Karnak; and, like Karnak, the Alhambra is picturesque from whatever point
it is viewed.

We descended through wastes of cactus to the Darro, in whose turbid stream
a group of men were washing for gold. I watched one of them, as he
twirled his bowl in precisely the California style, but got nothing for
his pains. Mateo says that they often make a dollar a day, each. Passing
under the Tower of Comares and along the battlements of the Alhambra, we
climbed up to the Generalife. This charming villa is still in good
preservation, though its exquisite filigree and scroll-work have been
greatly injured by whitewash. The elegant colonnades surround gardens rich
in roses, myrtles and cypresses, and the fountains that lulled the Moorish
Kings in their summer idleness still pour their fertilizing streams. In
one of the rooms is a small and bad portrait gallery, containing a
supposed portrait of Boabdil. It is a mild, amiable face, but wholly lacks
strength of character.

To-day I devoted to the Alhambra. The storm, which, as the people say, has
not been equalled for several years, showed no signs of breaking up, and
in the midst of a driving shower I ascended to the Vermilion Towers, which
are supposed to be of Phoenician origin. They stand on the extremity of a
long, narrow ledge, which stretches out like an arm from the hill of the
Alhambra. The _paseo_ lies between, and is shaded by beautiful elms, which
the Moors planted.

I entered the Alhambra by the Gate of Justice, which is a fine specimen of
Moorish architecture, though of common red brick and mortar. It is
singular what a grace the horse-shoe arch gives to the most heavy and
lumbering mass of masonry. The round arches of the Christian edifices of
Granada seem tame and inelegant, in comparison. Over the arch of the
vestibule of this gate is the colossal hand, and over the inner entrance
the key, celebrated in the tales of Washington Irving and the
superstitions of the people. I first ascended the Torre de la Vela, where
the Christian flag was first planted on the 2d of January, 1492. The view
of the Vega and City of Granada was even grander than from the Albaycin.
Parapanda was still bonneted in clouds, but patches of blue sky began to
open above the mountains of Loxa. A little boy accompanied us, to see that
I did not pull the bell, the sound of which would call together all the
troops in the city. While we stood there, the funeral procession of the
man murdered two nig