[This article from Miss Connor, written from Malaga last summer, having been mislaid, after its reception, is published at this time as not without interest, notwithstanding the delay.—Ed.] The streets of Malaga always present an animated appearance. One never sees here that dead calm which pervades many of our northern cities in midsummer. At all hours of the day the air resounds with the sonorous voices of men and boys calling out whatever they may have to sell. Fish of all kinds, fruits, live turkeys and many other things may be obtained in this way, with the additional entertainment of listening to a loud and heated discussion between the servant and vender regarding the price. If the latter chances to be a boy, he summons a flood of tears to his assistance, having acquired, as a part of his occupation, the faculty of crying when occasion demands. The servant, accustomed to mechanical weeping, is immovable and the youthful imposter is finally compelled to receive a fair price for his wares.
Every afternoon at five o’clock, an old man with a bright, cheerful face passes our window calling out “barquillos” in a clear, musical voice which makes itself heard at a long distance. The children crowd around him while he takes from a green box strapped over his shoulder, a tube made of light paste, on one end of which he puts a white foamy substance, composed of the whites of eggs and sugar. At this juncture, the little ones become frantic and jostle each other in a most unceremonious manner, in their eagerness to possess the delicate morsel. Each one is served and the poor old man goes on his way rejoicing ever the few quartas which will buy his daily bread. Barquillos are also obtained at restaurants as an accompaniment for ices, and seem to be relished by children of a larger growth, as well as others.
The business of the ware houses commences at an early hour and continues through the day; carts drawn by mules are constantly passing while the industrious little donkeys may be seen marching in a line, following their leader, who has a bell to announce his coming. During the vintage, long lines of donkeys laden with boxes of raisins come from the vineyards, horses never being used except in cabs and private carriages. The cab horses are poor, old animals which seem to have lived as long as nature intended, but are kept alive by some mysterious agency, and by dint of much urging and whipping manage to move at a slow pace. One day, when we were taking a drive, the horse suddenly stopped and the driver dismounted. To our inquiry, as to the cause of delay he replied, “no es nada” (it is nothing), resumed his seat and we started again, but had not proceeded far when the animal absolutely refused to go; this time we insisted upon alighting and were coolly informed that the horse was only a little cansado (tired). Many more instances might be cited illustrating the manner in which dumb animals are abused in a country where there are no laws prohibiting it, or if such laws exist they are not enforced.
The animation prevailing through the day by no means diminishes as night approaches, although of a very different character. At twilight, the higher classes sally forth to the Alameda 227or Muelle (mole), to enjoy the refreshing breeze from the sea, while those of lower estate seek some place of rendezvous and indulge in their idle gossip. An occasional troubadour steals to some obscure corner and sends forth plaintive sounds from his faithful guitar, not unfrequently some youthful swain is inspired to add the charms of his voice, and the “Malaguenas” bursts forth in all its primative sweetness. The enthusiasm of the Spaniards on hearing their national airs is something remarkable, they become quite wild with excitement and applaud in the most vociferous manner. Foreigners, also, who have spent some time in the country, share this enthusiasm, which seems to be caused more by a certain rhythmical peculiarity, than by any extraordinary merit of the music itself.
The romantic days of Spain are past, when the lover stood beneath the balcony of his sweetheart, wooing her with the gentle strains of his guitar. To us it seems a matter of regret that this ancient custom no longer exists, but it undoubtedly relieves many anxious parents as it particularly favored clandestine courtships. A Spanish gentleman of our acquaintance who is blessed with seven daughters, and occupies a house containing twenty balconies, c............