“Every monarch is subject to a mightier one.”—Seneca.

FOR many years after the great Saracen invasion in the eighth century, Spain was divided into various small states. In the fifteenth century these were so united as to form four,—Castile, Aragon, Navarre, and the Moorish kingdom of Granada. The province of Granada was all that remained to the Moslems of their once vast possessions in the peninsula. On the 10th of March, 1452, in the little town of Sos, Ferdinand, son of King John of Aragon, was born. The early Spanish historians note with care the good omens attending this event. The sun, which had been obscured with clouds during the whole day, suddenly broke forth with unwonted splendor. A crown was also beheld in the sky, composed of various brilliant colors, like those of a rainbow. All which appearances were interpreted by the spectators as an omen that the child then born would be the most illustrious among men. As this event was also nearly contemporary with the capture of Constantinople, it was afterwards regarded by the Catholic Church as a providential provision in behalf of the religion of which Ferdinand became such a staunch supporter, as his zealous life might be regarded as an ample counterbalance to the loss of the capital of Christendom. One year before this time, in the palace of the king of Castile, on the 22d of April, 1451, a little princess had been born, and christened Isabella. This Spanish princess was descended, both on her father’s and mother’s side, from the famous John of Gaunt, duke of Lancaster.

But around the cradles of these two royal babies many contentions arose, which we cannot stop to note. When Isabella was four years of age, her father died, and her half-brother Henry became king of Castile; and, as she had still another brother, Alfonso, there did not seem to be much probability that she would succeed to the throne. She retired with her mother to the small town of Arevalo, where she was educated with care, and instructed in lessons of practical piety, until she reached her fourteenth year.

Meanwhile, the little Prince Ferdinand, in Aragon, was surrounded with constant contentions between his father, king of Aragon, and his half-brother Carlos. Joan, the mother of Ferdinand, was the second wife of King John. She was a proud, ambitious woman, much younger than her husband, and was of the blood royal of Castile, being the daughter of Don Frederic Henriquez, admiral of that kingdom. She hated her step-son Carlos, who was heir to the throne, as she regarded him as an obstacle to the advancement of her own child, Ferdinand. We cannot stop to note all the family broils occasioned by Joan’s jealousy. Prince Carlos seems to have been a youth of many attractions of mind and body, and was the idol of the people. So, when King John, influenced by his wife Joan, succeeded in having Carlos arrested, and placed in strict confinement, the entire kingdom was thrown into excitement. The people sprang to arms, determined to release the prince; and they were so threatening that King John fled with his wife to Saragossa. The insurrection now spread throughout Aragon, Valencia, and Navarre, and even into King John’s possessions in Sardinia and Sicily. At length, the frightened king saw the necessity of releasing his prisoner. Prince Carlos was received by the people with wild enthusiasm; and the king could only make peace with his subjects by a public acknowledgment of Carlos as his rightful heir and successor. But Carlos did not long survive this triumph. He fell sick of a fever, and died in 1461. Some historians hint that the prince was poisoned, to make way for the youthful Ferdinand, now ten years of age, and who was immediately declared heir to the throne. The queen-mother then took Ferdinand to Catalonia, to receive the homage of that province; but the Catalonian nobles, who were exasperated against the king on account of his treatment of Carlos, displayed so much hostility that the young prince and his mother were obliged to take refuge in the fortress of Gerona. Here they were at last relieved by King John. But the Catalans then seceded from the authority of the king of Aragon, and they presented the crown to the duke of Lorraine, who marched with an army of eight thousand men against the old king of Aragon, whose treasury was empty, and who had become totally blind. In this emergency, the mother of Ferdinand, who was a brave woman, placed herself at the head of such forces as she could collect; and, with her young son Ferdinand riding by her side, she heroically marched against the enemies of her husband, and attacked the duke of Lorraine with such impetuosity that she drove him in confusion from Gerona. In this encounter, young Ferdinand came near being taken captive.

Meanwhile, the Princess Isabella was nearly sacrificed to the ambition of her half-brother, who was king of Castile. The beautiful princess, who had now been brought from her retirement in Arevalo to her brother’s court, had many suitors for her hand. Her half-brother, King Henry, promised his sister in marriage to a rich but wicked old nobleman; and great preparations were made for the wedding. The anguish of the poor Princess Isabella was so great that she shut herself up in her apartment, praying to God, with groans and tears, that He would deliver her from this impending doom. Still, the wedding preparations went on. Meanwhile, the wicked old nobleman set out from his palace to claim his youthful and beautiful bride. But God had heard the prayers of the afflicted princess; and, as the aged bridegroom reached a small village, at the end of the first day’s travel, he was suddenly seized with an attack of quinsy, which terminated his life.

