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marble sepulchres of Juan and his wife, Maria, kneeling with an attendant, have been treated. Chipped, broken, a piece cut out here, a fragment knocked off there, these splendid works of art are barely enabled to show the Visitor of to-day, in certain places, what they once were. The ceilings of the Library and Refectory were peculiarly quaint. I visited the Museo Provincial in the Episcopal Palace, which contains some bizarre portraits of monks and nuns, and a few MSS., but none of the wealth that antiquarians and bookworms are in search of is to be found here. The Aqueduct and Cathedral and Alcazar must satisfy.

I climbed up to the Plaza de la Constitucion, which is like the square of an old German town, having endlessly varied and colored houses with high roofs, and was glad to find rest and a table with the invariably good chocolate and white bread of the country. The bishop lives in a picturesque old palace in the Plaza of San Esteban, the fine church opposite, with its beautiful tower, Saxon arches, and open cloister, being dedicated to that saint. This house is the original one purchased for St. Theresa in 1574, by Doña Ana de Ximenes, who was the first lady to receive the habit in Segovia. It is dedicated to St. Joseph, and the first Mass was said in it by St. John of the Cross. The nuns, says Lady Herbert of Lee, maintain the reformed rule in all its austerity. They show the saint's cell, now converted into an oratory, and also the room of St. John of the Cross, whose convent is in the valley below, just outside the walls of the town. There his body rests-that body still uncorrupted, of one whom it has been truly said, that he was a "cherub in wisdom and a seraph in love," On the door of his cell is his favorite sentence:

"Pati et contemni pro Te!"

This convent is rich both in his letters and in those of St. Theresa. Here it was that the saint received the news of the death of her favorite brother, Laurence de Cepeda. She was quietly at work during recreation when he appeared to her; the saint, without uttering a word, put down her work and hastened to the choir to commend the departing spirit to our Lord. She had no sooner knelt before the blessed sacrament than an expression of intense peace and joy came over her face. Her sister asked her the reason, and she told them that our Lord had then revealed to her the assurance that her brother was in heaven. His sudden death occurred at the very moment when he had appeared to her in her recreation-room. Over the door of her oratory are the words: "Seek the cross"; "Desire the cross"; and a little further on, "Let us teach more by works than by words."

The Church of San Millan, outside the walls, is well worthy a visit. It is pure Romanesque in style, with external cloisters, and dates from 1250. The portal of San Martin attracts the eye, while in the church are the tombs of Don Rodrigo, in armor, and of Gonzalo Herrera and his wife.

The tower in the Plaza de San Esteban is a noble thirteenth-century tower of five stories, of elegant arcades, round arches alternating with the pointed.

A walk up the Valley of the Eresma leads to the Casa de Moneda, or mint. This necessary establishment was founded by Alfonso VII., rebuilt by Enrique IV., in 1455, and repaired and refitted with German machinery by Philip II. in 1586. Formerly all the national coinage was struck in this mint, as the river afforded water-power, while the adjoining Alcazar formed a pretty safe treasury, so far as thick walls, iron bars, and oaken doors with giant locks were concerned. In 1730 the gold and silver coinage

was transferred to Madrid, and, during my visit to Segovia, they were striking off nothing but copper, the metal coming from Rio Tinto.

The Puerta de Santiago is Moorish. Everywhere in Segovia the granite portals and peculiar Toledan ball ornaments prevail, the gate of San Andres being quite a picture. In fact, the gate of any walled town is a place of interest in Spain. This is the spot to seek for character and color. To lounge near the gateway and watch the inhabitants, so delightfully and unconsciously picturesque, pass in and out, is a species of entertainment that pays to the uttermost and last minute. The lazy soldiery, the gayly-attired women who hover round the military, the water-carriers, the washerwomen, the fruit-sellers, the mule-drivers with their lightly caparisoned mules and asses, the hawkers, the peasants from the distant mountains in their holiday dresses, the padrones, the hideous old women, the students, the religious processions, etc., form a moving panorama that is as satisfying to the eye as it is picturesque.

These gates possessed a strange fascination for me, and I would repair thither of a morning, and seating myself in some vine-trellised venta, remain gazing at the bizarre sights till the heat of noon pronounced in favor of the siesta.

How rigorously those stiff-necked custom-house officials examined the packets of the country folk for contraband, unless the reals were slipped into their willing palms! How cruelly that corporal, in his red cap, long blue coat and sandaled, dirty, naked feet, treated that black-eyed, black-haired, red-lipped and voluptuously-formed, shortskirted señorita, who, it was evident, loved the son of Mars not wisely, but too well! I was witness to her ardor, his coolness, her tears, his rebuffs, and I felt for her. I am quite prepared to think that she was a shameless slut, but she looked so picturesque, and she loved so well, that I found forgiveness in my heart for her all the time.

