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The Sierra Nevada, or Snowy Ridge, supplies its beautiful valleys with perpetual streams of fertilizing water, producing a never-ending succession of crops. i. kingdom was the last home of the Moors in Spain, who fled hither from the Christian advance; and it became the centre of their various arts and sciences, as well as of their agriculture and commerce. Granada, under their dominion, possessed a population of half a million, and at present it scarcely numbers eighty thousand inhabitants. Let us descend now to the city, and stroll through its narrow winding streets, where the sun-shine scarcely gains an entrance. Here is the Tacatin, the shopping-street, with its narrow lanes, impassable for carriages, and its little low shops, just as they were left by the Moors. Now we come to the place of Bib-Rambla, the heart of Granada, once filled with bazaars, where the richest products of the east were displayed. Here were held the festivals and tournaments; and here, according to tradition, was given the last fête beheld by the beautiful Zoraya, which terminated in a bloody combat between the tribes of the Zegris and the Abencerrages, which was a prelude to the fall of this long flourishing and happy kingdom. The public promenades are charming retreats at all hours of the day. Here, beneath avenues of gigantic trees, and amid the song of numerous fountains, which shed round their refreshing influence, the élite of Granada resort to take their evening stroll. We will pass now to the Albaycin, the most ancient and curious part of Granada, which has remained almost entirely unchanged since the days of the Moors. It is now almost entirely inhabited by a race of Gypsies, who flourish amid the mud and filth of the dirty narrow streets. Just at the out-skirts of the town, numerous caves were pointed out to me, which are also inhabited by a part of this ragamuffin race. The cathedral is well worthy of a visit. This immense structure is in the Graeco-Romano style, and was founded in 1529. Its fine beautiful naves are formed by enormous pillars, composed of four half columns united at the top by Corinthian capitals; and its lofty dome, painted in white and gold, gives an air of grandeur to the interior. Many of the chapels contain beautiful paintings, particularly those on the right-hand side of the grand portal. In the Capilla de San Miguel, the first, there is a fine Cano, called La Virgen de la Soledad. The expression of the face is melancholy, but full of sweetness. In the Capilla de Los Reyes, the largest and most beautiful chapel connected with the church, are the sepulchres of Ferdinand and Isabella, upon which repose their full-length statues. This tomb is most exquisitely wrought, and the figures and ornamentation afford a study for hours. Next to the tomb of Ferdinand and Isabella, is that of their daughter, Inasca, and her husband, Philip of Burgundy. The sacristan removed an iron grating in the pavement, which displayed a flight of steps, and we descended by them to a small vault beneath the tombs, where I beheld the coffins of the wisest and greatest sovereigns that ever ruled Spain. Ascending to the chapel, the sacristan pointed out to me the carved effigies of the king and queen on each side of the altar, which are said to be correct representations of their faces, figures, and costumes. The painted carvings behind them, on the retablo of the altar, are very curious, representing the conquest and conversion of the Moor. The first is the surrender of the Alhambra. Isabella is seen mounted on a white steed, riding between Ferdinand and the celebrated Cardinal Mendoza. The later has his hand extended to receive the key of the city, which the conquered Boabdil submissively presents. Behind are knights, ladies, and numerous captives. The other basso-relievo represents the conversion of the Moors after the conquest, where shorn monks are baptizing the crowd by wholesale. There are numerous other churches and convents in Granada, a description of which, however, would scarcely interest the reader, for they have nearly all been stripped of their most valuable works of art, and appear to be in a decaying condition from long neglect. In 1835 and 1836, all conventual establishments were suppressed throughout Spain, and their property confiscated by the State, to be sold, and applied to the payment of the public debt and expenses. This wholesale spoliation brought great poverty into the church; for although the government undertook her support, it has never been able to fulfil its engagements, owing to the financial difficulties of the country. It is for this reason that we see so many churches and convents stripped of their riches and works of art, and that the eye is so frequently pained with the ruin and desolation that surrounds so many

noble edifices in Spain. R. T. mi.

