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[228] and horses, delighted with living among his own vassals, and promoting good agriculture; a brave and successful soldier, and a dexterous Picador. Don Angel, whom he loves, I am told, affectionately, is certainly one of the most extraordinary young men I have met in Spain.1 He has a fine person, a beautiful face, full of genius, has written several plays that have been well received in the Spanish theatres, painted a large piece that made much noise in the last exhibition at Madrid; is as brave as Caesar, since he has eleven severe wounds in his body received from the French; and, with all this, is very modest, simple, and elegant in his manners, and a pure Andalusian in the gayety of his temper, his horsemanship, and his love of bull-fights and dexterity as a Picador. I really passed my evenings very happily with them. The amusements were dancing, singing, etc., and the evening before I came away, they danced their national dances in the national costumes, to gratify my curiosity, so that I stayed until almost morning, as much as if I had been an Andalusian. . . . .

On the 20th, very early in the morning, I left Cordova, and returned upon my steps as far as Andujar, where I dined. There I turned off, and plunging at once into the mountains, continued travelling through a broken and picturesque country, where, though there was only a road for horses, I often met considerable towns, and almost always with some strong Moorish fortification near them, until four o'clock on the morning of the 22d, when, after having ridden twenty-four hours successively with the mail-post, for safety, I entered Granada. . . . .

After resting myself a little, I went to the palace of the Archbishop, and presented my letter from the Nuncio. The Archbishop is an old man of nearly seventy, but so well preserved that he does not look like fifty-five, plain in his manners and almost rude, and with a strong air of genuine ecclesiastical decision and authority in all he does and says. After talking with him a few minutes, he took me by the coat, and carrying me into a large suite of apartments, gave me the key, and said, ‘There, sir, these rooms are yours, and this servant is at nobody's orders but yours as long as you are in Granada; but you will make use of them or not, just as you please, for I never shall inquire. Moreover, I dine at two o'clock every day, and you will always ’


1 Don Angel afterwards became Duke de Rivas. He was always affectionately remembered by Mr. Ticknor and some interchange of books and letters occurred between them in later years. In the Preface to the first edition of the ‘History of Spanish Literature,’ this Duke de Rivas is spoken of as one ‘who, like the old nobles of the proudest days of the monarchy, has distinguished himself alike in arms, in letters, and in the civil government and foreign diplomacy of his country.’

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