The nobles of Castile now entreated Isabella to allow herself to be proclaimed Queen of Castile, in opposition to her brother, whom they all hated. Her other brother, Alfonso, who would have been heir, had previously died. But Isabella was too noble to seek such revenge upon her cruel brother; but the nobles forced the king to declare her his successor to the throne, and to promise that she should not be forced to marry against her will.

The king of Portugal now desired to secure Isabella for his bride; and her brother threatened to imprison her unless she would yield. As overtures had been made by the young and handsome Prince Ferdinand of Aragon for the hand of the fair Isabella, and as her heart was also inclined towards this handsome prince, she determined, in spite of her brother, to accept the proffered hand of Ferdinand. The marriage articles were signed on the 7th of January, 1469. Isabella was aided by the archbishop of Toledo, who raised a regiment of dragoons, and carried her in triumph to Valladolid, where she was greeted by the people with the wildest enthusiasm. Meanwhile, her brother attempted to prevent Ferdinand from entering Castile to marry Isabella. As the father of Ferdinand was so pressed by a war with his nobles, he could not afford his son an armed escort sufficient to secure his safety. So Ferdinand resolved to go disguised as a merchant. With half a dozen companions, Ferdinand started upon this adventuresome expedition to secure his lovely bride, in spite of hostile foes. Amidst many perils they pressed on their way. One night, at an inn, they lost their purse, containing all their money. At length they were met by an escort, sent by Isabella for their protection. The fair princess, with her little court, was at Valladolid. Ferdinand, accompanied by four attendants, rode privately to Valladolid, where he was received by the bishop of Toledo, and conducted to the presence of Isabella. The young prince was very handsome, tall and fair, with an intelligent countenance and intellectual brow. He was eighteen years of age. He was well educated, and of temperate habits. He was graceful and courtly in manner, and seemed a fitting mate for the beautiful princess of nineteen, of whom a contemporary writer says, “She was the handsomest lady whom I ever beheld, and the most gracious in her manners.”

Isabella was highly educated for those times, and spoke the Castilian language with grace and purity. After a brief lover’s interview of two hours, Ferdinand returned to Duenas, where he had left his companions. Preparations were immediately made for the marriage, which was solemnized at the palace of one of the nobles in Valladolid, on the morning of the 19th of October, 1469. Ferdinand, having lost his slender purse by the way, was without money; and Isabella, being a fugitive from her brother’s court, was also without means. But the royal couple readily borrowed the money necessary to defray the expenses of the wedding. King Henry now determined to cast aside Isabella, and place upon the throne Joanna, the daughter of his second wife. This was a blow to Isabella, for now the court of Castile, aided by the king of France, were combined against her. Ferdinand and Isabella held their little court at Duenas, in humble style. In 1474, the brother of Isabella, Henry IV., king of Castile, died, and she was proclaimed queen. Isabella was at that time in Segovia. Attended by an imposing retinue, she rode upon a beautiful steed, whose bridle was held by two high officers of the crown, and she was escorted to her seat upon the splendid throne, which had been erected in one of the public squares of the city. As the people gazed with admiration upon their beautiful queen, a herald cried,—

“Castile, Castile, for the king Don Ferdinand, and his consort Dona Isabella, queen proprietor of these kingdoms!”

The queen took the oath of office, and then repaired to the cathedral, to pray at the altar. Ferdinand was at this time in Aragon, and when he returned he was greatly displeased with the document prepared by the dignitaries of Castile, in which Isabella alone was declared heir to the throne of Castile, but Ferdinand was associated with her in the performance of many acts of royalty. But, persuaded by his wife, he agreed to submit.

Alfonso V., the king of Portugal, now invaded Castile. Ferdinand and Isabella raised an army and met the foe at Toro. The powerful bishop of Toledo, exasperated by the independence of opinion which Ferdinand and Isabella displayed, whom he had supposed would be pliant tools in his hands, joined Alfonso against them. The strife was too desperate to last long. There was a hand-to-hand fight along the entire line. At length a storm arose. A dark night came down upon the conflicting hosts. A deluge of rain fell, and the field was flooded with mingled blood and water. The Portuguese were utterly routed. Ferdinand displayed great humanity to his prisoners, furnishing them with food, clothing, and a safe return to their own country.

