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EXTERIOR OF THE CATHEDRAL AND CHURCH OF THE SAGRARIO FROM THE PLAZA DE ARMAS

portions probably not equalled in all the Republic was reached, with their heavy, square Tuscan belfries, the four Gothic extremities, sculptured with the arms of the church, and the octagonal pyramids, which terminate each tower, crowned by the graceful Latin cross, - an eternal memory of the conversion of Constantine and of the prophetic utterance "In hoc signo vinces.»

The cathedral belis, fourteen in number, are open to inspection if one has courage to mount the staircase that winds up two hundred and twenty feet or more, through complete darkness, until a ray of light announces that the belfries are reached. A magnificent panorama, which world-wide wanderers pause to admire, spreads out to reward the patience of the climber. From this point may be discerned, northward, the Santiago tablelands and the famous cañon known as the Barranca de Portillo; northwest, the great cascade of Juanacatlan; eastward, the hill ranges of San Ramon and Tonalan; southward, more

hills, and the defile between them called the Port of Santa Maria, with the beautiful suburb of San Pedro lying to the southeast, and the busy life of the Calle de la Merced swarming directly underneath; while westward stretch plain and mountain and volcanic peak. Seventeen towers may be counted from these belfries, and upon a very clear day, due west and east, long indistinct lines quivering in

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the sunlight show where the ocean of Balboa and the Gulf of Mexico wash the shores of the land of Cortes.

There are five bells in one tower, and six in another, with three in the watch tower, directly over the centre entrance, a cowskin cord operating the tongue of each. One great bell which hangs in the

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INTERIOR OF CATHEDRAL, GUADALAJARA

middle of one of the towers has the papal keys and mitre cast upon it, and the date 1758; another smaller one is marked 1661; while still another, which is only rung on the occasion of great festivities or national victories, bears the date 1769. There are bells which ring only at dawn and noonday; others which sound only for prayers, for marriages, or for deaths. There is also the "disaster bell," which was cracked by a cannon-ball during the French occupation of Mexico.

The bells of Guadalajara bear none of the inscriptions or decorations that make bell-hunting a passion in Belgium and other European countries, but these ancient towers have looked down upon many strange scenes of hope, pride, defeat, sorrow, and glory. Scarcely five minutes of the day passes without bell music from some church tower, shrill, sinister, grave, joyous, or clamoring tones, or a tutti of the whole that is equalled only by the famous carillons and chimes of the Old World. A poem entitled "In Mexico," recently published in the "Kansas City Journal,» aptly describes these melodies and their religious associations:

"When twilight falls, more near and clear
The tender Southern skies appear,
And down green slopes of blooming limes
Come cascades of cathedral chimes;
And prayerful figures worship low,
In Mexico."

Descending from the towers, and entering the cathedral, one is struck by its majestic proportions and its vista of Doric columns, which resembles a grove of palm-trees. Great chandeliers, holding thousands of wax tapers, illuminate the edifice at night; everywhere there is an abundance of light, and one looks in vain for the mystic gloom of the cathedrals and abbeys of England. Some of the best stained-glass windows were imported from Paris, particularly those depicting "The Raising of Lazarus" and "The Woman Taken in Adultery."

Before the revolution of 1860 the high altar was of solid silver, but this was confiscated during the war. The present great altar, with its approaches and balustrade, is of white Carrara marble, and is said to have cost $34,000. The balustrade is adorned with rich bronze ornaments made in Milan, and the tabernacle's mysteries are enshrined behind bronze doors. Lifelike marble statues of the four Evangelists, six and a half feet high, decorate the cor

ners of the altar, and behind this, under an exquisite dome, which covers the principal nave, is the choir and entrance to the subterranean vaults where bodies of dead bishops are interred. Through the high windows of this dome the daylight streams through the stained glass in softened rainbow hues. The choir stalls command admiration because of the wonderful elaboration of tropical woods shown by the carvers of the seventeenth century, in whose lavishness of detail may be traced a suspicion of Flemish influence. The dome is noteworthy for its airy rib-work of pearl color and gold; for its form, neither Byzantine, Tuscan, nor Arab, but pure Roman; and for its round windows of stained glass in arabesque designs.

Without doubt the fountain of inspiration for the Spanish conquerors' art was Flanders, and in the choirs, stalls, pulpits, altars, organs, and wood statuary scattered throughout this beautiful land of Mexico, one reads Flemish thought in Spanish spirit, as the superb chairs and pulpits of the cathedrals of Burgos and Toledo in old Spain likewise register Flemish ambition.

The choir stalls of the Guadalajara cathedral are solidly constructed, and are arranged in two tiers, looking, with their high Gothic backs, like a Roman senatorial chamber. The wood resembles ebony in color and grain.