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SHE loved him — but he knew it not. Her heart
Its secret hoarded, as the miser doth
His precious gold. Whene'er he looked aside,
Her eyes were bent on his, and there reposed,
Till a returning glance their radiance quenched
In love-born tears, trembling beneath the veil
Of each deep azure orb, cast down to earth
In quiet sadness. He was her heart's dear theme
From matins to the vesper-chime; and night
Brought to her couch the fancies of each day
In dreams whose chaste and ever-new delights
Melted in sorrow with the morrow's snow.
Alas! it could not be that one so fair
Should long endure such load of misery.
A twelve-month stole the roses from her cheek,
And laid her in the narrow resting-place
Where now she sleeps, untouched of every care,
With wealth of bright flowers growing over her.

A REMINISCENCE.

BY MARTHA BUBBELL

THERE'& rosemary - that's fer remembrance.'

In the motion of the very leaves of spring, in the blue air there is found a secret correspondence with the heart. There is eloquence in the tongueless wind, and a melody in flowing brooks, and in the whistle of the reeds beside them, which, by their inconceivable relation to something within the soul, awaken the spirit to a dance of breathless rapture, or bring tears of deep mysterious tenderness to the eyes - like the enthusiasm of patriotic success, or the voice of one beloved singing to you alone.'

SHELLEY'S LETTERR. "The feet of the avenging deities are shod with wool,' says the old Greek proverb, and its truth is never more deeply felt than when the sounds and shows of spring, the voices and occupations of little children, become the plummet to stir the dark waters of remorse that underlie almost every human experience.

We, in our wisdom, forgetting that we are but children of older growth, are accustomed to speak of the joys and sorrows of childhood as slight and transitory; things of little note. But is it so ?

Let each one look into his own heart; let him ask himself what memories bring the brightest flush of pleasure to the cheek, or the keenest pang of remorse to the heart, and he will find them those which stretch up from these mis-judged and slighted days.

At least I have found it so, else the laughing voices of those children yonder would have no power to bring up reflections like these. Years lie between the present and the hour they recall, yet its shadow has followed fast on my foot-steps, and will never be lifted from my path until it is lost in the darker one from the valley of death, and I am able to say, in the language of the blessed land that lies beyond, the words I have so oft repeated here — Forgive !

And yet it is a pleasant scene — those children on the massive old horse-block yonder, (famous in the annals of my own childhood as the seat of many a mighty consultation; the citadel of retreat when wet floors or any other domestic operation made our presence de trop in the house,) with the old knife,' theirs in virtue of its dulness ever since they have been old enough to use such an article, busy in the manufacture of whistles from the golden branches of the willow, whose pale-green catkins lie scattered at their feet, while the chenille-like tassels of the maples above them droop idly in the warm sun-shine, and the air around is filled with the slumberous hum of a pioneer-company of yellow-coated bées, who are already rioting on the blossoms of the maples.

The old house-dog lies near them, in a warm nook, with his nose thrust between his out-stretched paws, lazily watching their proceedings from under his half-shut eye-lids. He evidently considers himself a judge of such matters ; (well he may, old Bruno, for he has seen more years than either of those brown heads above bim ;) for as they spring to their feet, sending down a whole shower of chips and twigs, and blow a shrill

