few equals in
all Spain. A special atmosphere surrounds it: and as we look a vision
rises.

Standing in the courtyard and gazing upon that wide staircase, we see
that youthful pair, so favoured by nature, passing to and fro; we see
them looking into each other's eyes, hear their love vows. Their arms
entwine, their love-locks mingle. A mist blurs the scene, and when it
passes all has changed. A sad cortege is descending. A coffin bearing
the remains of what was once so fair and full of life. A knight armed
cap-a-pied follows, with clanking sword and spur; but his face is pale
and his eyes are red with weeping, though they weep not now. They will
never weep again. The fountain of his tears is dried.

Again the mist blurs the scene, and when it clears nothing is visible
but the solitary knight ascending to his lonely room, love flown, hope
dead, his life gone from him.

Presently the palace is closed; no one ascends or descends the
staircase; voices are never heard, footsteps never echo. Surely ghosts
haunt the sad corridors, look out from the vacant arcades upon the
silent courtyard. For the knight has long lain dead upon the battlefield
and no one comes to claim the palace and once more throw wide its
portals to life, and laughter and sunshine.

We paid it more than one visit during our sojourn in Zaragoza, and each
time there passed before us in vivid colours the love-poem of two
hundred years ago.

In the bright sunshine, the morning after our arrival we had gone forth
to acquaint ourselves with the city. No view was more striking than that
beyond the river looking upon the town.

[Illustration: FAIR LUCIA'S HOUSE: ZARAGOZA.]

We stood on the farther bank. The stream flowed rapidly at our feet.
Before us the wonderful bridge spanned the water with its seven arches:
a massive, time-edifying structure. Above this in magic outlines rose
the towers, turrets and domes of the new cathedral of El Pilar, as
splendid from this point of view as it is really worthless both
outwardly and inwardly on a closer inspection. It is certainly one of
the most remarkable scenes in all Spain: and from this point Zaragoza
possesses few rivals.

The new cathedral of El Pilar: so called because it possesses the pillar
on which the Virgin is said to have descended from heaven. It is a very
large building, and the domes from a distance are very effective, but
the interior is in the worst and most debased style.

As we stood within