However full of radiant happiness the day may have been, it is outshone by the sinking sun casting a golden halo over the country-side. The walls of the Alhambra, once so fiercely fought for, stand forth as though dipped in blood. The distant mountains glitter golden-bronze, and the snowy sides of the Sierra Nevada scintillate in flames. Slowly the fair fires die down, and a chill spectral white falls upon the snow summits. The eventide is there and with it the stars. The Spaniards have coined a proud sentence: “Quien no ha visto Granada, no ha visto nada!" He who has not seen Granada has seen nought! And I should like to add: He who has seen Granada and the Alhambra on sunny spring days, bears with him a talisman to ward off sorrows in dull days, and can never be completely unhappy again in life. * * * * * The =Mosque, Cordova=. A nation set forth to convert the world to its faith. Its battle-cry in this holy war was Allah! Victory after victory was gained, till finally the triumphal march of fanaticism was stopped by the opposing faith of its religious adversaries. The waves receded, and the Cross triumphed over the Crescent. This struggle of two faiths and two continents left indelible marks on the fields of battle. These wars had been carried on in the name of God. Sacred edifices were erected to the victor. On the ruins of the mosque arose the most beautiful cathedral in the world as token of victory. Spain never would have received the impress she bears to-day without those bitter religious wars. Cordova was the jewel among Moorish occidental towns, destined to outshine the sister cities Damascus and Bagdad in the far Orient. It was here that all the wealth and pomp of Moorish domination was displayed. Cordova’s population exceeded a million souls. It was the seat of Arabic art and profound learning; the centre of religious life. The muezzin called the faithful to prayers from 3000 minarets. Cordova became a new Mecca which drew crowds of pilgrims from the East to the West. What has now become of this metropolis? A shadow! Wandering through narrow streets of the town one seems to be in Cordova of a thousand years ago. The old cobbled pavements are probably the same, the houses too, behind whose trellised windows the harem was hidden. The old crooked, narrow and confused mass of streets are still there. Once in a while a palm is seen leaning over white walls across the street; open doors offer views into pleasant court-yards. The Mezquita, the Mosque, stands like a dark rock surrounded by the white trembling light of the sea of houses.