THERE is no city in Spain so thoroughly representative of the Middle Ages as Segovia. It is quaint to a most fascinating degree, and so out of the rush of the Nineteenth Century, that one insensibly takes to day-dreaming, and forgets, when within the city's dented walls, wire and tape, and steam and rail, and other civilizing destroyers of mind and body.

Segovia is perched on a rocky knoll which rises east and west in a valley-the celebrated Alcazar being situated on the western point. The trout-stream of Eresma girdles it on the north with its brawling tributary el Clamores, the wooded banks presenting a charming contrast to the all too near bleak and barren hills.

Having stated that the city was medieval, it is scarcely necessary to say that it is encircled by picturesquely dilapitated old walls of enormous strength, overgrown with ferns and lichens and mosses, and guarded by towers built by King Alfonso VI. Segovia is eminently a Castilian city, and its quaint houses, its hanging balconies, its bizarre Plaza, its charming Cathedral, and its wonderful Aqueduct, repay the visitor, even though he climb the Calvarsis with peas in his shoes. The three sights of Segovia are the Alcazar, the Aqueduct, and the Cathedral; and they are sights!

Colmenares states that Tubal first peopled Spain, and that then no less prominent a personage than Hercules founded Segovia. In due time Hispan erected El Puente, the bridge, as they will persist in calling the aqueduct, which the city now bears on its shield, with the head of one of Pompey's sons looking over it. This pure Roman work, from its resemblance to the masonry of Alcantara and Merida, was probably erected by Trajan, but neither Segovia nor its aqueduct is mentioned by the ancients, with whom such mighty works seem to have been matters of course.

This aqueduct was constructed for the purpose of relieving the citizens of a scramble down the steep banks to the rivers, where water was not of the sweetest; the Rio Frio was diverted at the Sierra Fonfria, nine miles from Segovia, and its waters brought to the city. The aqueduct begins near San Gabriel, and is as crooked as a ram's horn, the bends being for the purpose of breaking the force of the current. For 1,800 and odd years these enormous blocks of granite, without mortar or cement, have resisted the hand of Time, and at the date of my visit they looked as though they were prepared to give battle to the venerable Scytheman for another thousand years, at least.

The Aqueduct runs 216 feet to the first angle or bend; then 462 feet to the second, at La Concepcion; then 925 feet to the third, at San Francisco; and then 937 feet to the city wall. Some portions are comparatively modern, but the repair is so clumsy that you have no difficulty in tracing it. These patches occur near the bends of La Concepcion and San Francisco. The date of its construction is lost in the mists of antiquity. It was respected by the Goths, was broken down in 1071 by the Moors of Toledo, who sacked Segovia, and destroyed thirty-five out of the 320 arches of which the aqueduct is composed. It remained in ruins till August 26th, 1483, when Isabella employed one Juan Escovedo, a monk in the Parral Convent, to repair it, who was blessed with the happy inspiration of imitating the model before him, instead of starting a new school, and to this tasteful son of the Church is due the first restoration of the Graeco-Roman

style in Spain. What was Juan Escovedo's fee for this job? When he repaired to Seville to report its completion, Isabella presented him with the wood work of the scaffoldings. Juan was the son of a carpenter, and was born in the Asturias, in 1547.

The Aqueduct commences with single arches, which rise higher as the dip of the ground deepens; the upper tiers are uniform of the line, until they become double. Those of the three central are the loftiest, being 102 feet high. This mortarless, cementless work is common with similar erections of the Romans, and unites simplicity, proportion, solidity and utility. An inscription formerly ran between the tiers of the central arches, while in the niche above is the battered effigy of a saint, replacing a statue of Trajan. Some learned antiquarians insist that the Aqueduct was built by one Licinius, but the unwashed-and they are exceedingly unwashed in Segovia-call it el Puente del Diabolo-"the devil's bridge "—for the good reason that his Satanic Majesty, who was deeply enamored of a lady of Segovia, offered to do anything that lay in his power which she might demand, in return for her favors. This young lady, who was of a lazy, yet practical turn of mind, and who was tired of scrambling down and climbing up the hill to fetch water, promised all that Mephistopheles solicited, provided he would build an aqueduct in one night. This, of course, he did, but having omitted one stone, the work was not completed on time, and according to specification and contract, so the maiden was freed from her promise, and the Old Gentleman compelled to "take a back seat."

I would advise all sightseers in Segovia to repair to the corner of the Calle de Gascos, in order to obtain the best view of this wonderful work. From San Juan, also, one can obtain a very satisfactory view of it.

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In 1803 a Spanish Hausseman proposed to Charles IV. open the whole of the Plaza del Azoguejo, and to make a grand square, with the Aqueduct exposed to view on one side. Happily, however, the French invasion marred this scheme, for the quaint, irregular, dilapidated and mean buildings around, render the Aqueduct the emphatic feature, causing it to appear larger and nobler by the vivid contrast.

As old, or older, than the Aqueduct is a rude statne of either Hercules or of a hunter with a boar's head, which is embedded in the stair-wall of a tower in Santo Domingo el Real. In this tower most curious old frescoes with Arabic inscriptions were discovered, much in the style of the painting in the Alhambra. The convent attached, once called La Casa de Hercules, was handed over to the nuns in 1513.

