lled the older portions
of Genoa and Marseilles; yet people live in them, do business there, go
shopping, and generally transact the usual affairs of town life, though
the space between the buildings which line these passages is not
sufficient to allow two donkeys to pass each other with loads on their
backs. Now one comes upon a broken stone bridge spanning the Darro on a
single broad arch of great sweep, under which the noisy river rushes
tumultuously down hill, and wonders how long the toppling houses, which
overhang the rapids, will maintain their equilibrium. The ruthless
finger of Time seems to have touched everything, neglect being only too
manifest everywhere; and yet no facade is so crumbled as not to sustain
a flower-bedecked balcony. If the houses are inhabited, they bristle all
over their whitewashed fronts with clusters of green and blossoming
flowers, strongly relieved by the snowy background. The cloth doors of
the Catholic churches swing invitingly at the touch, and over the door
you are informed in good plain Spanish that plenary indulgences are
retailed within. Shovel-hatted priests in goodly numbers dodge out and
in, but there seem to be few customers from among the people. Persons,
whom by their dress and appearance one would suppose to be in
comfortable circumstances, come boldly up to tourists and ask for a few
cents, seeming to have no feelings of pride or delicacy. Travelers are
looked upon as fair game in Spain; and still one is rather nonplused to
be importuned for coppers by well-dressed strangers, and is apt to
conclude that sturdy beggars can bear stout denials. Now we come upon
the ruins of a square stone tower, which anciently formed a portion of
the public baths; and here an old Arabian gate, arch and battlement
still standing. Near the Alameda another is seen, and gardens, once
connected by a subterranean passage with the distant Alhambra, away on
the hill. Here an arch and there a crumbling column, all souvenirs of
the exiled Moor.

We visited the Royal Chapel which adjoins the Cathedral, where the
magnificent tomb of Ferdinand and Isabella is the chief object of
interest. The effigies of the two lie side by side, hewn from the marble
in life-like proportions, and rest upon a lofty sarcophagus in front of
the great altar. Close by these is a similar tomb in white marble,
representing, in the same position and style, Joanna and her husband,
Philip of Burgundy. In the vault below were see