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 THE CATHEDRAL OF SEVILLE

living prototypes! One thing alone remains of our ideal Carmen, the red rose in her jetty hair. Within the building we are shown from hall to hall, each vaster and more gloomy than the last, each crowded with weary looking women, young and old, of whom many are rocking with their feet the cradle of a sleeping child, while rolling cigars or cigarettes with the busy hands. Four thousand workers—four thousand hapless Carmens—daily throng the halls and breathe the tobacco-laden atmosphere. Reaching the outskirts of the city we encounter a goodly load of country lads and lasses fair-ward bound, making slow progress in a two-wheeled cart drawn by a pair of sturdy oxen. A pleasure vehicle offering less comfort we have never seen, nor the one the occupants of which were in a merrier mood. This annual feria occur