blast of triumph in proof of their success, he rouses up and gives a short bark, as much as to say, “Pretty well done!” then, shaking himself, and turning round in his steps two or three times, he again resumes his watchful posture, while the golden oriole, glinting about among the white blossoms of the plum-tree, like a moving flame, nods his shining head as he utters his note of approval, which is caught up by the bobolinkums in the apple-trees, who, doubtless, utter many a wise and witty criticism on willow-whistles and musical instruments in general; but, unfortunately, they are poured forth with such volubility, that neither the children nor the dog, nor myself, are any the wiser for them. This is what is visible to the casual eye; but, under the influence of that mysterious law of correspondences of which Shelley speaks, I see through the fast-gathering tears more, much more; and feel again the touch of little fingers that I know have long, long since lain still beneath the grave-sod; and we arrange again, as of old, our tea-sets of acorncups and saucers, our bits of broken china, in the great knot-hole beneath the second steps of the old horse-block that for years served us as a cupboard. Anne E and I were play-mates from infancy; our babies, toys, and tools (tool perhaps I should say, our whole possession consisting in a Barlow-knife) were joint-stock; together we threaded the woods in spring to gather flowers or winter-green, and in the smoky autumn-days made nutting-expeditions to the hills. We were neighbors—country-neighbors—our homes being nearly a half mile apart; and though the old E house has long since been levelled to the ground, and naught remains to mark its site save a sunken spot of deeper green than the surrounding meadow, and here and there a straggling red rose-bush and a patch of yellow lilies or “live-for-ever,' I can see the quaint old building as plainly as if it stood there now, with its sharp roof slanting on the east and north almost to the ground; its little narrow windows stuck in here and there without any reference to order or regularity; the deep-green yard, with its clumps of snow-balls and lilacs by the front gate; the tall laurels and damask roses beneath the windows; the ‘striped grass' on each side of the low door-step; the ‘entry-way,’ with its fresh, crispy mat of braided corn-husks; the great front room, with the white sand drawn in zig-zag patterns over the floor; the green branches of asparagus, with its red berries, in the great open fire-place, and above the small, dark-framed mirror; the high-backed, capacious chairs, with their cushions of patch-work in stars and diamonds of all sizes and colors. That great armed-chair with the blue and buff cushion was old Captain E 's: that I know well, for the cushion had been made from what the moths had left of the coat which he had worn at the taking of Stony Point under General Wayne. The door-yard was our favorite place of resort. Here, in one corner, was Anne's garden, and hither from the gardens and the woods we brought in our aprons

“DAFFooms,
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty; violets dim,
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes,
Or CYTHEREA's breath: '

fragile anemones and bashful liver-leaf; spotted adders' tongues, and dandelions, and butter-cups,

“The child's inheritance from God;’

together with handfuls of daisies,
“The emprise and the flour of flouris all;'

the darling of the poets, that with

‘SILVER shield and boss of gold Doth spread itself, some fairy bold In fight to cover:” sweet, fresh, fragrant, beautiful things, but, as we gathered them, rootless, and too often stemless, which scarcely had we planted in our wee borders, ere they drooped and died beneath the ardent rays of

‘Bright Phoebus in his strength.”

Saturdays were our only holidays, and we usually spent them together. One day—it was about this time of year—I went up to see Anne and finish some gardening operations which we had planned on our way home from school the evening before. It was just such a lovely spring-day as . this: the swallows twittered on the ridge of the barn, and made sudden, side-long dives into the yard, as if drunken with joy; the house-martins, in their glossy, blue-black livery, flew back and forth into their miniature dwelling beneath the eaves, and chattered as noisily as so many politicians in convention; a wood-pecker, with a scarlet cowl, was drumming away upon a decayed limb of the old ‘pound-sweeting’ apple-tree by the garden-gate, quite unmindful of our childish speculations as to how he contrived to stand with his back downward, while from the ‘hill-side woods’ came the mournful note of the ring-dove. The air was full of fragrance from the lilacs and apple-blossoms, and murmurous with the droning hum of insects; the black-birds circled in flocks about the cornfields, while a sentinel-crow sat perched upon the top-most branch of a tall white-wood that over-looked the field where Mr. E was planting corn, and at intervals sent forth his hoarse cry to notify his companions that he did not sleep at his post.

Some how, our work did not progress very well that day. Several things occurred to try our patience, of which we had neither of us any great share. We were told that we could not have the nice white shingles which we had selected from a pile in the cow-house, to build a fence around our garden—a feat which we intended to perform with the aid of our ‘Barlow-knife’—because Mr. E wanted them to patch the roof of the barn; and we were obliged to carry them back, and take up with some old, brown, mildewed things which lay in the yard; then, when we had, at last, got our pickets all up, little Willie, Anne's brother, in his haste to escape from a belligerent turkey-cock of which he stood in no small fear, pitched head-long into our garden, and demolished one whole side of our fence.

Willie was a delicate little boy, never very strong, with hair as flossy

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