e for us,
but was brought to justice by us, and joined cheerfully in the chorus of
children chanting "Mo-ney, mo-ney!" round us, but no more expecting an
answer to their prayer than if we had been saints off the church door.

We passed out of the city by a gate where in a little coign of vantage
a cobbler was thoughtfully hammering away in the tumult at a shoe-sole,
and then suddenly on our right we had the Julian wall: not a mere
fragment, but a good long stretch of it. The Moors had built upon it
and characterized it, but had not so masked it as to hide the perdurable
physiognomy of the Roman work. It was vastly more Roman wall than you
see at Rome; but far better than this heroic image of war and waste was
the beautiful old aqueduct, perfectly Roman still, with no visible touch
from Moor, or from Christian, before or after the Moor, and performing
its beneficent use after two thousand years as effectively as in the
years before Christ came to bless the peacemakers. Nine miles from its
mountain source the graceful arches bring the water on their shoulders;
and though there is now an English company that pipes other streams to
the city through its underground mains, the Roman aqueduct, eternally
sublime in its usefulness, is constant to the purpose of the forgotten
men who imagined it. The outer surfaces of the channel which it lifted
to the light and air were tagged with weeds and immemorial mosses, and
dripped as with the sweat of its twenty-centuried toil.

We followed it as far as it went on our way to a modern work of peace
and use which the ancient friend and servant of man would feel no
unworthy rival. Beyond the drives and gardens of the Delicias, where we
lingered our last to look at the pleasurers haunting them, we drove far
across the wheat-fields where a ship-canal five miles long is cutting
to rectify the curve of the Guadalquivir and bring Seville many miles
nearer the sea than it has ever been before; hitherto the tramp steamers
have had to follow the course of the ships of Tarshish in their winding
approach. The canal is the notion of the young king of Spain, and the
work on it goes forward night and day. The electric lights were
shedding their blinding glare on the deafening clatter of the excavating
machinery, and it was an unworthy relief to escape from the intense
modernity of the scene to that medieval retreat nearer the city where
the _aficionados_ night-long watch the bulls coming up from their