Isabella was awaiting the issue of the battle at Tordisillas, twenty miles above on the river. When she received tidings of the victory, she ordered a procession to the Church of St. Paul, as an expression of her gratitude to God, and she herself walked barefoot in the garb of a penitent. In a few months, the entire kingdom of Castile acknowledged the supremacy of Ferdinand and Isabella.

In 1479, the king of Aragon died, leaving the kingdoms of Aragon and Navarre to his son Ferdinand. Aragon, Castile, and Navarre, being thus united under these two illustrious monarchs, the great Spanish monarchy was thereby founded.

Ferdinand and Isabella now commenced the enterprise of conquering Granada, thus expelling the Moors from their last foothold in Spain. Malaga, on the coast of the Mediterranean, was one of the principal Moorish towns. The Moors were aware of the importance of this position, and had strongly fortified it. The Moors were as brave as the Christians, and were led by famous chieftains. In April, 1487, Ferdinand, at the head of fifty thousand men, arrived before Malaga, and commenced its siege. There were continual ambuscades, and nightly sallies. One day, while Ferdinand was dining in his tent, which commanded a view of the field of conflict, he perceived a party of Christians, who had been sent to fortify an eminence, retreating in confusion, pursued by the Moors. King Ferdinand leaped upon his horse, not delaying for any defensive armor, rallied his men, and charged against the enemy. Having thrown his lance, he endeavored to draw his sword from its scabbard. But the sword held fast, the scabbard having been by some accident, indented. Just then several Moors surrounded him. The king would have been slain had not two brave cavaliers rushed to his rescue. The nobles remonstrated with the king for so risking his life, but Ferdinand unselfishly answered,—

“I cannot stop to calculate chances, when my subjects are perilling their lives for my sake.”

After a siege of ten days, one of the outposts of Malaga was captured by the Spaniards, who now pressed triumphantly forward to assault the city itself. Ferdinand first attempted to induce the Moors to capitulate, by generous offers, to the commander. But he loyally replied, “I am stationed here to defend the place to the last extremity. The Christian king cannot offer a bribe large enough to induce me to betray my trust.” Ferdinand then encompassed the city by sea and by land. Queen Isabella joined him, and her presence inspired the Spaniards with fresh courage. When she arrived with a brilliant train of ladies and cavaliers, an imposing escort was sent to meet her, and she was conducted to the encampment with great magnificence of parade, and many demonstrations of joy.

The assault was now renewed more fiercely than ever. Famine at length caused great suffering amongst the Moors. They had consumed most of their ammunition, while the Spanish army was constantly re-enforced by new volunteers. King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella maintained strict religious discipline in their camp. Neither oaths nor gambling was allowed, and the rites of the Roman Catholic Church were performed with imposing ceremony. Gradually the Christians gained ground. They succeeded in blowing up one of the towers, thereby obtaining entrance into the city. The citizens of Malaga, suffering from pestilence and famine, had been reduced to living upon the flesh of horses, dogs, and cats. Everywhere the most appalling misery was seen. Many were dying in the streets. In view of their sufferings, Hamet Zeli, the Moorish commander, gave the citizens permission to make the best terms they could with their conqueror. Ferdinand would listen to nothing, however, but unconditional surrender. At length the citizens sent a deputation to Ferdinand, declaring that they were willing to resign to him the city, the fortifications, and all the property, if he would spare their lives, and give them their freedom. “If these terms are refused,” they added, “we will take the six hundred Christian captives, who are in our hands, and hang them like dogs on the battlements. We will then enclose our old men, women, and children in the fortress, set fire to the town, and sell our lives as dearly as possible, in the attempt to cut our way through our enemies. Thus if you gain a victory, it shall be such a one as will make the name of Malaga ring throughout the world, to ages yet unborn.”

In answer, Ferdinand replied, “If a single hair of a Christian’s head is harmed, I will put to the sword every man, woman, and child in the city.”

The citizens in hopeless despair, cast themselves upon the mercy of Ferdinand, unconditionally surrendering the city.

