of the church and all the pomp of office to remove the
treasure to Manresa.

Apparently the image preferred the fresh mountain air to the close,
torrent-washed town with its turbid waters, for having reached a certain
lovely spot overlooking the vast plain, it refused to go any farther. As
it could not speak--being a wooden image--it made itself so heavy that
mortal power could not lift it. This was the first of a long succession
of miracles. On the spot where the image rested, the Bishop with crook
and mitre, and bell and book, and Dean and Chapter, held solemn conclave
and there and then went through a service of Consecration. A chapel was
built, and the image became the object of devoted pilgrimages.

All traces of the chapel have disappeared long since. Nothing now marks
the spot but an iron cross which may be seen far and near. Approaching,
you may read the inscription: _Aqui se hizo inmovil la Santa Imagen_.
After this a nunnery was founded, which in the tenth century became a
Benedictine convent.

Ages rolled on, and it grew famous. When destroyed by the French it held
as many as 900 monks: a great religious community, wealthy and
powerful. But the mighty are fallen. The few remaining monks, more
exclusive in their retirement than the great body of their predecessors,
have a school attached to the monastery in which much time is given to
the study of music. It is going far out of the world for instruction,
but Nature herself should come to their aid. Amidst these lonely
solitudes the Harmony of the Spheres might well be heard.

Passing through the great quadrangle, we entered a narrow passage
between the church and hill-side, reminding one a little of some of the
narrow streets of Jerusalem. Here, too, we found some arches and
buttresses framing in the sky, arch beyond arch. At the end of all we
came out once more upon the open world, and what a scene was disclosed!

In front of us was a small chapel attached to a little hermitage. Beside
it ran a long avenue of sad and solemn cypresses. It might have been the
cemetery of the dead-and-gone monks, but no small mounds or wooden
crosses marked where the dead reposed. This mournful avenue extended to
the brow of the hill, where we overlooked vast wild precipices. Canyons
and gorges opened beneath us and above us in appalling magnitude. The
stupendous valley stretched right and left in the distance. Far on the
other side reposed a chain of snow-clad hills. Villag