What art! what knowledge! And the sensuous charm of a heavenly climate, where winter is never known, and spring passes into summer without a struggle; a land loved by the veiled beauties of the East, looking down through shadows of the fretted _miradores_, marble galleries, and _patios_, on barbican towers and Roman walls! And what a people, cloudless in temper as the heavens! To love flowers, to dance _seguidillas_, and _oles_, and to tell tales, that is your Andalusian--grouped in circles anywhere, under a hedge or a plane-tree, on a grassy knoll, in gilded halls, or beneath painted arches. A happy, thoughtless race at all times, taking life and conquest as it comes. If Andalusia is left to Mousa, Tháryk has lost the fairest jewel of Spain. * * * * * Abdul-asis spoke to his father. “My lord and father,” he said, “as yet I have done nothing to deserve a sword. Behold, when my service is over, and I return to Egypt and appear before the Sultan, what will he say when I answer that I have gained no battle, and taken no city or castle? Good my father, if you love me, grant me some command, and let me gain a name worthy of your son.” To this Mousa answered: “Allah be praised! The heart of Abdul-asis beats in the right place. Your desire, my son, shall be granted. While I go north, to besiege Merida, you shall march southwards. Seville has defeated the Moors, and quartered Christian troops in the barbican. Be it your care to drive out these unbelieving dogs, and plant once more the Crescent on the Giralda tower. Reduce the city, and spoil the land. Then pass southward, and conquer the province of Murcia, where the Gothic Teodomir defends himself with a handful of troops.” * * * * * When Abdul-asis, who read the Persian poets and had himself tried his hand at verse, came in sight of beautiful Seville, lying like a white lily surrounded by the shadows of dark woods, he sighed: “Alas! is it for me,” he said, “to bring destruction upon so fair a scene? Why am I come to dye with blood those flowery groves, and burden the tide of the Guadalquivir with corpses? Alas! why did not my father choose some place less lovely on which to bring ruin than this the palm-crowned queen of cities!” Thus mourned Abdul-asis, but not so the fiery Africans whom he commanded. They gazed on the walls with wrath, and longed to flesh their scimitars in Christian blood. It was with the utmost difficulty that the merciful Abdul-asis stopped the massacre when the city fell. It pained his gentle heart, for its many beauties, especially the palm-planted gardens of the Alcazar, vocal with purling streams and bubbling fountains, so dear to the Arab fancy.