A vestibule opens upon the Patio de los Reyes, so called from the statues of the Kings of Judah in granite and marble, also by Monegro, which stand on pedestals above the cornice. Jehoshaphat is represented with an axe, Hezekiah with a ram, Manasseh with the compass and square, Josiah and Solomon with books, David with harp and sword. These kings were selected as having had most to do with the building of the Temple, to which the Escorial was often compared by Spanish writers. The Temple, as represented by the Mosque of Omar, is by far the more cheerful and ornate structure of the two. The eastern front of this court is formed by the west front of the church and the Escorial--undoubtedly the noblest part of the pile. It is rightly considered Herrera’s masterpiece. The shape is said to be that of a Greek cross, but seemed to me to be square. The west front is flanked by square towers considerably over 200 feet high, and terminating like those of the enceinte in pinnacles. Over the crossing rises a stately dome, supporting a graceful pyramid, above which rises an iron cross. These towers are the most ornamental features of the whole vast pile. The interior of the church, truly observes Mr Lomas, “conveys exactly the idea which English people attach to the word ‘temple,’ a place wherein the majesty of the invisible dwarfs everything human.” It is constructed on the model of the first plan of St Peter’s. The lantern is carried on four enormous piers, from which to eight pilasters in the walls spring twenty-four mighty arches, forming three naves. Giants would seem to have been at work here. On entering we find ourselves in the dark Lower Choir, which is separated from the rest of the church by three bronze railings and to which were confined the lay worshippers. Above it is the choir, which it is unusual to find in Spain raised in a gallery at the west end of the church, instead of blocking up the nave. Here Philip often joined the monks in their devotions, his seat being the one nearest the door in the south-east angle. He was absorbed in prayer when on November 8th, 1571, during Vespers, a messenger entered and announced to those assembled the glorious victory obtained by Don John of Austria over the Ottoman fleet. The King gave no sign that he was elated, or that he had even heard the intelligence, but at the conclusion of the office he ordered a Te Deum to be intoned. He was a man never elated by success or cast down by failure. The evil tidings of the Armada found him as unperturbed as the good news of Lepanto. From the same seat he assisted at the solemn requiem Mass chanted by night for the repose of the soul of Mary, Queen of Scots. It is not without a certain emotion that we gaze around in this gallery. The stalls are elegantly and chastely carved in precious woods, after the designs of Herrera. The lectern and crystal chandelier are hardly so good. The eye turns at once to the marble crucifix signed by Benvenuto Cellini, who