On the 18th day of August, 1487, the Spanish army, headed by Ferdinand and Isabella, with great military and ecclesiastical pomp, entered the city, and repaired to the cathedral, where the Te Deum was for the first time performed within its walls. The Christian captives were liberated from the Moorish dungeons. They presented a dreadful spectacle, which drew tears from all eyes. This band of sufferers, many of whom had languished in dark cells for fifteen years, were brought forth, haggard, emaciated, and heavily manacled with chains. Being freed from their fetters, Ferdinand and Isabella addressed to them kind words of sympathy, and dismissed them with rich gifts.

The heroic Moorish chieftain, who had so gallantly defended the city, was brought loaded with chains before his conqueror. Upon being questioned why he had so long persisted, he replied, “I was commissioned to defend the place to the last extremity. Had I been properly supported, I would have died sooner than have surrendered.”

Then came the doom of the Moors. The entire population of the city, amounting to about twenty thousand, were condemned to slavery. Men, women, and children were alike sentenced by the Christians. One-third were sent to Africa in exchange for Christians imprisoned there. Another portion were sold to the highest bidder, to procure money to defray the expenses of the war. The Pope at Rome received one hundred Moorish soldiers. The Moorish girls were renowned for their great beauty; fifty of the most beautiful of these were sent by Isabella as a gift to the Queen of Naples, and thirty to the Queen of Portugal. All the property of the victims was seized by the crown. Cruel as this doom appears to us, it was regarded at that time as mild and humane, though now one shudders at such unchristian barbarity. But in justice, the excuse must be made for Ferdinand and Isabella, that they supposed that thereby the Moslem Moors would be more likely to become converts to the Christian religion, even in slavery. It is said that Isabella was urged by the clergy to put all the captured Moors to death, as a warning to others. The city of Malaga was now re-inhabited by the Spaniards.

In the next year, Ferdinand, with a force of twenty thousand men, marched against Granada, the capital of the Moorish kingdom. The Christians were driven back in confusion into their own territory. The year following, King Ferdinand collected an army of ninety-five thousand men. The cavalry was composed of the highest nobility of the realm. The Christians advanced upon Baza. The Moors sallied forth from the city to meet their foes; a fierce battle lasted for twelve hours, when the Moors were forced to retreat within the city walls. The conflict had been so severe, however, that the Spanish generals counselled an abandonment of the siege. Ferdinand, relying upon the wisdom and great mental endowments of his wife, sent dispatches to Jaen, where Isabella then was, asking her advice. Her reply was so encouraging that the siege was renewed. The summer and winter passed away; the Christians suffered much during the floods of rain which inundated their camp. The energetic queen, however, came to their rescue, and sent six thousand pioneers to repair the roads; and she even pawned the crown jewels and her own ornaments, to raise money to furnish her husband’s forces with supplies. The Moorish women within the city displayed heroism equal to that of the Christian queen. At length, as the Spanish troops began to despond, Ferdinand sent for his brave wife to come to the camp, that her presence might inspire them with fresh courage. An historian thus describes the coming of the queen:—

“On the 7th of November, the queen, accompanied by her daughter Isabella, several ladies of honor, a choir of beautiful maidens, and a brilliant escort, entered the camp of Ferdinand. The inhabitants of Baza crowded their walls and towers to gaze upon the glittering pageant as it wound its way through the defiles of the mountains and emerged upon the plain, with gold-embroidered banners and strains of martial music. The Spanish cavaliers sallied forth in a body from their camp to receive their beloved queen and to greet her with an enthusiastic reception. The presence of this extraordinary woman, in whose character there was combined with feminine grace so much of manly self-reliance and energy, not only reanimated the drooping spirits of the besiegers, but convinced the besieged that the Spanish army would never withdraw until the place was surrendered. Though there was no want of food for the beleagured Moors, their ammunition was nearly expended, and the garrison was greatly reduced by sickness, wounds, and death.”

Soon after the arrival of Isabella, the Moorish garrison offered to capitulate. Ferdinand was so anxious to secure the place, that he agreed to allow the army to march out with the honors of war, and the citizens to retire with their property at their pleasure. The fall of Baza secured the surrender of many other important strongholds of the Moslems. Granada, the capital of the Moorish kingdom, was still in the possession of the Moors. Ferdinand, in 1491, having raised another army, encamped within six miles of this city. Abdallah, the king of the Spanish Moors, was in personal command at Granada. The city possessed a population of two hundred thousand people.

The situation of Granada was exceedingly picturesque. A wild, rugged mountain range, whose summits were crowned with snow, protected the city upon the south. On the north was a beautiful plain, blooming with flowers, and beyond, groves and vineyards reached for thirty leagues. But upon this lovely spot occurred scenes of blended heroism and revolting carnage, which have made the fall of Granada famous for all time.

