a class of which I have seen others upon a somewhat smaller scale (as, e. g., the Cathedrals of Lerida and Tudela), and which appears to me, after much study of old buildings in most parts of Europe,, to afford one of the finest types, from every point of view, that it is possible to find. It produces, in a very marked degree, an extremely impressive internal effect, without being on an exaggerated scale, and combines in the happiest fashion the greatest solidity of construction with a lavish display of ornament in some parts, to which it is hard to find a parallel."

We left Valencia at half an hour after noon and reached Tarragona at half-past eight in the evening. The railway mainly skirts the sea, and the traveller has many charming views of the coast. Castellon, where there is a buffet, is reached about half-past two. It is noted for its picturesque costumes;, and here the painter, Francisco Ribalta, was born. This is the spot to embark for a visit to the group of small volcanic islands-the Columbretes—so called from certain snakes once there found, but which seem to have fallen a sacrifice to the indiscriminating voracity of pigs, which had been introduced by the lighthouse-keepers.

At Alcalá there is a fine church tower, and opposite it a noticeable castle. Palaces by degrees become less and less frequent, and the last we noticed was near the next station, i. e., Benicarlo. Here let Peñiscola be looked out for, a miniature Gibraltar (three miles to the east of the line), only connected with the mainland by a narrow strip of sand. Here Pope Benedict XIII. took refuge after his censure by the Council of Constance.

At Vinarez the railway quits the sea, and so avoids the aguish swamps of the delta of the Ebro, but it returns to the seaside after reaching Tortosa. This whole coast is wonderfully bright and riant, and it is with much regret that one sees the daylight fade. Very noticeable were the little country churches that we passed, which were cruciform, with five short and equal arms, and a central dome. They were, therefore, quite Byzantine in character, an interesting sign of the past history of this region; for the seacoast of this part of Spain belonged to the Eastern Empire long after the rest of the country, and to this fact, no doubt, the form of these churches is due. After half an hour's stay at Tarragona, darkness made the rest of the journey a blank to us till we reached Barcelona at midnight. The very comfortable quarters at the excellent Hotel de las Cuatro Naciones on the Rambla del Centro, were most welcome. As might be expected, the terms here were more expensive, 12s. 6d. a day, all included, but a well-furnished room and an excellent bed with good fare made us contented, and we went to sleep with pleasurable anticipations of much enjoying our last Spanish city, and one at once so thriving and progressive, con

taining so many interesting antiquities, and where a friend expected me, bent on showing us a warm hospitality. Alas, the next morning my friend called to say that his sister, his parents' only girl, had just died of typhoid fever, of which there was an epidemic in the city. It was so indeed. Every church we entered was draped in black, and everywhere funeral Masses were being celebrated. In addition an attack of neuralgia which had endured for some twelve hours, became violent, and caused a longing for a change of climate. The climatic effect on neuralgia, I found to be singularly and strongly marked in Spain, but as yet I had suffered from it only at considerable altitudes,—at Avila and Madrid,—with a slight recurrence at Granada. But now it had suddenly seized me on arriving at Tarragona, and thenceforth remained with me steadily and strongly till I reached the very different climate of Bordeaux. Such marked climatic effects appear to me to be worthy of record. Barcelona is traversed (from northwest by north to southeast by south) by a wide street called the Rambla, with a broad central park, with an avenue of trees for foot passengers, and a carriage road on each side of this shady promenade. Two hundred years ago this was the ditch for the city's drainage. Barcelona has finer shops than any other city in Spain, and has a very French aspect. It is prosperous and thriving, with a great deal of active piety and religious zeal, and with a great deal of revolutionary opposition to religion also. Here the best lace is to be bought, with fine blankets, scarlet and white, or blue and white, and handsome curtains for windows and doorways. There is but little of national or provincial costume, but the men wear a peculiar kind of cap, something like the Jacobin cap of liberty.

The Cathedral of this powerful warlike city, for so many centuries free and commercially prosperous, this modern Spanish Manchester without the Manchester smoke, is a rather small one. Yet from its skilful and artistic construction it looks much larger than it really is thus reversing the absurdly praised effect of St. Peter's at Rome, which is so dwarfed by the gigantic human figures which are depicted within it. There is a very wide nave, the west end of which is roofed by a lofty and elegant octagonal lantern. Beneath the high altar is the shrine of St. Eulalia (the patroness of the church), and a flight of steps leads down into her cryptlike chapel. The east end is apsidal. The multitude of altars is one great peculiarity of this church, for not only are there chapels round the apse and on each side of the nave for its whole length, but there are chapels round three sides of the cloister, those on the side of the cloister which is next the church being back to back with the lateral chapels of the nave, a window over each dark chapel giving light into the adjoining chapel in the nave of the

