To-day, we have a fine walk in a beautiful park, on one side of the city, from whence we have a charming view of the mountains; on one side, so grand and bold, with olive groves, and white country houses sparkling in the sunshine; on the other side, the hills are low, and their graceful, wavy outlines have the peculiar purple hue belonging to Spain, and form a striking contrast to the others. Between the two, lies the city, and the fertile plains about it. We lose our way in the tortuous streets, and spend the morning peeping into the beautiful patios, (courts,) which open to the heavens, or have sometimes a linen awning over them; with marble pavements, over which the cool fountains play; with orange-trees, and flowers, amongst which sofas, and chairs, and pictures are disposed; and around which often runs a marble corridor, with pillars and curtains, communicating with the other apartments. Here the family sit, and here take place the "tirtulias," the meetings for talk and music. A picture of one of these patios is thus charmingly translated from one of Fernan Caballero's beautiful tales by a late English traveller; and which any one who has been in Spain will recognize: "The house was spacious, and scrupulously clean: on each side the door was a bench of stone. In the porch hung a little lamp before the image of our Lord in a niche over the entrance, according to the Catholic custom of putting all things under holy protection. In the middle was the 'patio,' a necessity to the Andalusian. And in the centre of this spacious court an enormous orange-tree raised its leafy head from its robust trunk. For an infinity of generations had this beautiful tree been a source of delight to the family. The women made tonic decoctions from its leaves; the daughters adorned themselves with its flowers; the boys cooled their blood with its fruits; the birds made their home in its boughs. The rooms opened out of the 'patio,' and borrowed their light from thence. {212} This 'patio' was the centre of all the 'home;' the place of gathering when the day's work was over. The orange-tree loaded the air with its heavy perfume, and the waters of the fountain fell in soft showers on the marble basin, fringed with the delicate maiden-hair fern. And the father, leaning against the tree, smoked his 'cigarro de papel;' and the mother sat at her work, while the little ones played at her feet, the eldest resting his head on a big dog, which lay stretched at full length on the cool marble slabs. All was still, and peaceful, and beautiful."