the world!"

With the romantic period of Spanish history Irving was in ardent
sympathy. The story of the Saracens entranced his mind; his imagination
disclosed its oriental quality while he pored over the romance and the
ruin of that land of fierce contrasts, of arid wastes beaten by the
burning sun, valleys blooming with intoxicating beauty, cities of
architectural splendor and picturesque squalor. It is matter of regret
that he, who seemed to need the southern sun to ripen his genius, never
made a pilgrimage into the East, and gave to the world pictures of the
lands that he would have touched with the charm of their own color and
the witchery of their own romance.

I will quote again from the letters, for they reveal the man quite as
well as the more formal and better known writings. His first sight of
the Alhambra is given in a letter to Mademoiselle Bollviller:

"Our journey through La Mancha was cold and uninteresting, excepting
when we passed through the scenes of some of the exploits of Don
Quixote. We were repaid, however, by a night amidst the scenery of
the Sierra Morena, seen by the light of the full moon. I do not
know how this scenery would appear in the daytime, but by moonlight
it is wonderfully wild and romantic, especially after passing the
summit of the Sierra. As the day dawned we entered the stern and
savage defiles of the Despena Perros, which equals the wild
landscapes of Salvator Rosa. For some time we continued winding
along the brinks of precipices, overhung with cragged and fantastic
rocks; and after a succession of such rude and sterile scenes we
swept down to Carolina, and found ourselves in another climate.
The orange-trees, the aloes, and myrtle began to make their
appearance; we felt the warm temperature of the sweet South, and
began to breathe the balmy air of Andalusia. At Andujar we were
delighted with the neatness and cleanliness of the houses, the
patios planted with orange and citron trees, and refreshed by
fountains. We passed a charming evening on the banks of the famous
Guadalquivir, enjoying the mild, balmy air of a southern evening,
and rejoicing in the certainty that we were at length in this land
of promise . . . .

"But Granada, bellissima Granada! Think what must have been our
delight when, after passing the famous bridge of Pinos, the scene of
many a