passing the famous bridge of Pinos, the scene of many a bloody encounter between Moor and Christian, and remarkable for having been the place where Columbus was overtaken by the messenger of Isabella, when about to abandon Spain in despair, we turned a promontory of the arid mountains of Elvira, and Granada, with its towers, its Alhambra, and its snowy mountains, burst upon our sight!  The evening sun shone gloriously upon its red towers as we approached it, and gave a mellow tone to the rich scenery of the vega.  It was like the magic glow which poetry and romance have shed over this enchanting place. . .

“The more I contemplate these places, the more my admiration is awakened for the elegant habits and delicate taste of the Moorish monarchs.  The delicately ornamented walls; the aromatic groves, mingling with the freshness and the enlivening sounds of fountains and rivers of water; the retired baths, bespeaking purity and refinement; the balconies and galleries; open to the fresh mountain breeze, and overlooking the loveliest scenery of the valley of the Darro and the magnificent expanse of the vega,—­it is impossible to contemplate this delicious abode and not feel an admiration of the genius and the poetical spirit of those who first devised this earthly paradise.  There is an intoxication of heart and soul in looking over such scenery at this genial season.  All nature is just teeming with new life, and putting on the first delicate verdure and bloom of spring.  The almond-trees are in blossom; the fig-trees are beginning to sprout; everything is in the tender bud, the young leaf, or the half-open flower.  The beauty of the season is but half developed, so that while there is enough to yield present delight, there is the flattering promise of still further enjoyment.  Good heavens! after passing two years amidst the sunburnt wastes of Castile, to be let loose to rove at large over this fragrant and lovely land!”

It was not easy, however, even in the Alhambra, perfectly to call up the past: 

“The verity of the present checks and chills the imagination in its picturings of the past.  I have been trying to conjure up images of Boabdil passing in regal splendor through these courts; of his beautiful queen; of the Abencerrages, the Gomares, and the other Moorish cavaliers, who once filled these halls with the glitter of arms and the splendor of Oriental luxury; but I am continually awakened from my reveries by the jargon of an Andalusian peasant who is setting out rose-bushes, and the song of a pretty Andalusian girl who shows the Alhambra, and who is chanting a little romance that has probably been handed down from generation to generation since the time of the Moors.”

In another letter, written from Seville, he returns to the subject of the Moors.  He is describing an excursion to Alcala de la Guadayra: