dreams that have captivated my childish imagination in oriental tales. Nothing ever so strongly depicted before me the coloring, or made me breathe the atmosphere, of the Arabian Nights' Entertainments. If I had been dropped from the clouds, or transported unknowingly from the familiar scenes at home to those around me, I could scarcely have been more surprised and filled with admiration at the contrast. Such a mingling of the sublime, beautiful, and picturesque, with the grotesque and the ludicrous, of the ordinary with the romantic, of strength in art with majesty in nature, of war and peace, of all dialects, figures, faces, garbs, and religions, of lovely scenery with human life and artificial manners.

When we arrived in the bay, the ship had dropped anchor while we were asleep, and I went upon deck during the night, without the least expectation of the extraordinary nature of the scenery around me. The first object that arrested my sight, with a nearness and vividness really startling, was the black, frowning mountain, rising like a huge bank of cloud against the sky, with its lower half all illuminated by the lights in the city. It seemed as if a multitude of meteors or lanterns had been hung one above another against the sides of the mountain, constituting one of the most picturesque scenes I ever beheld. Around me rose a perfect amphitheatre of hills, enclosing the smooth expanse of harbor like a lake, or mirror for the surrounding panorama. The calm night, the bright stars, the smooth and peaceful water, the ships of war riding around us, the encircling shore, the distant mountains, and in the front the great Rock of Gibraltar, with an illuminated village hung upon its base, in such nearness, that it seemed almost to overhang the ship, formed altogether a scene of exciting interest for its novelty and beauty. Its power was increased rather than diminished, when the morning rose upon it, and in the clear light, with all the enchanting effect of distance and shade, its hidden materials, in various

coloring, came into notice; the rough grey summit of the mountain, the Moorish castle hanging half way down, the grotesque looking buildings, clustered in narrow terraces above each other, as though each terrace stood upon the roof of the next below, the fortifications at the base, the vessels of every description revealed in the harbor, the towns of San Roque and Algesiras in the north and west, and the receding hills and mountains lovely in the sunlight.

MALAGA AND THE MEDITERRANEAN.

By this time you are all surrounded at home by snowdrifts half as high as the top of the house, while we are sitting comfortably in January without a fire, in the noon of a day as lovely as the pleasantest of our days in Spring. From this you may judge of the climate. Since the rain the weather is delightful, and the mountains around Malaga are already putting on a richer and more verdant coloring.

It was a clear and splendid afternoon when we weighed anchor in the bay of Algesiras, and bidding adieu, for the present, to the sublime scenery and impregnable fortifications of Gibraltar, stood out into the Mediterranean, on our course for Malaga. The distance is only sixty miles, but for want of wind we were a night and a day in accomplishing it. It was a delightful sail, for the sea was smooth, and sparkled beneath the beams of a cloudless sun, the air was clear, and nothing could be more lovely than the outline of the coast of Spain, as far as the eye could view it. The distant mountains of Grenada, covered with snow, were always visible, and nearer to the coast, the eye ranged among the receding mountains of Andalusia, sprinkled over with the white farm-houses of the peasantry. The beauty of the changing and deepening tints in the sky and on the tops of the mountains at evening as the sun goes down behind them is extreme. Though the middle of December, it was a sunset sky as soft and beautiful while it lasted, as ours in midsummer. But at this season the twilight passes

rapidly, and the rich coloring of the evening horizon was almost as momentary as it was exquisite and changeful.

There is no great beauty in the approach towards Malaga from the sea, except in the grandeur of the Cathedral, and the lofty fortress of the Gibral-Faro. These noble piles of Spanish and Moorish architecture are distinguishable at a great distance, towering far above the whole city, and placed in bold relief against the brown declivities of the mountains in the back ground. From the interior the approach to the city and the Mediterranean is very lovely, for you descend from the very summits of the mountains that sweep down upon the luxuriant vega or plain in which Malaga is so beautifully situated, winding gradually downwards into its bosom, varying your view every moment, with the plain, the city, and the sea all before you. As to the architecture of the city, except its splendid Cathedral, and some few Moorish remains, interesting to an antiquary,. it has nothing. Neither do the fine arts flourish, nor literature, nor religion; nothing but grapes, almonds, raisins, wheat, wine, and oil. There are all things in this delicious region to gladden man's heart, to strengthen his bones, and to make his face to shine; but for his mind and his spiritual being, nothing.

Out of doors the air is full of pictures. Come with me, and we will take a very early stroll through the city, to see its life, on a morning as balmy and delightful in the middle of January as the sweet days in the pleasantest part of a New England Spring. We are now close by the Cathedral, and in the interior of the city.

Directing our steps first towards the mole, we emerge suddenly from the narrow street to a view of the whole harbor, with its variety of shipping and multitude of lighters and small boats commencing the day's activity, and shining brightly in the sunrise. Off the harbor, a very large ship, apparently a man of war, may be seen through the glass, standing across the bay, perhaps to gain an entrance. Sea

ward, everything looks full of life and animation, bright waves curling in the breeze, and white sails in the distant horizon glancing to the sun. Through scattered groups of peasants and boatmen gathering to their day's labors, we pass along the mole, till our attention is arrested by a gang of presidarios, or prisoners, chained, ragged and wretched in their appearance, stupid, sensual and ferocious, seated on the wall by the road side, and eating their breakfast of black bread, as though there were nothing else in the world worthy of notice.

From the mole we enter upon the Alameda, and crossing its smooth and at this hour nearly solitary walks, strike into the busy hive in the main market place of the city. This consists of an open square, from which several streets diverge, and in every part of which, as in the narrow stalls around it, the peasants expose their produce and eatables. The variety and luxuriant abundance of green vegetables and salads in mid-winter will arrest your notice. Sometimes you see them arranged in the central part of the square, in the form of a hollow parallelogram, within which groups of peasants are loitering, with their mules just unladed, while crowds of household servants, both men and women, and here and there a master of the house, are gathering the day's supply of provisions, which they put into open grass baskets or bags, and carry home upon their shoulders. Men, women and children stand at their piles of vegetable merchandise, or in the mouths of their little stalls, and attract your attention by the vivacity of their cries, if not by the novelty of their articles. The abundance of ripe, red tomatoes is a rich spectacle, piled up in lofty pyramids, and flanked perhaps by the long, grey scolloped leaves and white roots of the Spanish artichoke, or luxuriant heaps of green and tender lettuces. Green peas are a customary article at all seasons. Baskets of green cresses, and bunches of white cauliflower, turnips and radishes, parsley and spinnage, with heaps of