The _Malagueña_, which is a dance confined to Malaga, is really most poetical and charming. The cavalier appears first, with his _sombrero_ slouched over his eyes, and his scarlet cloak thrown round him, like that of some hidalgo walking about in search of adventures. The lady then enters, draped in her mantilla, and with her fan in her hand, like a lady who is going to take a turn in the _Almeda_. The cavalier endeavours to catch a glance of the mysterious siren, but she manœuvres her fan so coquetishly, and so well, she shuts and opens it so opportunely, she twists it about so promptly on a level with her pretty face, that the gallant is completely baffled, and retires a few steps to think of some new stratagem. He rattles the castagnettes under his cloak. Directly she hears them, the lady pricks up her ears; she smiles, her breast heaves, and the tip of her little satin shoe marks the time in spite of her; she throws aside her fan and her mantilla, and appears in a gay dancing costume, glittering with spangles and tinsel, with a rose in her hair, and a large tortoiseshell comb at the back of her head. The cavalier then casts aside his mask and cloak, and the two personages execute a deliciously original dance. As I returned along the beach, and looked upon the sea which reflected in its mirror of dark steel the pale visage of the moon, I reflected on the contrast between the crowded circus and the empty theatre,--on the eagerness displayed by the multitude for brutal reality, and its indifference for the speculations of the mind. As a poet, I could not help envying the gladiator, and I regretted having given up action for reverie. The day before, at the same theatre, they had played a piece of Lope de Vega, which had not been more attractive than the work of the younger writer; so that ancient genius and modern talent were not worth a thrust from the sword of Montes!