off by the French.

We next went to the Picture Gallery, which is in the Franciscan Convent.
There are two small Murillos, much damaged, some tolerable Alonzo Canos, a
few common-place pictures by Juan de Sevilla, and a hundred or more by
authors whose names I did not inquire, for a more hideous collection of
trash never met my eye. One of them represents a miracle performed by two
saints, who cut off the diseased leg of a sick white man, and replace it
by the sound leg of a dead negro, whose body is seen lying beside the bed.
Judging from the ghastly face of the patient, the operation is rather
painful, though the story goes that the black leg grew fast, and the man
recovered. The picture at least illustrates the absence of "prejudice of
color" among the Saints.

We went into the adjoining Church of Santo Domingo, which has several very
rich shrines of marble and gold. A sort of priestly sacristan opened the
Church of the Madonna del Rosario---a glittering mixture of marble, gold,
and looking-glasses, which has rather a rich effect. The beautiful yellow
and red veined marbles are from the Sierra Nevada. The sacred Madonna--a
big doll with staring eyes and pink cheeks--has a dress of silver, shaped
like an extinguisher, and encrusted with rubies and other precious stones.
The utter absence of taste in most Catholic shrines is an extraordinary
thing. It seems remarkable that a Church which has produced so many
glorious artists should so constantly and grossly violate the simplest
rules of art. The only shrine which I have seen, which was in keeping with
the object adored, is that of the Virgin, at Nazareth, where there is
neither picture nor image, but only vases of fragrant flowers, and
perfumed oil in golden lamps, burning before a tablet of spotless marble.

Among the decorations of the chapel, there are a host of cherubs frescoed
on the ceiling, and one of them is represented in the act of firing off a
blunderbuss. "Is it true that the angels carry blunderbusses?" I asked the
priest. He shrugged his shoulders with a sort of half-smile, and said
nothing. In the Cathedral, on the plinths of the columns in the outer
aisles, are several notices to the effect that "whoever speaks to women,
either in the nave or the aisles, thereby puts himself in danger of
excommunication." I could not help laughing, as I read this monkish and
yet most _un_monk-like statute. "Oh," said Mateo, "all that was in the
despotic times; it is n