Produced by Josep Cols Canals, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) SPAIN IN 1830. By the same Author, In 2 vols., Post 8vo., Price 16s. SOLITARY WALKS THROUGH MANY LANDS,--with TALES and LEGENDS. The descriptions are diversified and graphic,--the tales introduced, interesting and clever,--and the author’s narrative style, sprightly and unaffected.--_New Monthly Magazine._ It is all pleasing, and always interesting,--the author has at once the eye of a keen observer, and the pen of a ready writer.--_Athenæum._ [Illustration: AL-HAMBRA. From a drawing by T. G. Vigne, Esq. Engd. by Edwd. Finden. Published by Whittaker & Co. London, June 14, 1831.] SPAIN IN 1830. BY HENRY D. INGLIS, AUTHOR OF “SOLITARY WALKS THROUGH MANY LANDS;” “A JOURNEY THROUGH NORWAY,” &c. &c. IN TWO VOLS. VOL. I. LONDON: WHITTAKER, TREACHER, AND CO., AVE-MARIA LANE. 1831. LONDON: PRINTED BY S. MANNING AND CO., London-house-yard, St. Paul’s. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY DAVID, EARL OF BUCHAN. MY DEAR LORD, Since I parted from your Lordship, eight years ago, on the bridge of Namur, changes have happened both to you and to myself. You have become a Lord,--I have become an author. When a man acquires a handle to his name, all the world knows it; but when a man begins to handle his pen, it is a chance whether any one knows it but himself. It is very likely, therefore, that your Lordship may be as ignorant upon this point, as I fear the rest of the world are; but it will doubtless surprise your Lordship to be told, that upon you I lay all my sins of authorship. It was in those daily and delightful strolls on the banks of the Meuse, that you inspired me with the desire of hunting the wild boar in the forest of Ardennes; and when I went to bury myself there,--at the time that your Lordship sought the busier scenes of Paris,--I carried with me that little green writing-desk and its golden key, the gift of the lamented Mrs. Erskine. Figure to yourself, my Lord, my isolated dwelling, with six feet of snow around my doors,--no companion but my great shaggy dog, and my blazing faggots, and the little green writing-desk upon a table by my side,--and your Lordship will admit, that I could not do otherwise than use the golden key and blot my paper.