Sometimes a company of Moors, clad in armor, and mounted upon their fiery Arabian chargers, would ride forth from the gates, while bugle-blasts rang shrill upon the air, and challenge an equal number of Christian knights to combat. Promptly the defiance was met. All the citizens of Granada crowded the house-tops, battlements, and towers of the city, to watch the exciting conflict. Both armies rested upon their arms, breathlessly awaiting the issue. Again, some brave Christian knight would ride forth alone and challenge a Moorish cavalier to combat. The ladies of the two hostile courts cheered their respective champion with their fair presence and encouraging smiles; and never did knight or cavalier fight more valiantly to win the prize of victory. The memory of these brilliant but deadly tourneys still inspires the songs of the Castilians. Spanish ballads glow with thrilling descriptions of these knightly tourneys; and the prowess of Moslem, as well as Christian warriors, sheds undying glory over the conquest of Granada.

Queen Isabella took an active part in all the military operations of the Spanish army. She often appeared upon the field, encased in full armor, mounted upon a splendid steed; and her presence always inspired her troops to fresh deeds of valor. Isabella occupied in the camp a pavilion, richly draped with silken hangings. One night, a gust of wind blew the fringes of one of the curtains into the flame of a lamp, and soon the entire pavilion was in a blaze. The conflagration spread to other tents, and it was only with great difficulty that the entire camp was preserved from destruction. The queen and her children were in great danger of being destroyed. In consequence of this accident, Ferdinand, to prevent a like occurrence, ordered a city of substantial houses to be built upon the spot occupied by his army. In three months, a large and stately city arose. The soldiers wished to call it Isabella, in honor of their idolized queen, but she named it Santa FÉ, in recognition of her faith in Providence. The city still stands.

The Moors were now convinced that their Spanish foes were determined to remain until the Crescent should give place to the Cross. The citizens of Granada were suffering from famine. Abdallah, therefore, surrendered Granada to the Christians on the second day of January, 1492.

This last great act in one of the sublimest of historical dramas—the invasion of Spain by the Moors—was performed with the most imposing martial and religious rites. The Alhambra was first taken possession of by veteran Christian troops, including the body-guard of the king. Ferdinand, surrounded by a very brilliant cortÈge glittering in polished armor, took his station near an Arabian mosque, now called the hermitage of St. Sebastian. At a short distance in the rear the queen Isabella took her position, accompanied by a no less splendid retinue, her high-born warriors proudly displaying the armorial bearings of their families. The immense column of the Christian army commenced its march up the Hill of Martyrs into the city. Abdallah, accompanied by fifty cavaliers, passed them, descending the hill to make the surrender of himself to Ferdinand. The heart-broken Moor threw himself from his horse, and would have seized the hand of Ferdinand to kiss it in token of homage, but the Christian king magnanimously spared him the humiliation, and threw his arms around the deposed monarch in a respectful and affectionate embrace. Abdallah then presented the keys of the Alhambra to the conqueror, saying,—

“They are thine, O king, since Allah so decrees it. Use thy success with clemency and moderation.”

He then, not waiting for the words of consolation which the king was about to utter, rode on to offer the same acts of submission and homage to Queen Isabella. In the mean time the Castilian army, winding slowly up the hill and around the walls, entered the city by the gate of Los Molinos. The large silver cross which Ferdinand had ever borne with him in his crusade against the Moors was now elevated upon the Alhambra, while the banners of the conqueror were proudly unfurled from its towers. “It was the signal for the whole army to fall upon its knees in recognition of that providence which had granted them so great a victory. The solemn strains of the Te Deum, performed by the choir of the royal chapel, then swelled majestically over the prostrate host. The Spanish grandees now gathered around Isabella, and kneeling, kissed her hand, in recognition of her sovereignty as queen of Granada.”

Abdallah, however, did not remain as a sad witness of these scenes. With a small band he took his way to the mountains. From one of the rocky eminences he sorrowfully gazed upon the beautiful realms over which his ancestors had reigned for more than seven hundred years. With eyes filled with tears he exclaimed, “Alas! when were woes ever equal to mine!”

Whereupon his mother cruelly replied, “You do well to weep as a woman for what you could not defend like a man!”

