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 I HAVE spoken of a balcony of the central window of the Hall of Ambassadors. It served as a kind of observatory,
where I used often to take my seat, and consider not merely the heaven above but the earth beneath. Besides
the magnificent prospect which it commanded of mountain, valley, and plain, there was a little busy scene of
human life laid open to inspection immediately below. At the foot of the hill was a public walk, which, though
not so fashionable as the more modern and splendid promenade of the Xenil, still boasted a varied and
picturesque concourse. Hither resorted the small gentry of the suburbs, together with the beaux and belles of
the lower classes, in their Andalusian dresses; swaggering smugglers, and sometimes half-muffled and
mysterious loungers of the higher ranks.
It was a moving picture of Spanish life and character, which I delighted to study; and as the astronomer has
his grand telescope with which to sweep the skies, and, as it were, bring the stars nearer for his inspection,
so I had a smaller one, of pocket size, for the use of my observatory, with which I could sweep the regions
below, and bring the countenances of the motley groups so close as almost, at times, to make me think I could
divine their conversation by the play and expression of their features. I was thus, in a manner, an invisible
observer, and, without quitting
 my solitude, could throw myself in an instant into the midst of society,—a rare advantage to one of
somewhat shy and quiet habits, and fond, like myself, of observing the drama of life without becoming an actor
in the scene.
There was a considerable suburb lying below the Alhambra, filling the narrow gorge of the valley, and
extending up the opposite hill of the Albaycin. Many of the houses were built in the Moorish style, round
courts, cooled by fountains and open to the sky; and as the inhabitants passed much of their time in these
courts, and on the terraced roofs during the summer season, it follows that many a glance at their domestic
life might be obtained by an aerial spectator like myself, who could look down on them from the clouds.
I occasionally amused myself with noting from this balcony the gradual changes of the scenes below, according
to the different stages of the day.
Scarce has the gray dawn streaked the sky, and the earliest cock crowed from the cottages of the hillside,
when the suburbs give sign of reviving animation; for the fresh hours of dawning are precious in the summer
season in a sultry climate. All are anxious to get the start of the sun, in the business of the day. The
muleteer drives forth his loaded train for the journey; the traveller slings his carbine behind his saddle,
and mounts his steed at the gate of the hostel; the brown peasant from the country urges forward his loitering
beasts, laden with panniers of sunny fruit and fresh dewy vegetables, for already the thrifty housewives are
hastening to the market.
The sun is up and sparkles along the valley, tipping the
 transparent foliage of the groves. The matin bells resound melodiously through the pure, bright air,
announcing the hour of devotion. The muleteer halts his burdened animals before the chapel, thrusts his staff
through his belt behind, and enters with hat in hand, smoothing his coal-black hair, to put up a prayer for a
prosperous wayfaring across the sierra.
As the morning advances, the din of labor augments on every side; the streets are thronged with man, and
steed, and beast of burden, and there is a hum and murmur, like the surges of the ocean. As the sun ascends to
his meridian, the hum and bustle gradually decline; at the height of noon there is a pause. The panting city
sinks into lassitude, and for several hours there is a general repose. The windows are closed, the curtains
drawn, the inhabitants retired into the coolest recesses of their mansions; the brawny porter lies stretched
on the pavement beside his burden; the peasant and the laborer sleep beneath the trees of the promenade,
lulled by the sultry chirping of the locust. The streets are deserted, except by the water-carrier, who
refreshes the ear by proclaiming the merits of his sparkling beverage, colder than the mountain snow."
As the sun declines, there is again a gradual reviving, and when the vesper bell rings out his sinking knell,
all nature seems to rejoice that the tyrant of the day has fallen. Now begins the bustle of enjoyment, when
the citizens pour forth to breathe the evening air, and revel away the brief twilight in the walks and gardens
of the Darro and Xenil.
As night closes, the capricious scene assumes new
fea-  tures. Light after light gradually twinkles forth; here a taper from a balconied window; there a votive lamp
before the image of a Saint. Thus, by degrees, the city emerges from the, pervading gloom, and sparkles with
scattered lights, like the starry firmament. Now break forth from court and garden, and street and lane, the
tinkling of innumerable guitars, and the clicking of castanets; blending, at this lofty height, in a faint but
I was one evening seated in the balcony, enjoying the light breeze that came rustling along the side of the
hill, among the tree-tops, when my humble historiographer Mateo, who was at my elbow, pointed out a spacious
house, in an obscure street of the Albaycin, about which he related, as nearly as I can recollect, the