assemble in a great crowd, each
wearing a black mantilla. As they kneel in penitential attitude the
scene is full of devotional grace and charm.

The space above the high altar is covered with a purple pall which looks
black and funereal. Chanting commences: slow and solemn and in the minor
key.

Suddenly, in the midst of the sad cadences, the picture above the altar
descends by machinery, and in its place is seen a lilac veil. There is a
slight movement, a half-raising of the head, amidst the congregation; an
attitude of expectation. The mournful but exquisite music does not
cease. It is soft and subdued, appealing to the senses. Presently the
veil is withdrawn and gives place to a grey veil. This in turn passes
away and a black veil appears, representing the veil of the Temple. It
is torn asunder, and an image of the Saviour on the Cross is disclosed.

The upturned heads gaze for a moment; on many a countenance appears the
emotion actually felt. Imagination is stirred by the dramatic
representation. A murmur escapes the kneeling multitude; the music
swells to a louder strain, the voices gain a deeper pathos. Then voices
and organ gradually die away to a whisper and cease.

Silence reigns. For a moment there is no sound or stir. Then all is
over; the Miserere is at an end. Quietly the fair penitents rise from
their knees and stream out into the streets, which gain an additional
charm as they pass onwards with their perfect forms and graceful walk.

In spite of the somewhat claptrap element, the Miserere is impressive
from the beautiful and refined music, the kneeling crowd, the deep
obscurity that gives it mystery. It is even worth a day or two's delay
in this fair City of Flowers and other delights.

For in our mind we always associate Valencia with the perfume of
flowers. Roses for ever bloom, and like silver in the days of Solomon,
are accounted as little worth. But if they were plentiful as to the
Greeks of old they would only seem the lovelier.

Some of the streets are very picturesque, with long narrowing vistas of
houses and balconies, casements and quaint outlines, all in the strong
light and shadow of sunshine, with perhaps a church tower and spire
rising above all at the end, sharply outlined against the intensely
brilliant blue of the sky.

Making way, we reach the gates of the city, which are still its glory,
though so few remain of the twelve that once admitted to the interior.
Some still retain