wood, and on the massive square tomb in front they repose in
alabaster. A fellow-tomb by their side has been raised to the memory
of their immediate successors. In the sacristry are to be seen the
very robes of Cardinal Mendoza, and his missal, with the sceptre and
jewel-case of Isabella, and the sword of Ferdinand, while that of
the conquered Bu Abd Allah is on view elsewhere. Here, too, are the
standards unfurled on the day of the recapture, January 2, 1492, and
a picture full of interest, recording the adieux of "Boabdil" and
Ferdinand, who, after their bitter contest, have shaken hands and are
here falling on each other's necks.

As a model of Moorish art, the palace of Granada, commenced in 1248,
is a monument of its latest and most refined period. The heavy and
comparatively simple styles of Cordova and Seville are here amplified
and refined, the result being the acme of elegance and oriental taste.
This I say from personal acquaintance with the temples of the far
East, although those present a much more gorgeous appearance, and are
much more costly erections, evincing a degree of architectural ability
and the possession of hoards of wealth beside which what the builders
of the Alhambra could boast of was insignificant; nor do I attempt to
compare these interesting relics with the equally familiar immensity
of ancient masonry, or with the magnificent work of the Middle Ages
still existing in Europe. These monuments hold a place of their own,
unique and unassailable. They are the mementoes of an era in the
history of Europe, not only of the Peninsula, and the interest which
attaches itself to them even on this score alone is very great. As
relics on a foreign soil, they have stood the storms of five centuries
under the most trying circumstances, and the simplicity of their
components lends an additional charm to the fabric. They are to
a great extent composed of what are apparently the weakest
materials--mud, gypsum, and wood; the marble and tiles are but
adornments.

From without the appearance of the palace has been well described as
that of "reddish cork models rising out of a girdle of trees." On
a closer inspection the "cork" appears like red sandstone, and one
wonders how it has stood even one good storm. There is none of that
facing of stone which gives most other styles of architecture an
appearance of durability, and whatever facing of plaster it may
once have possessed has long since disappeared. But i