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Charles Wainwright Marcha
SKETCHES AND ADVENTURES
THE ANDALUSIAS OF SPAIN.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
• DANIEL WEBSTER AND HIS COTEMPORARIES."
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by
HARPER & BROTHERS, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern District
of New York.
Passing the summer months in a village in New Hampshire-a village, let me say parenthetically, which, from its nice houses, well-cultivated farms, and pleasant scenery, reminds me more of Old England than any other country town I have seen in New England—and being necessarily thrown for occupation mostly upon my own resources, I concluded to write out some recollections of a short residence in Madeira and the European Peninsula—a part of the world which has been comparatively but little visited by the American or general tourist. The want of regular communication between the United States and those countries is doubtless the reason of their being so little known to our countrymen. The few who have visited them always speak with grateful acknowledgment of the pleasure they derived from the tour or sojourn.
Two of our most eminent citizens-General Dix and Mr. John Van Buren-passed a winter in Madeira, receiving and conferring great gratification in their visit. The former has written the best book upon the island ever put forth ;-without pretension, and yet full of interesting details ; in a chaste, lucid, and concise style; and has created a desire among those whose means and education qualify them for travel to participate in enjoyments he so keenly relished. I have reason to know that his pleasant narrative has induced many to visit Madeira, as it doubtless will many more.
While many books have been written upon Spain, I recollect no one that treats particularly and personally of the Andalusias, or southern part. My sketches and adventures reflect Andalusia as it is, or I have failed in my attempt. I
make no claims to any thing but to delineate manners and daily occurrences by transcripts from my own experience. Indeed, there was nothing else left to be done. Our own American Triumvirate—Irving, Prescott, and Ticknor-had divided Spain proper among themselves; one appropriating the province of romance, another that of history, and the last, of literature: and he would be rash indeed who undertook to disturb a supremacy resting upon the incontestable title of genius.
I have not aimed to make an ambitious book. Had I done so, I should not have succeeded in the attempt. Both subject and ability would have failed me. But I have endeavored to convey to others some faint idea of the attractions of the most interesting part of Europe, as I think the southern part of Spain decidedly is. Let the traveler go there and judge for himself.
However it may be- whether my success in that or other respects be commensurate with my intents—of one thing I am sure: I have had my reward. I have lived over the perhaps six pleasantest months in my life in writing out their history; and on a spot endeared to me above all the rest of the world by hereditary associations and the poetry of childhood,
GREENLAND, Nov. 1st, 1855.