interesting by reason
of its cloisters with their pointed arches springing from delicately
carved capitals that rested upon slender, graceful shafts; a vision of
refined beauty. In the centre grew a wild and lovely garden. Spain is
undoubtedly the land of cloisters, loveliest in existence; and Barcelona
is especially rich in them. As we looked, a Sister of Mercy passed
through on some errand of charity. We thought of Rosalie, only to be
more certain than ever that there was but one Rosalie in the world.

Yet more marvellous was a still smaller church of extreme interest and
antiquity; San Pablo del Campo, formerly a Benedictine convent of some
renown, said to have been founded in the tenth century by Wilfred II.,
Count of Barcelona. In the twelfth century it was incorporated with the
convent of San Cucufate del Valles, a few miles from Barcelona, of which
the interesting church and cloister still exist.

This remarkable San Pablo is extremely small, and cruciform, with three
apses, a short nave and an octagonal vault over the crossing. It is
solidly and roughly built, and until recently possessed every aspect of
antiquity. All this will probably now disappear, for it has been given
over to the workmen to be restored and ruined, and the work will be done
to perfection.

[Illustration: CLOISTERS OF SAN PABLO: BARCELONA.]

So with the west front. With the exception of the circular window over
the striking Romanesque doorway, one feels in presence of the remote
ages; but the window rather spoils an otherwise admirable effect. By
this time it has no doubt shared the fate of the interior; when we were
there it was still a glorious dream of the past.

Yet more dreamlike were the small cloisters. In point of tone and
atmosphere we might have almost been in the early ages of the world. No
one had thought it worth while to interfere with this little old-world
building, buried in solitude by surrounding houses. The obscurity
reigning even at mid-day was never designed by its architect. No one
would dream that in this little corner, unknown, unvisited, exists a gem
of the first water and great antiquity; dating probably from the
eleventh century.

It was a very small cloister, having only four arches on each side
divided by a buttress in the centre. The arches were trefoil-headed,
separated by double shafts and the capitals were richly carved. In the
north wall a fine fourteenth-century doorway admitted into the church,
and