Morals in Cadiz are, if possible, even lower than in the other Spanish cities: female virtue is a thing almost unknown, and scarcely appreciated. It is with difficulty and with pain we can bring ourselves to believe, that in a civilized country, there should exist a state of society in which that purest gem--female modesty--bears no price; and it is unpleasant to have the conviction thrust upon us, that the innate virgin pride, which we have ever delighted to believe inseparable from the female character, should be so loosely rooted, as to wither away under the baleful influences of habit and opinion. Yet how can we resist this conclusion? I could give innumerable examples of the depraved state of morals in Cadiz: I have at this moment before me, a closely written page of notes, full of these; and even the names of individuals are mentioned; but I have turned the leaf, and will not sully my page with details which might indeed gratify curiosity, but which could add nothing to the truth of the statement I have made, that in Cadiz, “female virtue is a thing almost unknown, and scarcely appreciated.” The morals of the religious bodies in Cadiz are exemplary; nothing, at all events, is said to their disadvantage; and in a city such as Cadiz, this is evidence enough in their favour. Formerly, the morals of the monastic orders in Cadiz were notoriously bad; but there is now so little disposition in that city, to affect blindness towards the feelings of the clergy--free opinions in religion have made so great progress in Cadiz--and so watchful an eye is kept upon the conduct of the religious bodies, that purity of morals could alone protect them against public obloquy. In Cadiz, there are not many objects of curiosity to visit: it has no antiquities now visible; few public buildings worthy of notice; and a very scanty assortment of good pictures. In search of the last, I visited the churches and convents, without finding any thing to reward my labour. In one convent, indeed--the Capuchins--is found that picture which last employed the hand of Murillo. He, however, only designed it, and laid on the first colours; the work being completed by a pupil. In its colouring, there is of course nothing of Murillo to be seen; but in the composition, the genius of the master may be detected; and the picture is at all events interesting, as being the last of his works--more interesting indeed because an unfinished work--since we know in looking at it, that _there_, for the last time, his hand gave visible manifestation of his genius.