Still in her heart she is always dressed in mourning and her soul is gloomy and wild.

For three hundred years the poor thing has endured the inquisitorial anguish of burning or being burnt, and she still feels the spasm of that life of terror.

There is no joy here." "There certainly is not, and you find this more in music than in any other phase of Spanish life.

The Germans dance the gay and voluptuous waltz with a 'bock' in their hand, singing the _Gaudeamus igitur_, that students' hymn glorifying the material life free from care.

The French sing amid rippling laughter, and dance with their free and elastic limbs, greeting with rapturous applause their fantastic and monkey-like movements.