ed in great Mendoza's monument:
the silent mailed effigies of the Guzmans commemorate the thrilling
exploits of Spanish arms. What sympathies are stirred as you stand
uncovered before the tomb of the great and deeply wronged Discoverer! We
hear again the passionate appeals and the vain pleadings of his
undaunted faith. The living head was left to whiten within prison
walls; its effigy is now proudly carried on the four gorgeous shoulders
of the Spanish states; the poor bones, after their weary travels from
Valladolid to the Carthusian monastery of Las Cuevas, from Hispaniola to
Havana, have finally found a resting-place within the very walls where
they were once treated with such contumely,--for here lies the Great
Admiral, Cristoforo Colon.

You pass paintings by Alfonso Cano, Ribera, Zurbaran, Greco and
Goya,--Murillo's Immaculate Conception, better known than all his other
works; Montanez' exquisite Crucifixion, canvases by Valdes, Herrera,
Boldan and Roelas. There are subjects curious and out of keeping with
our present artistic sentiments, saints walking about with their heads
instead of breviaries under their arms, dresses more fitting for the
ballroom than the wintry scenery amid which they are worn, marriage
ceremonies of the Virgin, Adam and Eve, entirely forgetful of their lost
Eden in the contemplation of the Virgin's halo, keys with quaint old
Arab inscriptions: "May Allah render eternal the dominion of Islam in
this city," saints with removable hair of spun gold and jointed limbs,
others snatched from quiet altar service to plunge into the turmoil of
battle on the saddle bow of reigning kings. Verily a museum of
historical curiosities as well as of the fine arts, satisfying
sensational cravings as well as the finer artistic sense.

The structure is revealed to us through a light of unearthly sweetness.
None of the Spanish cathedrals are more satisfactorily lighted, for
Seville has neither the brilliant clarity of some of the northern
churches, which robs them of a certain mystery and awe, nor has it the
sinister obscurity of some of the southern, where both structure and
detail are half lost in shadows, as in Barcelona.

The light from the cimborio and from the two rows of windows as well as
the doors penetrates every chapel with its rainbow hues; it reveals the
whole majestic structure, the lofty spring of the arches, the glittering
ironwork of the screens, the titanic strength and simple caps of the
co