ining
altars, images, and other fantastic baubles to awe the ignorant. An
inscription in the tower records that it was nearly destroyed by
the earth-quake of 1755, and though it is the least objectionable
addition, it is a pity that it did not fall on that or some subsequent
occasion. It was raised on the ruins of its Moorish predecessor in
1593. The chief entrance, like that of Seville, is a curious attempt
to blend Roman architecture with Mauresque, having been restored in
1377, but the result is not bad. Recent "restorations" are observable
in some parts of the mosque, hideous with colour, but a few of the
original beams are still visible. I am inclined to consider the
greater part of the roof modern, but could not inspect it closely
enough to be certain. Though vaulted inside, it is tiled in ridges in
the usual Moorish style, but very few green tiles are to be seen.

From the tower the view reminds one strongly of Morocco. The hills to
the north and south, with the river winding close to the town across
the fertile plain, give the scene a striking resemblance to that from
the tower of the Spanish consulate at Tetuan. All around are the still
tortuous streets of a Moorish town, though the roofs of the houses
are tiled in ridges of Moorish pattern, as those of Tangier were when
occupied by the English two hundred years ago, and as those of El
K'sar are now.

The otherwise Moorish-looking building at one's feet is marred by the
unsightly erection in the centre, and its court-yard seems to have
degenerated into a play-ground, where the neighbours saunter or fill
pitchers from the fountains.

After enduring the apparently unceasing din of the bells in those
erstwhile stations of the muedhdhin, one ceases to wonder that the
lazy Moors have such a detestation for them, and make use instead of
the stirring tones of the human voice. Rest and quiet seem impossible
in their vicinity, for their jarring is simply head-splitting. And as
if they were not excruciating enough, during "Holy Week" they conspire
against the ear-drums of their victims by revolving a sort of infernal
machine made of wood in the form of a hollow cross, with four swinging
hammers on each arm which strike against iron plates as the thing goes
round. The keeper's remark that the noise was awful was superfluous.

The history of the town of Cordova has been as chequered as that of
most Andalucian cities. Its foundation is shrouded in obscurity. The
Romans