Dolores, of Sunny Spain

       Sunny Spain! What a delightful impression of the wonderful land where oranges grow out of doors and the sun seems to be shining through the greater part of the year. My own name is Dolores, and I live with my little owner, Isabel, in Cadiz, one of the chief cities in all that sunny land. We have one of the most splendid harbors in the world, and our city is extremely old, for it was founded at least three thousand years ago. I wish you could see Isabel, for she is a typical Spanish girl, with pleasing and gracious ways and delightful manners; although, like the rest of us, she is very passionate and easily roused. But as we can hate well, so we can love deeply, and I am devoted to Isabel, and never happy when she is far away from me. She has an olive complexion, dark eyes, and masses of curly black hair that looks simply wonderful in the sunlight. And it is a curious thing that, wherever you go in Spain, and however many little girls you see with their dolls, you will hardly ever see one with fair hair or blue yes, but always the Spanish dark ones. I do not go out in a perambulator like the English dolly does; Isabel always carries me in her' arms, and I always feel very proud of the easy, graceful way in which she walks as we go along the street. As a nation we are very fond of bright colors, and so you may be sure that I have no lack of brilliant clothes to wear. My usual dress is that worn on fete days by a young lady. My skirt has a frilled hem and is just above my ankles in length. My stockings are white and my shoes black, and over my skirt I wear an apron with blue and white stripes. Quite the most brilliant thing about my clothes is my shawl, which is of silk, very often orange in color, with red and green flowers, and always with a broad black fringe running all round the edge.

       This is worn cornerways so as to show the bare throat, round which there are two or three rows of beads. When I am not wearing my shawl and apron, I have a black lace scarf with which to drape my hair, and this is called a mantilla. My hair is a great point with me, and is dressed right on the top of my head, with a very tall comb stuck in behind, but so that it shows from the front. Most of the folks that you would meet in the streets are not, of course, dressed like this, but just in the ordinary way. Traveling in my land is a very slow business indeed, and in many places it is only possible by carts drawn by oxen. A great deal of shouting seems to be necessary to get these carts along, and the first time Isabel took me into the country with her, I was greatly puzzled by all the noise and excitement. Another point, too, that struck me as very curious was the wheels with which the bullock carts are fitted. They are of the most primitive form and only cut from a single round of wood. I did not like my ride at all, I can assure you, and I was very glad when we got to my mistress's uncle's house and the jolting ceased. For we had bumped for hours over the worst possible road, and I heartily wished that I was back in Cadiz again, although it is nice to see your own land and some of the quaint customs that still remain.

The frilled dancing skirts of sunny Spain!