church--an altogether peculiar arrangement. Very fine and interesting churches are Santa Maria del Mar and Santa Maria del Pilar. The latter, with a wide nave, without aisles, but with lateral chapels, and with a terminal apse, is quite in the style of the churches of the South of France, at Carcassonne and its neighborhood, and the general similarity of the ecclesiastical buildings of these two regions bespeaks a common influence. Indeed, in this Catalan-speaking part of the Peninsula you are no longer really in Spain. The townhall is an object of much interest to the lover of Gothic; especially the Casa Consistorial, on the north side of which are fine Gothic windows, with a large image of St. Michael, with metal wings. The University has a large attendance of students, and should also be visited. In the Rambla is a very fine Jockey Club, handsomely furnished and provided with every convenience, even with an excellent riding-school and a stable for the horses of the members. At the moment of my visit a fine young Spaniard was exercising in the school, who on seeing an Englishman (he was a friend of my introducer) began to praise the visitor's country, and above all Stonyhurst and its good fathers, who had completed his education. Our intention was next to visit the far-famed Montserrat, which can be visited in one day, taking the morning train on the Zaragoza line to Monistrol, and thence ascending on foot with a native guide for (as I learn from my well-instructed informant before mentioned) the windings of the carriage road are such that the diligence to the monastery does not allow you time to get to the top before it departs again for the 5.40 return train. The visit can better be made in two days, going up from Martorell and coming down by Monistrol, or vice versa, and the accommodation is clean and good. This unhappily we could not see, for a letter received by my companion compelled us to start home by the next train. Accordingly we left Barcelona at 2.20 P.M. on November 16th, taking tickets for the express to Paris via Bordeaux. Those who have no need to hurry would do well to stop at Gerona, with its early, very peculiar Cathedral, also at Narbonne, Carcassonne, and Toulouse. But I would advise no one to stop at Perpignan, on account of the unspeakable horrors of its hotel. Our journey to Paris ought to have been accomplished in twenty-eight hours.. The Spanish part of it was punctually performed, but the French express, which ought to have arrived at Bordeaux one hour and twenty minutes before the departure of the express from Bordeaux to Paris, was more than that late, so that we had to continue on thence by a slow train, the journey occupying in consequence one and thirty hours!

The carriages between Barcelona and the frontier are most excellent, but here for the first time we had at first a little difficulty

in getting a carriage reserved for non-smokers, because just before two Englishmen had asked for such a carriage, and having got it proceeded to smoke, as the indignant station-master (Gefé) told me, "Not cigars, señor, but pipes!" However, his severity relaxed, and we left Spain with our usual Spanish luxury of a first-class carriage to ourselves. We reached Cerbere, the frontier, at a little after 8. The French authorities examined our luggage very slightly, but rigorously demanded passports or visiting cards, and, in spite of all that is often said, no stranger should travel without his passport, which is very often useful and sometimes necessary. At the buffet we found the meat as tough as anywhere in Spain, and the bread certainly inferior to the Spanish bread. We also had much less comfortable railway accommodation. On asking for a non-smoking carriage we were told, as usual, that smoking was forbidden everywhere. A delectable plan, which throws all the unpleasantness of objection upon the traveller who objects to nicotin. Accordingly, our first French guard addressed a French soldier saying: "The law forbids you to smoke, sir, but take notice, please, it is not I who object, but these English gentlemen!"

On waking with daybreak as we got towards Bordeaux the change of climate was very evident. Our windows were coated inside with ice and all the ponds we passed were frozen. Nevertheless, the late persistent neuralgia had departed. From Bordeaux to Paris we had again an unpleasant journey from the crowding of the carriages, owing to the custom of putting third-class passengers for whom there is no room into first-class carriages. However, Paris and the welcome Hotel Continental were at last happily reached. Here my notes in Spain terminate, but I wish to record one visit paid in Paris before starting for England. This was to the now famous Jesuit school at 18 Rue Lhomond (formerly Rue des Postes), and to its most estimable rector, the Reverend Père du Lac, one of the most charming men it has ever been my fortune to meet. On the wall of the courtyard of the college are a number of marble tablets, each inscribed with the name of a student who fell fighting for his country in the war of 1870, and also with the name of the engagement in which he fell. The contrast shown by the courage of the Catholic troops, compared with the disgraceful behavior of the Paris reds,-who though eager for murder had no taste for fighting Germans,―ought never to be forgotten. But it is not only in the field that such a contrast has been shown.

The excellent religious and moral effects of the education here given were witnessed not only by those who appreciated them duly, but also by others who complained that these sour men were not

such as they used to be when they were young" nous etions autrefois plus gais!" The threatened break-up of these noble establishments in the prostituted name of liberty is an outrage on the human race. Surely now all men of equitable minds, whatever may be their religious views, ought to unite in vigorous protest in favor of freedom (as understood in the United States and England, and as understood by such men as M. Jules Simon) against the passionate and sectarian Jacobinism which has managed to usurp the fair name of “liberal” on the continent of Europe, and threatens to ruin civilization by an invasion of barbarism and brutality, not, as in the days of the breakdown of the Roman Empire, by incursions from without, but from beneath. Spain gives to the Catholic visitor many signs of promise and many signs of fear. It is a land full of interest, which I am thankful to have seen once, and which I pray to be allowed to see again. I am satisfied with what I have done, and I would conclude this paper as I commenced it, by saying to Americans, and especially Catholic Americans, "Go and do likewise."

AMERICAN INFLUENCE ON THE DEMOCRATIC MOVEMENT IN EUROPE.

The Nineteenth Century. By Robert McKenzie. London, 1880, Nelson & Son..

The History of Our Own Times. By Justin MacCarthy. Vol. I. New York, 1880, Harper Bros.

HE nineteenth century will go into history as the century of the democracy. With it disappeared forever from civilized peoples the old sense of the divinity of kings and the irresponsibility of rulers. The people moved up and resolutely laid their hands on thrones and seats of power that had hitherto been considered sacred. They did not do this easily or at once. It was a long and bitter struggle, and a struggle that is not yet ended. It is impossible, however, for any man to shut his eyes to the fact of the wonderful advance in popular rights and liberties, and in representative forms of government made in European nations since the century began. There is yet much to be acquired in this sense, in some nations more, in some less. Monarchs have still great power, though they dare not exercise it with the freedom from responsibility that they once did. The most absolute ruler