return to it from Xeres, were both too stormy for the enjoyment of a promenade; but the day following, was calm and beautiful; and I spent half the morning, and all the evening, upon the ramparts. The views are of course marine views, and scarcely to be exceeded in beauty, from the rampart fronting the bay, and Puerto de Santa Maria. The bay itself, the opposite shore, the many towns that sprinkle it, the distant Sierras of Xeres and Ronda, the vessels lying at anchor in the harbour, the innumerable boats crossing the ferry--fishing, or sailing, or rowing for pleasure--and the fine irregular line of handsome white buildings that lie along the Alameda, form altogether, a delightful and animated picture.