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In the centre of the choir the bishop's chair is surmounted by that ecclesiastic's armorial bearings and a golden rose. front of this is a bench of solid ebony bearing the papal escutcheon, and before it stands a huge music-desk, upon which rest enormous parchment tomes of illuminated music. In one corner is an ancient clock, and from the centre of the cupola a chandelier is suspended by an iron chain. The benches for the acolytes are of ebony, as are also the carved music-racks of the eight instrument-players. The cathedral boasts a fine electric organ. In strange contrast to this wealth of decorative richness, a china cuspidor marks the right hand of the bishop's chair, while each stall is flanked by a similar horror in brass.

The interior of the cathedral is a study in white and gold, especially the readingpulpit, with its beautiful winding staircase, but the slender-pillared gallery above the choir, behind the altar, is a rich olive-green tint, with exquisitely

gilded trimmings. A great square window of stained glass represents the "Betrothal of the Virgin Mary," while another illustrates the text, "Suffer little children to come unto me." Directly above the first window is a wooden statue, beautifully painted, a copy of Murillo's "Assumption of the Virgin," with a great golden halo forming the background. Just above this is a half-moon window of stained glass divided into three parts; the right-hand division representing the Annunciation; that at the left depicting "Christ before the Doctors;" and the centre compartment representing the "Benediction of the Holy Crown by the Holy Ghost,” this latter being full of beautifully executed figures. Directly over this window is painted a great eye with a triangular device emblematic of the Trinity. The four corners of the cupola are frescoed with representations of St. Luke, St. John, St. Mark, and St. Matthew. The cathedral has no baptismal font, this rite being celebrated in the adjoining Sagrario. There are nine Corinthian altars, and three beautiful chapels, one of which is in memory of the first Archbishop of Guadalajara. The confessionals are richly carved and are surmounted by the papal arms, while the many alabaster shrines, the small but exquisite oil paintings that adorn the walls, and the fine marble statues of Biblical subjects, make the whole church an artistic delight.

Truly it may be said, in the words of the poem quoted above, that Mexico is indeed

"A land of lutes and witching tones;
Of silver, onyx, opal stones."

In the sacristy is the pictorial jewel of Guadalajara, the famous creation of the Seville painter's magic brush, Murillo's "Assumption of the Virgin," painted by order of one of the Spanish monarchs for the Escurial, and by him afterward presented to the Church of the Soledad, Guadalajara, whence it was transferred to its present location. It is inconceivable why such a gem as this beautiful picture should be concealed in the dimly lit sac

risty, when its fitting place is manifestly in the choir, where the glories of the colored lights might fall upon it.

There exists a popular error that the "Assumption" in the Louvre, Paris, is the only authentic one painted by Murillo; but this is not so, for the artist of Seville painted at different times no less than twenty-seven "Assumptions," of which there can be no doubt that this Mexican Virgin is one.

During the French occupation the picture was carefully hidden, and after a wearisome search the invaders offered $40,000 for it, but in vain. The painting will always be immortal in the world of art, because of its religious imagination, its correct and harmonious drawing, its splendid and vigorous coloring, its surprising chiarooscuro, its marvellous expression, and its idealism, worthy only of Murillo himself, of whom a celebrated critic said: "If Velasquez is the painter of earth, Murillo is the painter of heaven!"

Other objects of art in the sacristy are the eighteenth-century carved tiers of ebony drawers containing the sumptuous ecclesiastical vestments of the church. Among these is a priest's cope, consecrated in Toledo, and used only for great festivities.

In the first chapel near the left entrance, a slab discloses the resting-place of the mummy of Don Juan Santiago Carrabito, born at Palma, Andalusia, Spain, July 9, 1694, a canon of the church of Badajoz, and the first bishop of Porto Rico. Barring the loss of two front teeth, the mummy is well preserved, very brown and very wrinkled, and clad in his red bishop's robe with a cross about the neck. Upon the head is the bishop's cap, its gold band resting loosely under the shriveled chin.

Vanitas vanitatum! Three hundred years ago this withered substance thought and spoke, and hoped and feared and reasoned, like the crowds who now cross the sexton's palm with silver for the privilege of gazing upon the withered remains!

DETROIT.

ANNETTA HALLIDAY-ANTONA.

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A PLANETARY POTENTATE-JUPITER

NE of the most fascinating of celestial objects is the "giant" planet, Jupiter, which now shines with a steady, serene light in the southern heavens in the early morning,—a bright herald of the day. It has been known from all antiquity, but until Galileo pointed his crude telescope toward it, its real wonders were wholly unsuspected. It was in 1610 that that illustrious experimental philosopher discovered the four "Medicean stars," as he called them in compliment to the Grand Duke of Tuscany, which soon proved, by their revolution about the Jovian orb, to be its satellites, thus furnishing strong presumptive confirmation of the Copernican theory of the solar system.

