Being unable to mention everything, I will confine myself to mentioning the _Saint Anthony of Padua_, by Murillo, which ornaments the chapel of the baptistry. Never was the magic of painting carried to a greater length. The saint is kneeling in a state of ecstasy in the middle of his cell, all the poor details of which are rendered with that vigorous reality which characterises the Spanish school. Through the half-open door is seen one of those long, white, arched cloisters, so favourable to reverie. The upper portion of the picture, which is inundated with white, transparent, vapoury light, is occupied by groups of angels, of the most truly ideal beauty. Attracted by the force of his prayers, the infant Jesus is descending from cloud to cloud, to place himself between the arms of the saint, whose head is surrounded by rays of glory, and who is leaning back in a fit of celestial delight. I think that this divine picture is superior to that of _Saint Elizabeth of Hungary_ in the Academy of Madrid, superior to _Moses_, superior to all the _Virgins_ and _Children_ by the same master, however beautiful and pure they may be. Whoever has not seen the _Saint Anthony of Padua_, does not know the finest production of the Sevillian painter; he is like those who fancy they know Rubens, and have never beheld the Antwerp _Magdalene_. Every style of architecture is to found in the Cathedral of Seville. The severe gothic, the style of the renaissance, that which the Spaniards term _plateresco_, or jewellery-work, and which is distinguished by a profusion of incredible ornaments and arabesques, the rococo, the Greek and Roman styles, are all there without a single exception, for each age has built its chapel or _retablo_, after its own peculiar taste, and even now the edifice is not completely finished. Many of the statues which fill the niches of the portals, and represent patriarchs, apostles, saints, and archangels, are made of baked earth only, and placed there temporarily. On the same side as the courtyard _de los Naranjeros_, on the top of the unfinished portal, rises the iron crane, as a symbol that the edifice is not yet terminated, and that the works will be resumed at some future period. This kind of gallows is also to be seen on the summit of the church at Beauvais, but when will the day come, when the weight of a stone slowly drawn up through the air by the workmen returned to their work, shall cause its pulley, that has for ages been rusting away, once more to creak beneath its load? Never, perhaps; for the ascensional movement of Catholicism has stopped, and the sap which caused this efflorescence of cathedrals to shoot up from the ground, no longer rises from the trunk into the branches. Faith, which doubts nothing, wrote the first strophes of all these great poems of stone and granite; Reason, which doubts everything, has not dared to finish them. The architects of the Middle Ages were a race of