The visitor to Segovia insensibly turns from the Aqueduct to the Cathedral-as glorious a bit of Gothic as ever delighted the heart of a Pugin or a Street. This magnificent pile is built of warm-colored stone, and as the setting sun lights it up, the sight is one that the mind's eye retains for long and many a day. The Cathedral is one of the finest in all Spain, and is the last of the pure Gothic, since Renaissance was just commencing to creep into the cultured minds of ecclesiastical architects.

A square tower rises 330 feet. Originally it was 350 feet high, but fear of lightning induced the Dean and Chapter to lower it twenty feet. The older Cathedral was almost destroyed by the reformers, or Communeros, in May, 1520, who commenced business by pulling down churches, hanging the authorities, plundering the rich, and burning

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houses for the public good. The Alcazar, however, held out against the mob, and a few relics were saved. The new and present building was begun in 1525, by Juan Gil de Ontañon, and his son, Rodrigo Gil, after tue designs of a beautiful cathedral at Salamanca. The color of the stone is exquisite. The west front of the exterior is disappointing from its baldness and want of ornamentation, while the east end bewilders by over-richness. terior is very light and striking, from the bold and wellarranged designs of the arches, and the richness and elaborateness of the vaulting. The stained glass is exceptionally vivid in color. The church plate is very costly and massive, while the chalice, given by a Duque de Albuquerque, is worth a Jew's ransom. The high altar is surrounded by lofty iron railings, richly gilt. The great retablo, composed of precious marbles, was put up by Charles III. The trascoro is enriched with the salmoncolored marbles of which the beautiful diamond-formed pavement is partly composed. The ancient sepulchral tombs were carted out and lumbered up near the entrance. Among them was an effigy of Rodrigo Gil, who died in 1577. Near the gate, in the Capilla de la Piedad, is a magnificent retablo designed in 1571. It represents the deposition from the Cross, and the agony of the Virgin is intensely rendered. The once fine picture of St. Thomas, by Alonzo Sanchez Coello, 1578, was repainted, in 1845, by an ignoramus, Mariano Quinta Panilla. The Gothic cloisters were taken down and put up again, in 1524, by Juan Campero. Among the sepulchres, that of Diego de Covarubbias, who died in 1576, repays "along and downward gaze." The prelate is arrayed in his vestments of state. Adjacent to this is the tomb of the Infante Don Pedro, son of Enrique II., who was allowed by his nurse to slip from her arms, in 1366, while standing at a window in the Alcazar. Poor babe! had he been a cottier's child he might have escaped so untimely a fate.

The tomb of the fair but frail Maria del Salto, or Mary of the Leap, is also in this corner. This lady, a Jewess, who was accused of adultery, was about to be cast from a rock, but, in the supremity of her terror, she called on the name of the Virgin, who visibly appeared, and lowered her as if borne on wings. The quondam Jewess was then baptized Maria del Salto. She became a saint, and died in 1237.

I would advise stout climbers to ascend the tower; but the lungs and understandings should be in the best possible condition, and riveted. The panoramic view from the summit is magnificent, embracing as it does the Alcazar, the city, its plazas, courts, houses, gardens, gigantic aqueduct, and the mountain distances.

The Alcazar commands a pilgrimage, for it needs climbing to reach it, as it stands like the prow of Segovia over the rushing waters-and how they do rush!

The readers of the adventures of Gil B.as will recollect that he was confined in this very fortress, and the description of his incarceration is not the least interesting portion of that fascinating book. The great keep is studded with those bastions, or turrets, at the angles, which are so prevalent in Castilian strongholds. The building was originally Moorish, and was magnificently repaired in 1452-58, by Enrique IV., who resided and kept his treasures in it. At his death, the Governor, André de Cabregra, husband of Beatrice de Bobadilla, the early friend of Isabella, "held the fort" for her, together with its many chests, with a tenacity that contributed in no small degree to the accession of the latter to the throne. It was from this Alcazar that Isabella, on the 13th of December, 1474, proceeded in state and was proclaimed Queen of Castile.

In 1476 the Segovia mob rose against André Cabrera, and were for hurling him over the bluff into the brawling Eresma, a fate that befell many a worthy citizen of that wonderful old town. Isabella, when she learned of this rising, ordered her palírey to be saddled, and the gates having been opened, rode out alone amongst the excited populace, and at once awed the mob by her presence of mind and majesty. What a subject for an historical picture! what a background! What color! what picturesque costumes! and the beautiful queen, alone on her white palfrey, like a rock against which the angry waves harmlessly buffeted themselves. I wonder that some of our rising artists would not endeavor to reproduce this startling scene.

Charles V. was so mightily pleased with the resistance offered by the Alcazar to the Communeros in 1520, that he kept up the fortress after a right regal fashion, spending a great deal of money on it. Philip II., his son, was also its generous patron, and he was so enamored of it that he caused the salons to be re-decorated, and anything approaching a rent to be put into the best repair. Philip V. converted the tower into a state prison, and clapped into it the Dutch charlatan, Ripperda, who rose from street - scraping to be Prime Minister. Several other, but less notable people, were favored with this monarch's paternal regard by being permitted free entry into the Alcazar, the coming out being quite another question.