Thus “The Last Sigh of the Moor,” and the cruel yet Spartan-like heroism of the Moorish queen-mother, have passed into the romantic annals of history.

While Ferdinand and Isabella were at Santa FÉ, Columbus arrived at their camp. We have not space to give here a history of Christopher Columbus. We can but note a few important incidents. The Atlantic Ocean was then unexplored. Columbus, who was employed in the construction of maps and charts, became convinced that countries existed upon the other side of the globe. He was laughed at as an enthusiast, and when he declared that the world was round, one of the sages of the fifteenth century replied, “Can any one be so foolish as to believe that the world is round, and that there are people on the side opposite to ours who walk with their heels upward and their heads hanging down, like flies clinging to the ceiling? that there is a part of the world where trees grow with their branches hanging downwards, and where it rains, hails, and snows upwards?”

The doctrine of Columbus was not only regarded as absurd, but it was thought to be heretical. Columbus, fully convinced of the truth of his ideas, appealed first to the king of Portugal for means to fit out a fleet to start out on a voyage of discovery. Meeting with refusal, he visited the Spanish court in 1487. At this time Ferdinand and Isabella were with the army, encamped before Malaga. The war with the Moors continuing, the Spanish sovereigns declared that they could give the matter no attention until the conclusion of the war. Disheartened, Columbus was about to apply to the king of France, when the prior of the convent of La Rabida, at Palos, who firmly believed in the scheme of Columbus, and who had formerly been confessor to Isabella, wrote to the queen, urging that Spain might not lose so great an opportunity. Isabella was so much impressed by the letter of the worthy prior that she immediately requested that Columbus should come to Santa FÉ, where she was then residing, as the Spanish army were still besieging Granada. Columbus arrived there just as the Moorish banner was torn down, and the flag of Spain was unfurled upon the towers of the Alhambra. In the midst of these rejoicings Columbus presented his plans. “I wish,” said he, “for a few ships and a few sailors to traverse between two and three thousand miles of the ocean, thus to point out a new and short route to India, and reveal new nations, majestic in wealth and power. These realms are peopled by immortal beings, for whom Christ has died. It is my mission to search them out, and to carry to them the Gospel of salvation. Wealth will also flow in from this discovery. With this wealth we can raise armies, and rescue the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem from the hands of the infidels. I ask only in return that I may be appointed viceroy over the realms I discover, and that I shall receive one-tenth of the profits which may accrue.”

The Spanish courtiers were astonished at what they deemed audacious demands, and persuaded the queen to refuse. Whereupon, Columbus sadly saddled his mule to retrace his steps, and to offer his services to the king of France. Isabella was troubled, as she thought over these offers and requests of Columbus, and she expressed to Ferdinand her perplexities. He replied, “The royal finances are exhausted by the war. We have no money in the treasury for such an enterprise.” The queen then enthusiastically exclaimed,—

“I will undertake the enterprise for my own crown of Castile; and I will pledge my private jewels to raise the necessary funds.”

Thus the discovery of a continent hung upon the vanity, or heroism, of a woman! But the character of Isabella was equal to the emergency. The matter was quickly settled. A courier was sent to overtake the disappointed Columbus, who was pursuing his weary way through the sand, overwhelmed with gloom. For eighteen years he had been in vain endeavoring to carry out his cherished plans. Joyfully he returned to Santa FÉ, where the queen received him with great kindness, and assented to his demands. Columbus succeeded in obtaining three small vessels,—two furnished by the Spanish government, and one by Martin Alonzo Pinzon, a wealthy Spaniard. The total number who joined the expedition was one hundred and fifty.

The enterprise was deemed so hazardous that it was with great difficulty that a crew could be obtained. This was in the fifteenth century. In view of the marvellous progress in knowledge, discovery, invention, and an enlightened Christianity, in the past four hundred years, in comparison with the ignorance and superstitions of preceding epochs, any student of history will be led most emphatically to exclaim, Surely the world was never so advanced in knowledge, true civilization, and pure religion as to-day! With all the wickedness at the present time, the study of history reveals the fact, that the world was never so good, pure, and Christian as now.

On the 3d of August, 1492, the small squadron unfurled its sails for the momentous voyage. At the close of a week they arrived at the Canary Islands, which were on the frontiers of the known world. On the 6th of September, they again set sail.