And those mule-drivers-what heavy stage villains! What a chance for opera-bouffe! what a "show" for a chorus! They have never yet been properly done, not even by the indefatigable Colonel Mapleson. Our entrepreneurs should visit Segovia for color. They should sit in that gate and watch the crowd as it passes in and out, the tide as it ebbs and flows. A chorus of lavanderas, those bright, handsome washer women, a little less décolletée though, would insure the run of an opera if they could be intrusted with one of their national melodies, a sort of tra-la-la-lal chorus to the wringing of the linen of Segovia.

The wine is particularly good in Segovia; and the wineshops seem busier than in any other city I visited in Spain, although I cannot call to recollection having beheld a single intoxicated person. The city's prosperity once depended on its staple, wool, but there were only half a dozen "one-horse" cloth factories going in the suburb of San Lorenzo on the occasion of my visit.

A movement was made in 1829 to introduce improved machinery, but the handloom weavers soon made short work of it. The cabañas or sheep-flocks of Segovia furnished the fleeces, and the Eresma offered a peculiar water for washing the wool. The sheep washings and shearings were once the grand attractions of the place, and "drew" nearly as well as a bull-fight. The flocks were driven in May into large Esquileos or quadrangles of two stories, over which a "Factor" presided. First, the sheep went into the Sudadero, and when well sweated, their legs were tied by Ligadores, who handed them over to the shearers, each of whom would clip from eight to ten sheep a day. When shorn, the animals next were taken to the Empegadero to be tarred and branded, after which the

whole lot were looked over by the Capatazes or head shepherds, when the old and useless were selected for the butcher, while those spared were carefully attended to, as being liable to take cold after shearing and dis.

which lies to the west of the high altar, to which a door communicates; but it is usually entered by the sacristy, and it was by this entrance that I visited it. The tomb of Philip V. and his wife, Isabella Farnese with its medallions and Fame and Charity, and other ornaments is in hideous taste,

A portion of the grand old granja is still preserved near the Fuente, for the building is a thing of expedients and patchwork, and so far is a bit of Spain. A long line of railing divides three sides of a square. The centre body, with a dome, is destined for the royal family, the wings being appropriated to their suites, guards, and officers. The facade fronts the garden, and is cheerful, although over-windowed, and looking like a long Corinthian con

Segovia has undergone that process of war known as "the sackel," at the hands of the French. General Frere, on June 7th, 1808, entered the city, and although no resistance was offered, the inhabitants imagining that they would be respected, it was given over to the soldiery, who "annexed" everything they could possibly lay their hands on. Terrible stories are still told of the tortures worthy citizens were put to in order to compel them to divulge the whereabouts of their treasures, and the name of France is hated with a hatred only known to the swarthy Spaniard. One girl, a great beauty, Juanita Gomez, who became in-servatory. The salons above and below were once filled fatuated by a French officer, with her lover, suffered a horrible death. They were surprised together by a band of Segovians, who bound them, and muffling their heads with cloaks, bore them to the rock overhanging La Peña Grajera. At a given signal the cloaks were removed, as were also the ligaments. The despairing lovers were then ordered to leap over the rock. In vain they pleaded, implored, prayed. A living wall of steel encompassed them. The girl was the first to leap. The man, a craven, clung to the feet of his grim executioners, to the grass, to the rocks, and eventually his fingers had to be chopped off in order to compel him to take the death-fall. This is only one instance of the feeling against the sackers of Segovia. The best excursion from Segovia is to San Ildefonso, or La Granja, which can be struck by rail or diligence. This cool castle in the air-as the difference in Summer between La Granja and Madrid is as 680 to 83° Fahrenheit, say the Castilians-is a worthy chateau of the King of Spain. As he is the first and loftiest of all earthly sovereigns, so his abode soars nearest to heaven. The elevation of his residence at least cannot be doubted, as the palace is placed on the northwest range of the Sierra, some 3,840 feet above the level of the sea, and thus, in the same latitude as Naples, stands higher than the crater of Mount Vesuvius.

The surrounding locality is truly Alpine-rocks, forests, crystal streams, waterfalls-la Peñalara towering 8,500 feet above all. While Nature is truly Spanish at La Granja, art is most decidedly French, for the one idea'd Philip V. could conceive no other excellence but that of Marly and Versailles. This King's shyness, like that of the present King of Bavaria, drove him into retirement, and he asked for nothing better than the company of his wife and his confessor. He was no sooner fixed on the Spanish throne than he meditated its abdication, always harboring, like Henry III. of Poland, a secret wish to return and reign in beloved France. It chanced that while hunting at Valsain, in 1720, he discovered this granja, then a grange or farmhouse of the Segovian Monks of La Parral. He 1ought the site of them, and here he died, July 9th, 1746, and here he lies buried.

