But however this may be, the floats of the wheels, assisted by the stream, were driving rapidly towards Cadiz. Seville was beginning to fade away behind us, but, by a magnificent optical effect, in the same proportion as the roofs of the houses appeared to sink into the ground and become confounded with the distant lines of the horizon, the cathedral increased, and seemed to assume the most enormous size, like an elephant standing up in the midst of a flock of sheep lying down all around; it was not till that moment that I gained a just idea of its immensity. The highest church-steeples did not rise above the nave. As for the Gualda, distance gave its rose-coloured bricks an amethyst, adventurine tint, which seems to me incompatible with our dull climate. The statue of Faith glittered on the summit like a golden bee on the top of a large blade of grass. Shortly afterwards, a turn in the river concealed Seville from our sight. The banks of the Guadalquiver, at least as you descend the river towards the sea, do not possess that enchanting aspect that the descriptions of travellers and poets attribute to them. I have not the remotest idea where these gentlemen have got the groves of orange and pomegranate-trees, with which they perfume their songs. In reality, you see nothing but low, sandy, ochre-coloured banks, and yellow, troubled water, whose earthy tint cannot be attributed to the rains, since the latter are so rare. I had already remarked a similar want of limpidity in the Tagus; it arises, perhaps, from the large quantity of dust that the wind carries into the water, and from the friable nature of the soil through which the river passes. The strong blue of the sky, also, has some share in producing this effect, and by its extreme intensity, causes the tones of the water, which are always less vivid, to appear dirty. The sea alone can dispute the palm of transparency and azure with such a sky. The river continued to become broader and broader, and the banks flatter and smaller, while the general aspect of the scenery reminded me forcibly of the physiognomy of the Scheldt about Antwerp and Ostend. This recollection of Flanders in the heart of Andalusia, seems rather strange in connexion with the Moorish-named Guadalquiver, but it suggested itself to my mind so naturally, that the resemblance must have been very striking; for I can assure my readers that I was not then troubling myself about the Scheldt nor my voyage to Flanders, some six or seven years ago. Besides, the river presented no very animated appearance, and the country which we could see beyond the banks appeared uncultivated and deserted. It is true that we were in the middle of the dog-days, during which Spain is hardly anything more than a vast cinder-heap, without vegetation or verdure. The only living creatures visible were herons and storks, standing with one leg tucked under their breast and the other one half immersed