rdinand and Isabella, the wisest sovereigns who
ever ruled over Spain. Yesterday we visited the royal chapel, and beheld
the beautiful monument erected to their memory. In its architecture it
struck me as being exceedingly unique, the work of consummate skill and
exquisite taste. It is of delicate alabaster, and was wrought, it is
said, at Genoa, by Peralla. It is about twelve feet in length by some
ten in breadth, profusely covered with figures and ingenious designs in
relief, while upon it, as upon a bridal couch, the statues of Ferdinand
and Isabella, in their royal robes, are extended side by side--their
faces like those of life, in calm and beautiful repose, elevated toward
heaven. Having examined the monument for some time, we descended into
the little arched vault beneath, which contained the coffins of the
deceased monarchs. These were of lead, strongly bound with iron, and the
letter F., upon that of Ferdinand, was the only sign which distinguished
them from each other. While in that small chamber of the dead, my memory
ran back to the great events of the fifteenth century--the discovery of
America and the conquest of Grenada--which owed their origin to the
enterprise of the two famous personages whose ashes were inclosed in the
heavy leaden cases at my feet; and I never felt more profoundly the
insignificance of earthly renown, or the vanity of individual glory.
"The paths of glory lead but to the grave." Coming from the tomb, we
were next shown a sceptre and crown which had been used by the
illustrious dead. Also a sword which Ferdinand himself wore in his
battles with the Moors. Leaving the Cathedral, we proceeded along to the
Moorish palace called "The Generaliffe." This edifice is not far from
the "Alhambra," and is separated from it by a deep and romantic ravine.
Passing through a level avenue of cypress and rosebushes, we arrived at
its main entrance. The first view of the interior was ravishing. The
virgin stream of the Daru, here collected in a narrow canal, was rushing
with a musical sound through arbors of cypresses and files of flowery
trees, arranged like fairy sentinels on either side. Passing on, we soon
reached the "trysting-place" of Zoraya, the frail Sultana. This spot
certainly is too exquisitely beautiful for me to describe. It is of a
rectangular form, and bordered with beds of flowers and handsome trees.
On one side is an arbor of gigantic cypresses, beautifully trained, the
trunks of which