o'clock-he sees his friends downstairs and unlocks the street door for them.

'good-night."

My friends," he says,

"Buenas noches, Don Pablo," is the answer, "que Vd. descanse."

"Gracias, igualmente."

A couple of minutes later the pious wish is gratified; a sound of snoring emerges from the cama de matrimonio or nuptial couch in the front alcoba; and one and all, even-so potent and mysterious are the charms of Morpheus-to the chica on her Spartan catre, the household is asleep.

46

CHAPTER IV.

MANNERS AND CUSTOMS, OLD AND NEW.

OST of us, I believe, have heard the story of the Oxford student, set by his examiners a four hours' paper on "The Manners and Customs of the

Chinese," and who, when time was called, smilingly handed in by way of essay, the single sentence-" Customs, beastly; manners, none."

I fear it is far beyond me to deal as briefly as the ingenious undergraduate with the complex manners and customs of Spain; in fact, a suspicion haunts me that my observations may extend to more than a single chapter. Therefore I can only plead that according to eminent authorities the topic at large is of surpassing interest. "Manners makyth Man," declares a prehistoric adage, dating from the never-sufficiently-to-be-lamented period when our forefathers squatted in a circle with chunks of raw flesh between their fists, and genteelly tossed the bones to their wives who stood behind them. "Messieurs," was Napoleon's cry, "je veux des mœurs;" and even the sage of Chelsea admits that "Ubi homines sunt, modi sunt. Habit is the deepest law of human nature."

Habit, then, being confessedly a synonym for dress, I may premise that foremost among the

indispensable and classical articles of Spanish costume is the capa, the far-famed cloak of history, tradition, and actuality; monument of Spaniards as they were, as they are, and destined beyond a doubt to figure as the monument of what they shall become. Winter by winter, young and old alike "wrap their auld cloak about them," and expect no newer fashion. Summer by summer, in the instance of humbler classes, the capa goes regularly to the casa de préstamos (pawnbroker's), and provides the family cocido for quite a while; and autumn by autumn there is pinching and scraping to restore its comforting folds to the bosom of their owner. Together with the sword it formed the sovereign attribute to romance at the Court of the Hapsburgs, as well as in the dramas of ingenious Calderón and tireless Lope; and now without the sword it sturdily maintains its old supremacy. Proverbs have been dedicated to it, poems, and even coplas

La capa del estudiante
Parece un jardin de flores,
Toda llena de remiendos

De varios colores.

The student's cloak

Is like a flower garden,
Full of patches

Of various colours.

It is quite peculiar to this country. A simple affair, reaching to just below the knee, and of black, dark green or navy blue cloth, edged with braid; the quality of the whole varying, as is natural, in accordance with the cost. Inside the front, and serving

partly as ornament, partly as an extra wrap, and partly as lining, are two strips of velvet, one beyond and parallel with the other. These, contrasting richly in colour (scarlet and dark green are as usual as any), are each some seven inches in width. The outer is the embozo; the inner, the contraembozo. Gathering up the embozo with his right hand, and sharply jerking the fold thus gathered round his throat and over his left shoulder, the wearer is said to be embozado, or muffled. In this manner the velvet strips protect the throat and upper portion of the chest, and even the mouth can be covered, while the lower end of the right side hangs not ungracefully part way down the back, displaying the embozo and contraembozo. When so much covering is not necessary, the garment is merely left open down the front, when the velvet is invisible.

I have listened to animated discussions on the

hygienic qualities of the capa. It is undeniable that it thickly envelops the throat and a part of the chest, but the folded material devoted to this purpose is robbed, so to speak, from another portion of the person-namely, the right thigh and leg. Again, the garment hangs infinitely looser than an overcoat, so that a heavy gust of wind will blow it overhead; and furthermore, save for the strips of velvet, is destitute of lining. Its advantages, in a word, are probably quite counterbalanced by its dangers.

Nor, at the present day, is it highly picturesque. In former times, when the cut, to be sure, was slightly different, although in principle the same as nowadays, it was agreeably enhanced by wigs,

chambergos, three-cornered hats, and swords. At present it must jog along beneath a bowler, or a soft felt hat, which consort with it just about as well as oil with vinegar. Notwithstanding, its popularity is never for a moment threatened.

In the Calle de la Cruz at Madrid is a limitless

choice of capas. A fair one costs from eighty to one hundred and twenty pesetas; a good one, anything between the latter figure and a couple of hundred. Beyond this, the quality of the cloth is invariable; but hand-made braid of intricate design will run up the cost to three and even four hundred. In the cheap In the cheap qualities-say from twenty pesetas to sixty-it is usual for a commoner material, frequently with a plaid pattern, to be substituted for the velvet embozo and contraembozo.

The delicate lace mantilla, the most graceful headgear in the world, is either white or black. As a general rule, the former is for dressy occasions and the latter for ordinary wear, but both, unhappily, are tending to succumb-especially among the upper and upper middle classes-in favour of the straw, stuff, and feather abominations of Parisian origin. This is deplorable, since Spanish ladies, despite their numerous and prominent attractions, rarely seem to look their best in a hat. Andalusia, however, is less disposed than other parts to adopt the senseless innovation, and in Seville,

* A broad-brimmed hat of the seventeenth century, so called from the Chamberga Guard, created by Mariana of Austria in or about the year 1668. The actual word Chamberga is believed to derive from the French general Schomberg, who, oddly enough, was never in Spain.

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