cient to excuse the popular tradition, that the whole is protected by a magic charm."

Enchanted with the extreme beauty of the fanciful architecture which surrounds us, I wander from corridor to corridor, from hall to hall, from vestibule to vestible, deriving renewed pleasure at every turn. We visit the hall of the Abencerrages, where Ben points out the blood-stained basin which received the heads of the illustrious warriors of that family, massacred here by order of the jealous Boabdil; at least, so runs the story. Passing on, we explore the gorgeous hall of the Ambassadors, noting its beautiful roof and exquisitely traceried walls; the Tower of Comares; the hall of the Two Sisters; the Tocador de la Reina, or queen's boudoir, a queer little pigeonhole, the walls of which are covered with uncouth modern paintings scratched all over with autographs of the snobbish tourists who delight in perpetuating their vandalisms wherever they go. We descend to the bath rooms, lined with azulejos, or blue tiles, and visit the dungeons and numerous subterranean passages ramifying throughout the building. It is not till night has fairly set in, that I inscribe my name in the visitors' book, and regretfully quit this majestic monument of the Moslem domination. The model by Owen Jones, erected in the Crystal Palace at Sydenham, conveys

an excellent impression of the glories of the splendid pile; though the colours adopted by the modern architect are said to be but poor imitations of the delicate tints used by the Moors, and the gilt columns utterly false substitutes for the marble pillars rounding the Court of Lions.

Wearied by the arduous day's toil, and surfeited with beauties of art and nature, I follow Bensaken back to the town. The fine old fellow seems but little fatigued, and garrulously entertains me with his private opinion of persons in general, and the English in particular. He gives me prolix accounts of having had the honour of exhibiting the palace to the Emperor of the French, and to the Prince of Wales. He also informs me that he considers himself an Englishman to all intents and purposes, being fortunate enough to have been born at Gibraltar; a convenient locality, by-the-by, for persons of his calling, as they can suit their birth to the parties they wish to conciliate. "Ah," says Ben, "I always stand up for the English. Whenever an ugly Englishwoman visits Granada, and I am asked what country she comes from, I say from America, or elsewhere; and when officers come up from Gibraltar, and kick up the devil's delight in the town, I swear they are Scotch or Irish, but never allow they are English."

A MILD TEA-FIGHT.

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Cunning old file! astute old Janus! I revere thee for thy pseudo patriotism, I honour thee for thy happy suppressio veri, I respect thee for thy Machiavelian diplomacy. Ben having conducted me to the door of Don Diego, an old acquaintance residing at Granada, I tip him a dollar, he makes me a profound salute and retires in his usual grave, imperturbable, and dignified manner. I ring the bell; door flies open through some invisible agency. "Quien es?" shouts a female from above. "Gente de paz, I want Don Diego; I'm come to take a cup of tea with him!" "No entiendo una palabra." "Never mind, my beauty, I'll just step in," and suiting the action to the word, I dash up, to the astonishment of the worthy housekeeper, who is suspiciously watching my movements on the stairs. I find Diego very comfortably lodged in a wonderfully snug parlour, where we spend a pleasant evening over the cup which cheers but not inebriates, and it is not till a late hour that I bid him farewell and return to the fonda.

The streets are now silent and deserted, lighted with miserable oil lamps few and far between, patrolled here and there by a solitary watchman, who with halberd and lantern slowly flits along the pavement, occasionally crying the hour and awakening the echoes of the sleeping city.

6

AT four on the following morning, boots' knocks at my door, rousing me from dreams of fairyland to the stern realities of the diligence. Hastily cramming

TRAVELLING AND HOTEL EXPENSES.

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my things into my portmanteau, a lump of cotton into my ear, and a cup of chocolate down my throat, I am ready to start, and take my seat in the berlina of the diligence bound for Bailen. I may here remark that hotel expenses in Spain are moderate. The average charge per diem, inclusive of board and lodging, amounts to from thirty to forty reales, though it is often as low as twenty-five. The fares by diligence are somewhat high. From Malaga to Granada, a distance of about sixty-five miles, a seat in the berlina costs one hundred and twenty reales, or about fivepence per mile; from Granada to Bailen, twenty-four Spanish leagues, I paid one hundred and thirty-six reales, about fourteen pence per league, or 347 English miles. Excess of luggage is charged heavily for, but a portmanteau or hat-box passes free of charge.

There being no direct road from Granada to Cordova, I am compelled to take the diligence to Bailen, there to catch the down stage from Madrid to Cordova, and thus make a journey of about one hundred and sixty miles to accomplish a much shorter distance. We start at 5.15 A. M., and bumping over the horribly uneven pavement, soon leave Granada behind us. Many a farewell glance do I give at the old town, and like Boabdil, sigh at leaving so romantic and beautiful a spot. A military