The Colegiata, built in the form of a Latin cross, is the first object of interest. On each side are the royal pews, or tribunas, inclosed with glass. The dome, pendentives and ceiling are painted in fresco by those academical twins of common-place, Bayeu and Mael'a. The white stucco is picked out with gilding, and the retablo is composed of fine jaspars with red pillars from Cabra. The altar was constructed at Naples. The tabernacle is of rich lapislazuli. The Virgin's wardrobe is absolutely dazzling in its magnificence, her cloak being incrusted with jewels. The especial relic in this church is the staff of St. Elizabeth of Hungary, held by Christina while giving birth to Isabel II. The illustrous founder is buried in a chapel

with paintings and antiques, among which were the marbles of Queen Christina of Sweden, purchased for Spain by Camillo Rosconi. After having been long neglected they were carted out to Madrid by Ferdinand VII., when he restored and refinished the palace with his favorite modern trumpery. The royal apartments are light, airy, and agreeable, without being magnificent. Strange events could these walls chronicle. Here, in January, 1724, Philip V. abdicated the crown, which he resumed in the next August, on the death of his son, urged once more to become a King by his wife, who, by all accounts, was pretty particularly weary of private life. Here, in 1783, Charles III. received the Count d'Artois (Charles X. of France) when on his way to take Gibraltar-a feat, however, which he failed to accomplish. Here, on August 18th, 1796, the minion Goday signed the famous and fatal treaty by which Spain was virtually handed over to revolutionized France. Here Ferdinand VII., September 18th, 1832, revoked the decree by which he had abolished the Salic law, and declared his daughter, Isabel, born October 10th, 1830, to be heiress to the crown, an act which led to civil war and disputed succession. Here Christina, in her turn, was deprived of royal rights, for here on August 12th, 1836, the rude soldiery, headed by one Garcia, a sergeant, compelled her to proclaim the Cadiz democratical institution of 1812. The result was the downfall and exile of the Queen Regent.

The gardens of the Palace are among the finest in Spain; the grand walk in front, called the parterre-for everything here in name and style is French-looks over wondrous terraces and flowers and waters and picturesque mountains. Spring fruits ripen in the artificial garden in Autumn. Everything is artificial, and the cost was 45,000,000 of piastres, the precise amount of Philip V.'s debts when he shuffled off this mortal coil. Ferdinand VI., Philip's son and successor, stoutly refused to pay his father's debts. No amount of wheedling could induce him to part with a piastre. To form these gardens, rocks-nay, small mountains-were leveled, while great caverns were tunneled to admit of earth for the roots of trees. They were removing the earth in one of these caverns while I was there, and the mound raised by the stuff dug out was of no mean proportion.

San Idelfonso, after all, is but an imitation on a smaller scale of the gardens of Versailles, but its fountains are far more real than those of its celebrated French original. Pure water is the charm, requiring no force-pumps or pressure of any kind to send it flying in diamond showers high into the air. The Cascada Cenador is a superb sheet of falling water, which, under the sun of Castile, glitters like molten silver. It is supplied from a large pond, which the people of Aranjuez are modest enough to term el Mar, or the ocean.

The gardens, in which art vies with natur, are divided

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into high and low. They are laid out in grand style, being planted with avenues, labyrinths, statuary, etc., etc., including twenty-six fountains, the most famous, the Fama, throwing water 130 feet into the air. Philip V. stopped before it on its completion. "This cost me three millions," he sighed, "and I have only been amused three minutes."

Charles III. came every year to La Granja to fish and shoot, and here he set up a linen and a glass 'factory. While at La Granja a pleasant excursion can be made to the Quita Pesares, the Sans Soucie of Christina, and where this modern Dido first met the Eneas Muñoz. I walked over to Valsain three miles, the ancient hunting-seat of the Crown, and occupied by Philip V. during the burning of La Granja. There is boar-hunting in the royal preserves, and Alfonso was daily expected, with his young bride a bride destined so soon to die-Mercedes.

To return to Segovia. No one should visit Spain without turning aside to see this wondrous old city of the Middle Ages-its walls, its Alcazar, its Cathedral, and its Agneduct.

RIDDLES.