Day after day passed; but no land came in sight. Sixty-seven days had now passed since the Highlands of Spain had disappeared from their view. They had met with indications which made them hope that land was near. A branch of a shrub, with leaves and berries upon it, had been picked up; and a small piece of wood, curiously carved, had been found drifting upon the water. It was the 11th of October. As the sun went down, and the stars appeared, Columbus took his stand upon the poop of his vessel. About ten o’clock, he was startled by the gleam of what seemed to be a torch far in the distance. For a moment it blazed, then disappeared. Was it a meteor, or a light from the land? Not an eye was closed on the ships that night. At two o’clock in the morning, a sailor at the mast-head shouted, “Land, land, land!” The day dawned; and a glimpse of paradise seemed to have been unveiled before their enraptured gaze. A beautiful island was spread out, luxuriously green, and adorned with every variety of tropical vegetation. The boats were lowered, and manned. The banner of Spain, emblazoned with the cross, floated from every prow. Columbus, richly attired in a scarlet dress, entered his boat, and was rowed towards the shore, where multitudes of the natives stood, gazing, spell-bound, upon the strange sight. Columbus leaped upon the shore, and, falling upon his knees, gave thanks to God. With imposing ceremony, the banner of Spain was planted upon the soil; and the island was called San Salvador, in recognition of the protecting care of Providence. We have not space to note the other discoveries of Columbus upon this voyage. Continuing his explorations in that part of the country, he discovered the islands of Exuma, Yuma, and Cuba. Of Cuba, Columbus wrote, “It is the most beautiful island that eyes ever beheld.” During a short tour up one of the picturesque streams of Cuba, Columbus met with a bulbous root, about as large as an apple, which the natives used as food, roasting it in the ashes. They called it batatas. Columbus and his men were hunting for gold; but this discovery of the indispensable potato has proved a much richer prize to mankind. Here, also, he saw the natives rolling up in their hands dried leaves of a certain plant, which they lighted and smoked. These leaves they called tobacco. This discovery has proved a curse, rather than a blessing, to the world.

After discovering the islands of the Nativity and Hayti, or Saint Domingo, Columbus determined to return to Spain, to secure a more efficient fleet. The return voyage was extremely tempestuous. During the gloomy hours of storm and danger, fearing that they should never see land again, Columbus wrote an account of his discoveries upon parchment, wrapped it in waxed cloth, and, enclosing it in a water-tight cask, set it adrift. A copy, similarly prepared, was kept upon the ship. On the 15th of March, not quite seven months and a half from the time of his departure, Columbus, with his little crew, entered the harbor of Palos. Ferdinand and Isabella were at Barcelona. They immediately wrote to Columbus, requesting him to repair to their court. His journey thither was a triumphal march. Ferdinand and Isabella were seated beneath a silken canopy, to receive him with the most imposing ceremonies of state. As a remarkable act of condescension, both Ferdinand and Isabella rose, upon the approach of Columbus, and offered him their hands to kiss. The Indians and other trophies from the New World which he had brought back with him, occasioned the greatest surprise. Then Columbus narrated to the Spanish sovereigns the story of his voyage. But we are obliged to give an account of the shame, as well as glory, of the Spanish court. Ferdinand and Isabella were rigid Catholics; so much so, that Ferdinand is called in history “Ferdinand the Catholic,” and Isabella received also the same title. The Inquisition, which had existed somewhat mildly before, was re-established by them. We cannot give the details of those persecutions here, which we narrate more fully when the Inquisition appears with greater cruelty and ferocity in the life of Philip II. During the reign of Ferdinand, the persecution fell mostly upon the Jews. Just as the Spanish sovereigns were about entering into engagements with Columbus to send him in search of a new world, that Christianity might be carried to the heathens there, the unchristian and cruel edict was issued for the expulsion of the Jews from Spain. We have not space to describe the heart-rending sufferings of this persecuted people.

