Come again and again, and this strange pile, with its thousand columns and its thousand years of history, grows on you with every visit. We come from a land where all is fresh and new, and these old temples fill us with awe. But if we are impressed with a ruin as in Rome, where Paganism built its temples to become the sites of Christian churches, which themselves have been buried and again dug up to be the wonder of the present age, how much more impressive is a building still fresh and unbroken by the march of centuries, where the pomp and ceremony of a religion, corrupt indeed, yet recognizing God the Father as the only true God, are perpetuated year after year till their number becomes a thousand years. CHAPTER IX. SEVILLE, ITS CATHEDRAL AND BULL-FIGHTS. NOT until reaching Seville does one feel what a luxury it is to live,—just to breathe,—to inhale the delicious air and rejoice in _being_. Other climates had been cold, or damp, or chilly; some hot, debilitating; but this was just right, and when a man comes to the place where the weather just suits him, it is time to sit down and enjoy it. It was a privilege to be any thing that could breathe in this delightful clime. It is the latter part of February. If one of my lungs was out of order, or both of them, I would stay here till they were well, or until the weather became too hot for comfort, and that will be but a few weeks hence. The city is clean, well-built, and in the evening the inhabitants throng some of the streets so as to make it difficult to walk. The courts around which the houses are built are beautifully adorned with flowers and shrubs, and trees; in warmer weather awnings are spread over them, and here the family enjoy themselves with the piano and guitar, the song and the dance. Here, too, the table is spread, and all Seville, it is said, takes tea out of doors. [Illustration: “LA GERALDA,” SEVILLE.]