THAT our riddles are degenerating into mere jeu d'esprit is a great calamity. When the solemn questions of life and destiny are changed into idle conceits, of what consequence can it be how they are answered? The fatal riddle of the Sphinx was no matter of wit and laughter. The strange question: "What being has four feet, two feet and three feet; only one voice; but whose feet vary, and when it has most, is weakest ?" so moved the men of Thebes that they gave Edipus their kingdom and the hand of the queen for answering, "Man !" It required oideo-pous, swollen feet, to explain a riddle of the feet, and a man under the pressure of necessity to solve the problem of mankind. The fable relates that when the Sphinx found her occupation gone she leaped from a high rock ; but she certainly did not destroy herself, for the poet's lines are still true :

"The Sphinx is drowsy,

Her wings are furied; Her ear is heavy,

She broods on the world."

She will continue to "brood on the world," every moment demanding "the fate of the manchild and the meaning of man." They who solve the riddle of their own humanity save themselves and others, while all who fail are devoured. It was no shrewd guess on the part of Edipus-he was the answer, and in self-recognition he solved the problem. It took the right man, but the moment of necessity was needed to bring him out. That

moment so fatal to all the fools in Thebes was the coronation of Edipus. For nothing should a wise man return deeper thanks than for necessity. It brings him in contact with himself, disciplines his affections, ripens his understanding, strengthens his nature and enriches his experience; it thrusts goodness and greatness upon him-it does more, it reveals to him the goodness and greatness latent in his nature. A moment of necessity is worth an age of opportunity.

Ohnesargen's Sphinx, in six volumes, shows us how the riddle is fallen from its high place. A riddle is now only a conundrum, and often a very coarse one at that. The "Demands Joyous," the treatise of the Abbé Cotiro, whose modesty did not prevent him from assuming the title, "Le Père de l'Enigme," and the Mercure de France all bear witness to the degradation of the riddle.

Samson's riddle is personal, and comes nearer to our

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idea of enigma, but the men of his time were deeply exercised over its solution. "Samson said, 'Out of the eater came forth meat, and out of the strong came forth sweetness.' But they could not in three days expound the riddle. And it came to pass on the seventh day, that they said unto Samson's wife, Entice thy husband, that he may declare unto us the riddle, lest we burn thee and thy father's house with fire.' And Samson's wife wept before him and said, 'Thou dost but hate me, and lovest me not: thou hast put forth a riddle unto the children of my people, and hast not told it me.' And he said unto her, Behold I have not told it my father nor my mother, and shall I tell it thee?' And she wept before him the seven days, while their feast lasted; and it came to pass on the seventh day that he told her, because she lay sore upon him; and she told the riddle to the children of her people. And the men of the city said unto him on the seventh day before the sun went down, What is sweeter than honey? and what is stronger than a lion ?' And he said unto them, 'If ye had not plowed with my heifer, ye had not found out my riddle.'"- Judges, xiv. 14-18. The riddle was one of rare ingenuity, and in the original could be turned in every conceivable direction without disclosing its true meaning. It was clear as glass, and yet the Philistines utterly failed to solve it until they plowed with Samson's heifer.

6

The riddle has a curious parallel in the German story of a woman who interceded for her husband. The man was under sentence of death, but the judges promised to release him if his wife would give them a riddle they could not solve. The woman remembered that she had that day passed a dead horse by the roadside, and that between its ribs was a bird's nest containing six young birds, which she took with her. She therefore propounded this riddle : "As ik hin güng, as ik wedder kam,

Den Lebendigen ik uet den Doden nam.

Süss (sechs) de güungen de Saewten (den siebenten) quitt,
Raet to, gy Herren, nu ist Tyt."*

The judges had no heifer to plow with, and so the culprit was released.

Some of Solomon's Proverbs are, strictly speaking, riddles. Josephus describes a contest in riddles, in which Solomon vanquished Hiram, King of Tyre, and was himself defeated by one of Hiram's subjects. An English writer calls it a philosophical gambling match. Large sums of money were lost and won at ancient riddlematches. The "hard questions" with which the Queen of Sheba proved Solomon are believed to have been riddles. Erasmus thinks the Saviour employed the riddle

in Matthew xii. 43-45. We have a riddle in Revelation

xiii. 16, and a challenge to its solution in the eighteenth verse. The Sphinx of Theocritus is a famous example of the classic enigma. Homer's death is said to have been caused by mortification at not being able to solve a riddle. The most inexplicable riddle of the ancients is

called, from a Latin inscription at Bologne, "Elia Lælia Crispis," and may be translated into English thus:

"ELIA LELIA CRISPIS.

"Neither man, nor woman, nor androgyne Neither girl, nor boy, nor eld; Neither wife nor maid;

But all (of these).

"Carried off neither by hunger, nor sword, nor poison; But by all (of them).

Neither in heaven, nor in the water, nor in the earth; But biding everywhere.

*As I came along, I took the living out of the dead: six got quit of the seventh; guess away, my masters; now is the time.

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