remains affords ample evidence of the city’s former splendour. With the decay of piracy the necessity of keeping up the earlier standards of resistance ceased and many of the older buildings were allowed to fall into decay. Even the old city wall has dwindled until only a portion about a quarter of a mile in length remains. This is a favourite playground of the children, and when the sun is setting, the older people of the poorer classes rest upon the worn-out benches that project from the stone parapets, enjoying the cooling breezes that evening brings. Legend has it that Philip V of Spain was observed by his courtiers gazing into the distance that lay in the direction of the new colonies, and when one of his ministers asked him what he strained his eyes to behold, the King, with a merry twinkle in his eye, replied that “he was trying to discern the walls of Panama, for they had cost so much, that surely they must be visible even from Spain.” The whole of the old town is built of stone quarried from the volcanic rocks in the vicinity; the walls of most of the buildings are from three to four feet in thickness, with the windows placed high up from the ground; the thick doors are plentifully studded with huge nails, and bound by stout iron bands. The cathedrals and churches are massive and liberally supplied with heavy buttresses; in fact, they look more like fortresses than places of worship; and there are so many of them that one might easily fall into the error of believing that the founders of the city and early inhabitants were a very religious community. There is one church in the Calle San José that I visited frequently during the heat of the day, the cool shade it afforded was a welcome contrast to the hot glare of the streets; and although I have been in it many times, I never saw more than two or, at the most, three persons in it at the same time. It has an earthy smell, and is damp, cool, and fusty. Round the edifice altars stand out in harsh relief from the austere whitewashed walls. Carved figures of saints draped in dusty raiment that was once brilliant gave the place an aspect of a cheap waxworks. The small windows high up in the walls let in a silvery light that diffused itself through the interior. The pews or forms arranged down the centre of the aisle were in the last stages of decay, so frail and rotten that they could not support any substantial weight. Occasionally a negress with a bright-coloured turban and long, trailing gown would sail into the gloom and glide noiselessly up to one of the many altars, in front of which she would kneel and stare about as if bewildered. But I was generally alone in the great building, sometimes catching glimpses of the aged priest, who, with robes tucked up, was occupied in sweeping the damp, stone floor, a pathetic reminder of the waning power of Holy Church in the city. At Christmas time there is created in this church a huge [Illustration: THE FLAT ARCH OF ST. DOMINIC.]