ne.

Here in days gone by monks and priests had paced the silent corridors. A
sacred atmosphere in which the world had no part hung over all.
Father-confessors listened to the secret struggles of young novices who
hoped to leave the vanities and temptations of life outside the walls of
their cells, only to find that in this state of probation conflict can
never cease. So confessions were made and penances exacted, and soft
footsteps and pale faces haunted those quiet cloisters. Large dark
eyes--larger and darker for the sunk cheeks--gazed upwards at the sky
that canopied the quadrangle with such divine peace, vainly seeking a
clue to the mysteries of existence.

To-day all was changed. The cloisters were still militant, but in quite
another way. All the ancient serenity and repose had departed and the
beauty of outline alone remained. Soldiers and recruits in every stage
of undress went about in restless activity.

[Illustration: ENTRANCE TO MILITARY CLOISTERS: GERONA.]

In the upper gallery some were making or mending clothes, others drawing
from the well in what was once the cloister garden. It was still
ornamented with its fine old ironwork. Monks and priests once looked
down and saw pale, cowled faces reflected in the calm water; and perhaps
as they drew it to the surface there came a vision of another well in a
far-off land and a certain woman of Samaria. No such vision troubled the
five or six closely-cropped soldiers, whose reflected images below had
nothing saintly, troubled or questioning about them. These rough
specimens of an undersized, undisciplined army were out of all harmony
with the ancient outlines that nothing could deprive of their beauty and
refinement.

We felt the charm and incongruity of it all. The men crowded within a
few yards of us, delighted at being taken by the small camera,
interested at finding themselves reflected on the object glass, unhappy
that we could not there and then present each with a photograph duly
printed and mounted. Such a machine surely performed miracles.

"You all look very happy," H. C. remarked, for more carelessly contented
faces were never seen--a mixture of types good and bad.

"As happy as kings," they answered. "We eat, drink and sleep well.
Clothes and lodging are found us and we never have any fighting to do.
We should like a little more money for tobacco--but one can't have
everything."

Finally, we stayed so long answering questions, satisfying curi