He Is Thinking Of Granada.

He Is Thinking Of Granada.

The last portion of Spain to linger in my vision as I left its shores was the Rock of Gibraltar, crouched like a monster sphinx upon the border of the sea, guarding the most important gateway of the world. Although bristling with English cannon and surmounted by the British flag, this mountain is still an eloquent memorial of the Arabs; for Gibraltar is only a corruption of Gebel-al-Tarik, - the mountain of Tarik, the leader of the Moors when they first landed in Spain. What wonder that the ancients called this the Pillar of Hercules, planted by the gods at the western extremity of the universe, beyond which even the boldest never dared to sail? As I beheld this gateway of the west, upon whose base the waves of two great oceans break in ceaseless cadence I realized, with a pang of regret, that the fascinating book of Spanish travel was closing fast; and as the mists of evening veiled it gradually from my view, I murmured: "Farewell, vermilion towers of Granada! Farewell, embroidered walls of theAlhambra; sweet orange-groves of Andalusia; fair Giralda of Seville; and marble forests of the Mosque of Cordova! It is a joy forever to have seen you. Hereafter in the picture-gallery of my memory there will hang no more brilliant and alluring tableaux than those which are tinted by the sun of Spain."

Rock Of Gibraltar.

Rock Of Gibraltar.

Spain 347