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tory Irving was in ardent sympathy. The story of the Saracens entranced his mind; his imagination disclosed its Oriental quality while he pored over the romance and the ruin of that land of fierce contrasts, of arid wastes beaten by the burning sun, valleys blooming with intoxicating beauty, cities of architectural splendor and picturesque squalor. It is matter of regret that he, who seemed to need the southern sun to ripen his genius, never made a pilgrimage into the East, and gave to the world pictures of the lands that he would have touched with the charm of their own color and the witchery of their own romance. I will quote again from the letters, for they reveal the man quite as well as the more formal and better known writings. His first sight of the Alhambra is given in a letter to Mademoiselle Bollviller: —

“Our journey through La Mancha was cold and uninteresting, excepting when we passed through the scenes of some of the exploits of Don Quixote. We were repaid, however, by a night amidst the scenery of the Sierra Morena, seen by the light of the full moon. I do not know how this scenery would appear in the day

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time, but by moonlight it is wonderfully wild and
romantic, especially after passing the summit of
the Sierra. As the day dawned we entered the
stern and savage defiles of the Despeña Perros,
which equals the wild landscapes of Salvator
Rosa. For some time we continued winding
along the brinks of precipices, overhung with
cragged and fantastic rocks; and after a succes-
sion of such rude and sterile scenes we swept
down to Carolina, and found ourselves in an-
other climate. The orange-trees, the aloes, and
myrtle began to make their appearance; we felt
the warm temperature of the sweet South, and
began to breathe the balmy air of Andalusia. At
Andujar we were delighted with the neatness
and cleanliness of the houses, the patios planted
with orange and citron trees, and refreshed by
fountains. We passed a charming evening on the
banks of the famous Guadalquivir, enjoying the
mild, balmy air of a southern evening, and re-
joicing in the certainty that we were at length in
this land of promise. . . .
“But Granada, bellissima Granada! Think what
must have been our delight when, after passing
the famous bridge of Pinos, the scene of many a
bloody encounter between Moor and Christian,
and remarkable for having been the place where
Columbus was overtaken by the messenger of
Isabella, when about to abandon Spain in de-

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spair, we turned a promontory of the arid mountains of Elvira, and Granada, with its towers, its Alhambra, and its snowy mountains, burst upon our sight! The evening sun shone gloriously upon its red towers as we approached it, and gave a mellow tone to the rich scenery of the vega. It was like the magic glow which poetry and romance have shed over this enchanting place. . . . “The more I contemplate these places, the more my admiration is awakened for the elegant habits and delicate taste of the Moorish monarchs. The delicately ornamented walls; the aromatic groves, mingling with the freshness and the enlivening sounds of fountains and rivers of water; the retired baths, bespeaking purity and refinement; the balconies and galleries, open to the fresh mountain breeze, and overlooking the loveliest scenery of the valley of the Darro and the magnificent expanse of the vega, – it is impossible to contemplate this delicious abode and not feel an admiration of the genius and the poetical spirit of those who first devised this earthly paradise. There is an intoxication of heart and soul in looking over such scenery at this genial season. All nature is just teeming with new life, and putting on the first delicate verdure and bloom of spring. The almond - trees are in blossom ; the fig-trees are beginning to sprout;

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He is describing an excursion to Alcala de la Guadayra:

“Nothing can be more charming than the windings of the little river among banks hanging with gardens and orchards of all kinds of delicate southern fruits, and tufted with flowers and aromatic plants. The nightingales throng this lovely little valley as numerously as they do the gardens of Aranjuez. Every bend of the river presents a new landscape, for it is beset by old Moorish mills of the most picturesque forms, each mill having an embattled tower, — a memento of the valiant tenure by which those gallant fellows, the Moors, held this earthly paradise, having to be ready at all times for war, and as it were to work with one hand and fight with the other. It is impossible to travel about Andalusia and not imbibe a kind feeling for those Moors. They deserved this beautiful country. They won it bravely; they enjoyed it generously and kindly. No lover ever delighted more to cherish and adorn a mistress, to heighten and illustrate her charms, and to vindicate and defend her against all the world than did the Moors to embellish, enrich, elevate, and defend their beloved Spain. Everywhere I meet traces of their sagacity, courage, urbanity, high poetical feeling, and elegant taste. The noblest institu

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