light starts up from various points-a light here and there, giving token of the coming night. The ringing of bells falls on the ear-of many bells-that. ring as though it were a summons or an admonition. They come from all parts of the city, and their jangling is tempered into a kind of music by the distance and the clearness of the air. This is the angelus. In this Catholic country it is the custom, when the sun goes down, for the priest to go to his prayers, and for all Christian souls to cease whatever calling may employ them and for a few moments to join him in his prayer, thanking the Virgin for having given them the blessing of another day, thanking the saints for having watched over them, praying our Saviour to be with them alway, and give them at the end the grace of a happy death. As the bells ring out, you know that all Cadiz turns by instinct and for a few moments joins the praying priest in his supplications. From this point of view what a beauty you find in those angelus bells as you lean over the sea-wall-the cool breezes fanning your cheek and hear them jangle in the evening air. Stately Spanish gentlemen pause and their cloaks fall from the shoulder for the Spanish gentleman always uncloaks himself when he greets you-and now he is greeting supremacy and looks out towards the sea and follows the distant priest in his prayer. My lady with the glowing eyes pauses and the head drops a moment, and making the sign of the cross, she passes on. For a few minutes the jangling bells ring out and all the world is at prayer. He would be a poor Spaniard, whatever his creed or ways, who could allow those bells to pass without answering their invocation. They ring for him now as they did for his infancy, as they rang for his ancestors, as they ring every day of his life. Whatever the world may do in the way of temptation or duty, for one moment the Church comes

and absorbs his soul, and he is one with the thousands around him, and his heart goes in reverence to its Maker; and as you hear these jangling bells, you feel how fond and vast and supreme is this religion, whose command falls upon a people from a hundred turret bells.

There is not a more happy-go-lucky piece of humanity than your Spanish peasant. Give him his vino tinto, his olla, his cigarette, and his dance, and he's as happy as a king. If he can earn in the morning as much as will supply his wants, it never enters his head to work during the day. He knocks off, repairs to the nearest venta or wineshop, and there enjoys himself after his sweet, wild will. If he can earn a peseta, well and good; if not, he gaily succumbs to reales; and if reales are not in the market, he puts up with cuartos and an onion.

To see that man sitting astride his donkey on his road to market, is a rare treat to the observant traveller. The patient animal-laden, as to panniers, with wine, olives, or every conceivable description of vegetables-still finds room for its lazy master, who perches himself in the midst of the impedimenta, running his feet into a leathern strap fastened round the donkey's neck, close to the poor brute's head. He smokes and sings-such droning! and stops to gossip, or to let his dapple graze, or upon any excuse that may offer; and, his cargo once disposed of, becomes a man upon town. He is good-humored, civil, but languid. There is no "go" in him; his vim would seem to have deserted him, leaving nothing but the outward semblance of a man.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

GENERAL GRANT VISITS GIBRALTAR-SAILING OVER MEMORABLE TRAFALGAR GIBRALTAR AS A CLASSIC AND MODERN TOWN-ANCIENT MEMORIES OF GIBRALTAR HOW THE MOOR, SPANIARD, AND ENGLISHMAN HAVE STRUGGLED FOR THE ROCK - GENERAL GRANT AND LORD NAPIER AN AMERICAN WELCOME-A REVIEW AND SHAM BATTLE-THE AMERICAN GENERAL'S OPINION OF THE BRITISH SOLDIERS.

General Grant and his party left Cadiz, on the morning of November 17th, for Gibraltar. Our correspondent thus relates the subsequent events:- We left Cadiz in the early morning, and the sea was in her gentlest mood. General Duffie, our gallant and genial Consul, was with us. The run from Gibraltar carries you past some of the famous cities of the world. It is the thin line that divides two continents, the barrier over which civilizations have dashed and fallen. So much of the romance of European travel is embraced in these historic memories, that you find yourself, even in the presence of Nature in her most gracious and resplendent moods, diverted from the contemplation of her beauty into a revery upon forgotten ages and the great men who lived then. This city we are leaving, for instance, whose towers are glowing in the morning sun, was founded by Hercules. The city we left the other day, Lisbon, was founded by Ulysses. The city to which we are steering was the Calpe of the classic age. These rocks, over which the sunny waves are breaking in smooth, idle fashion, and along which grimy peasants are groping for oysters and sea-weeds, were the Ultima Thule of the an

cient days. Beyond was the dark unknown. This strait was the gate of the Mediterranean, and we feel, as we are steaming towards it, as we see the enclosing hills that almost seem to touch and to mark for us the two continents, we feel that we leave behind us the modern and come into the ancient world. It was through this strait that Columbus sailed when he discovered America. Can you fancy what

he felt as he pushed into the sea and left behind him his gentle Mediterranean? And as if Providence, in the marking out of the globe, had determined the battle-fields

THE MEDITERRANEAN FROM A DISTANCE.

of the giants, you are reminded that in all the struggles for the mastery of empires this narrow strait has borne her part. Cadiz vanishes away. It is a long time before we lose sight of her, as for a long time she remains glowing on the horizon, like a radiant gem in azure setting. We pass a jetting promontory and enter a bay, and we know that here giants have contended, for in this bay was fought the battle of Trafalgar seventy-six years ago, and the might of England was permitted to grapple with the might

of France. I suppose no event, for centuries, at least, was more decisive of the fate of the European world, than the battle which took place in these smooth waters over which our small bark merrily courses, and which we, a party of idle, gossipping tourists, are studying, not without an impatient feeling towards the Spanish cooks who are behind with breakfast. There is scarcely a breeze to disturb its fair surface, so rent and torn on that fateful day. If Nelson had been defeated here, I suppose England would have been invaded by Napoleon, and, when we see what great armies have been able to do with the most civilized of nations, is there any limit to what might have been done to England by the army which conquered at Austerlitz? But it was not to be. The fates had decreed that here, on this fishing-ground, the ambition of Napoleon should be stayed and England saved.

It is not a long journey from Cadiz to Gibraltar, and after passing Trafalgar all eyes look for the teeming rock on which England holds guard over the highway to India. Gibraltar is one in a line of posts which English policy is compelled to retain for the defence of her empire. Oddly enough, the impartial observer cannot help noting that this England, the most inoffensive of nations, always craving peace, wishing to molest no one, always selects for these posts a position of menace to other Powers. From Aden she menaces Egypt; Hong Kong is a guard upon China; from Heligoland she observes Germany; Malta is the outpost of Italy and France and Austria, and to draw nearer to Russia she took Cyprus. Rather than surrender Malta she went to war with Napoleon. On our own coasts the Bahamas are a menace to the United States. I have heard it estimated, by those who can form a good opinion, that the possession of the Bahama Islands by the English during our war with the South, entailed upon the North an