The Alcazar was ceded to the Crown in 1764, by the hereditary Alcaide, the Conde de Chinchon, whose ancestor had so hospitably welcomed the luckless Charles I. of England. Here Cromwell's future victim lodged and lay on the 13th of September, 1623, and supped, says the record, on "certaine trouts of extraordinary greatness." Poor Charles! better for him to have remained in the Alcazar eating "trouts of extraordinary greatness" than to have stuck in the window at Carisbrooke Castle later on, and further, to have passed, on that grim January morning, to his doom through a window of the palace at Whitehall.

The Alcazar palace was used as an artillery college until its destruction by fire, on the 7th of March, 1862. The general character was Gothic-Moorish; the ceilings, cornices and friezes were splendidly gilt, especially those in the Sala de Trono and the Sala de Recibimiento. An inscription in one room gave the names of many Kings and Queens, from Catalina, 1412, down to Philip II., 1592, whose shield quarters the arms of England, in the right of his wife, England's Mary.

A window in the Sala de los Reyes is remarkable from the very tragic episode that occurred in connection with it. One of the ladies of the court of Enrique II. was engaged in dandling the Infante while amusing him by pointing out various sights to be seen from the casement. The child, excited by something, suddenly gave a plunge, and with a wild scream burst from its nurse's arms and fell on the rocks below, a shapeless mass of blood and pulp. The unfortunate lady was with difficulty restrained from flinging herself after her charge. Her fate was very speedily determined, however, for she was, by order of the King, decapitated ere sunset.

In one of the now dismantled rooms the savant, Alonzo el Sabio, pursued his astronomical studies-studies that led him to doubt the sun's moving around the earth. While engaged one wintry night with some illuminati in advanc ing his theory, a flash of lightning so vivid, so prolonged as to scare the disputants, blazed in the apartment, and this was recognized as a signal from heaven that such theories must be distasteful. The disputers ceased, and as a warning against such impions vagaries in the future, model of the rope with which St. Francis was in the

habit of flaying himself was put up, the original being worn as a penance by the King.

I made the descent to the Eresma by the Puerta Castellona, for the purpose of gazing at the Alcazar, and seated by the brawling Clamores, surrounded by chattering washerwomen, the Naiads of the river, looked up at the quaint old fortress, and bethought me that if those grim and dented walls could speak, what semi-Arabian Nights entertainments they could afford to develop. A thousand and one-ay, ten thousand and one!

And these lavanderas ! How picturesquely décolleté ! how primitive in pose! how unartificial in gesture! Naked to the knee, uncovered as to bosom, these ladies splashed and rinsed, and thumped and washed, as did their mothers and grandmothers, and great-great-ever-so-great

Of course I visited the celebrated Cyprus-tree opposite the Carmelitas descalzas, for it marks the exact spot where Maria del Salto alighted unhurt, while in the adjacent chapel is the statue of the Virgin through invoking whom she owed her miraculous escape. This statue was concealed during the time the Moors possessed Segovia, but reappeared in its present site when the Christians recovered the city, and thereupon the convent was built and richly endowed.

I wandered about this beautiful quaint old town, in which every house is a study for a painter, and found myself at last at the Alameda, a public promenade on the ramparts, shaded by fine acacias, and the approach to which, on the Cathedral side, is through a beautiful Moorish horseshoe arched gateway. From thence some

grandmothers before them, at a date when soap was still in the womb of the undiscovered secrets of science. Ruddy, handsome, with exquisitely molded forms, audacious eyes, and blue-black hair; with colored kerchiefs of yellow or red or peacock-blue on their shapely heads, they formed a picture both unique and animated. In thus singing their charms, I do not attempt to say that all these industrious ladies were handsome or well-formed, but this I do say, that a large percentage would pass muster without even so much as a challenge.

I sat gazing at them from a cliff called Fuencisla. This cliff was named Fustillans by the Romans, and is known as La Peña Grajera. Here, in the good old times, the bodies of criminals cast from the Tarpeian Rock above used to be dashed to pulp, and here the wily crows used to come and enjoy a ghastly banquet, picking the bones of the ill-fated malefactor till they shone defiance to the sun.

stone steps led me up to a most curious old Norman church, with an open cloister running round it, with beautiful circular arches and dogtoothed moldings; opposite is a kind of Hôtel de Ville, with a fine gateway, cloistered "patio," and staircase carved "à jour." In a narrow street, a little lower down, is the exquisite Gothic facade of the Casa de Segovia, and turning to the left is another curious and beautiful church, La Vera Cruz, built by the Templars, and with a little chapel in it on the exact model of that of the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem. The zigzag and dogtooth moldings round the windows and doorways are very fine.

A little higher up is the Parral, a deserted convent, with a beautiful church, richly carved portal and choir, fine monuments, cloisters and gardens; the latter had such a reputation that they gave rise to the saying, "Las huertas del Parral, paraiso terrenal."