While at Barcelona, in 1492, Ferdinand narrowly escaped being killed by an assassin. King Ferdinand had not much intellectual culture; and Isabella was far superior to her husband in literary attainments. But Ferdinand was a capable man in the military and practical affairs of his kingdom. The children of Ferdinand and Isabella received unusual education for those times, and acquired rare attainments. Prince John, heir to their throne, was reared with the greatest care. But just after the marriage of the young prince to Princess Margaret, daughter of the Emperor Maximilian of Austria, which was celebrated with great magnificence, Prince John was stricken with a fever, and died. Thus perished their only son. Their eldest daughter, Isabella, who had married the king of Portugal, died soon after the death of her brother, Prince John. This daughter left a babe, who thus became heir to Portugal, Aragon, and Castile; but ere a year had passed the infant also sank into the grave. Their daughter Joanna was married to the archduke Philip, son and heir of Maximilian. This unhappy princess was the mother of Charles V. of Spain. But her life was clouded with gloom, occasioned by her husband’s neglect, which at last caused her insanity. The youngest daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella, Catharine of Aragon, afterwards had the misfortune to marry the infamous Henry VIII. of England. Thus, the last days of these illustrious sovereigns were overshadowed with heart-rending sorrows. We can barely note the subsequent discoveries of Columbus. Before his second voyage, while at Barcelona, he was invited by the grand cardinal of Spain to dine with him. An envious guest inquired of Columbus if he thought that there was no man in Spain capable of discovering the Indies, if he had not made the discovery. Columbus, without replying to the question, took an egg from the table, and asked if there was any one who could make it stand on one end. They all tried, but failed. Whereupon Columbus, by a slight blow, crushed the end of the egg, and left it standing before them, saying, “You see how easy it is to do a thing after some one has shown you how.”

In his second voyage he discovered the island of Jamaica and several other islands. Ferdinand and Isabella received him with kindness upon his return; but two years passed before he could obtain another squadron. It was during this third voyage that complaints reached Isabella that Columbus was enslaving the inhabitants of Hayti. An officer named Bobadilla was sent to Hayti to investigate the matter. He was unscrupulous and envious; and, falsely using his official authority, he ordered Columbus to be sent back to Spain in chains. These outrages, inflicted upon a man so illustrious, roused indignation throughout the world. Ferdinand and Isabella were shocked and alarmed upon hearing of this outrageous treatment, and sent in the greatest haste to release him from his fetters, and to express their sympathy and regret for the indignities he had suffered. Some months after, Columbus started upon his fourth and last voyage. After encountering storms and perils, Columbus reached the continent at what is now called Central America, near Yucatan. Notwithstanding the importance of having at last touched the American continent, this voyage was a series of disappointments and disasters. He was detained for a year on the island of Jamaica, on account of the loss of his ships, which were wrecked in the storms. At length, two vessels arrived at the island, and Columbus embarked for his return to Spain. When he at last reached that country, he was broken down by old age, sickness, and mental suffering. Poverty stared him in the face. Isabella was upon her death-bed; and Ferdinand was heartless, and would not offer him any relief. After all his achievements in behalf of mankind, Columbus thus sadly writes to his son: “I live by borrowing. Little have I profited by twenty years of service, with such toils and perils, since at present I do not own a roof in Spain. If I desire to eat or sleep, I have no resort but an inn, and for the most times have not wherewithal to pay my bill.” In the midst of such sorrow and poverty, the heroic Columbus passed his last days on earth. He was buried in the Convent of St. Francisco, at Seville. Thirty years afterwards, his remains were removed to St. Domingo, on the island of Hayti. Upon the cession of the island to the French, in 1795, they were transferred by the Spanish authorities to the Cathedral of Havana, in Cuba.

Queen Isabella was now broken in health, from her many domestic sorrows. She died in November, 1504. The last years of Ferdinand afford a sad contrast to his early life and brilliant manhood. As the death of Queen Isabella took from Ferdinand the crown of Castile, Philip, the husband of the poor crazy Joanna, daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella, seized upon the throne of Castile. A bitter family quarrel ensued. In order to secure the help of France, Ferdinand, though it was only eleven months after the death of his deeply loved wife, was married to the princess Germaine, a gay and frivolous girl of eighteen, daughter of one of the sisters of Louis XII.

“It seemed hard,” says one writer, “that these nuptials should take place so soon, and that, too, in Isabella’s own kingdom of Castile, where she had lived without peer, and where her ashes are still held in as much veneration as she enjoyed while living.” The marriage ceremony took place at Duenas, where, thirty-six years before, he had pledged his faith to Isabella. In 1513 the health of Ferdinand began to fail. Dropsy and partial paralysis made his life a torment. Hoping to gain relief, he travelled southward; but, having reached the small village of Madrigalejo, he was unable to proceed farther. On the 22d of January, 1516, in the sixty-fourth year of his age, Ferdinand breathed his last. He died in a small room in an obscure village. “In so wretched a tenement did the lord of so many lands close his eyes upon the world.” Thus ended the lives of Ferdinand and Isabella, shrouded with gloom and disappointment.