repose, at once man supplies for himself the uplifting of the face which his soul must have, and the glorious vision of Segovia is proof of it. The castle and the cathedral of that famous city are like a tall ship riding out to sea; or they are like a man preaching from a rock with uplifted hands; or they are like the miraculous appearance of some divine messenger standing facing one above the steeps of the hill. It is so in all the places I can remember; it is so in the Valley of the Ebro, where Saragossa raises a tall nave and the tall columns of the Pilar, whereas, if you go northward and begin to see the hills this feature fails. It is not apparent in Huesca; Jaca, right under the High Pyrenees, has none of it. I can remember exceptions; one place, among the most famous in Europe, which was built for a mountain kingdom and under the influence of mountaineers, though it stands in a plain. And that is Brou, which seems to be made for mountains rather than for the plain. And there are many modern errors in the matter due to the copying of some style pedantically and to the absence of native inspiration. The chief of these is Lourdes, whose hideous basilica ought never to have attempted height in the midst of those solemn hills. But the history of man when he is dealing with his shrines is a history of perpetual betterment, and some day Lourdes will be replaced by a much worthier thing. The crypt is already excellent, and many good changes in European building have begun with the crypt. There are errors, I say, of this sort due to the modern divorce between personality and production, and there are accidents, though rare, like that of Brou, where a mountain building is set in a plain, though hardly ever a building of the plains in the mountains. But for the most part, and taking Europe as a whole, the rule holds good. Consider the church called L’Epine. It is not high, but every line of it is designed to give the effect of height, and the farther you are from it the more it seems to soar, and the greyer it gets the more finely is it drawn upwards. It stands in the roll of those vast Catalaunian plains where twice the fate of Europe has been decided; where first Attila was rolled backwards, and where more than a thousand years after the armies destined to destroy the Revolution failed. It is the mark and the centre of that plain. But as you get towards the Mountain of Rheims on the north, the Argonne upon the east, the note of height in stone is withdrawn. The Argonne is low, the Mountain of Rheims, though high and noble, is hardly a true mountain, but each uplifts the face.