It was a wholesale discovery of new worlds, and gave to Galileo undying fame. The strangers were christened Io, Europa, Ganymede, and Callisto, although astronomers officially know them as I, II, III, and IV, and for nearly three hundred years astronomical books and familiar quotations have referred to "the four moons of Jupiter." But in 1892 Professor Barnard, then of Lick Observatory, thrilled all students of the heavens by the announcement of the finding of another member of the family, so wee and modest that only the very greatest telescopes are able to glimpse it, and then only under the most favorable circumstances.

Three of these "moons" are each considerably larger than our own single satellite, while the fourth is slightly smaller. The fifth is perhaps only one hundred miles in diameter, revolving in its orbit in a trifle less than twelve hours-its "year!" Its distance from Jupiter's surface cannot exceed 70,000 miles. The four first-discovered satellites range in distance from 262,000 to 1,169,000 miles, while their years correspondingly vary from 42 hours to 16 days.

They are perpetually suffering eclipse in the shadow of the huge planet, and occultation, and in their turn produce frequent total eclipses of the sun over its immense disc, as they perform their transits. As far back as 1675, Roemer, a Danish astronomer of great genius, noticed considerable discrepancy between the actual and calculated times of these phenomena when near the phase of conjunc

tion, for which he accounted by the hypothesis that light consumes time in traversing space, the difference of between sixteen and seventeen minutes simply being twice the time required for light to pass from the sun to the earth. It was a sublime conception, and its accurate working out determines the velocity of light, 186,330 miles per second, if the distance be assumed, or the distance of the sun if the rate be assumed, both of these values being abundantly demonstrable by other methods.

The smallest spy-glass, when held steadily, will show the famous four moons, if none of them happens to be hidden behind the planet, or eclipsed; and a very moderate-sized telescope will clearly illustrate the "flattening" of Jupiter's poles. The mighty globe, doubtless still plastic, whirling on its axis in a little less than ten hours, becomes oblate, the diameter of its bulging equator being 88,000 miles, while its polar diameter stretches only 83,000 miles. It is not only 1,300 times as large as the earth,— "a football to a marble," as Professor Young puts it,—but it is actually larger than all the other planets of the solar system combined.

But it is of vastly lighter material than the earth, its density being scarcely one fourth that of our planet,-in other words it is only 316 times as heavy. However, its influence as the great potentate of the planets is preponderating, and some twenty-seven comets have been "attracted" into its growing family. Like a mammoth spider in space it weaves its web of gravitation in the paths of the celestial wanderers, and so entangles some of them that they swerve aside to acknowledge a new master.

Its beautiful cloud-belts, suggestive of parallels of latitude on a terrestrial globe, and probably due to the rapid rotation of a semi-fluid mass, never cease to interest the observer; and there are surface tints and shades in great variety. The celebrated "red spot," discovered in 1878, which covered an immense area and remained very conspicuous for several years, is an unsolved mystery. Whether it is part of the surface, or simply an envelope, is not known, but Jupiter has long been suspected of being a "semi-sun,”—a hot body slowly condensing.

At present the prince of planets is coasting along the ecliptic on the borders of the constellation Scorpio. His movement is ever eastward in fact, although at times it is apparently "retrograde," because of its visual complication with that of the earth. His journey through the zodiac, around the sun, occupies nearly twelve years, for his mean distance from our primary is 483,000,000 miles. It will therefore be perceived that when Jupiter and the earth are on the same side of the sun, and in line with it,-Jupiter's "opposition," their distance from each other is considerably less than 400,000,000 miles, while, when Jupiter is in conjunction with the sun, that distance is increased to nearly 600,000 miles.

Jupiter has passed the station of " quadrature," and will reach that of "opposi

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tion" by the latter part of May. During the summer months he will shine throughout nearly the entire night. It will be interesting to watch his movement through the constellations, "retrograde" through April, May, June, and July, and "direct" through the remainder of the year. star of Jove is in tolerably intimate relationship with the dim Uranus and the bright and marvellously ringed Saturn. Last autumn, "Red Mars," - most discussed of all the planets, owing to its singular markings, which to some minds have hinted of a sentient population,— marching at a quickstep, overtook the imperial planet, and, crossing the starry Rubicon, speedily distanced his great competitor in the zodiacal race.

BERWYN, PA.

ALDEN W. QUIMBY.

SOME RECENT MAGAZINE POETRY

F LITERATURE is a reproduction of life, and poetry is the highest form of literature, then the current product of the latter is, both as to character and place, suggestive. As to quantity, poetry As to quantity, poetry has not yet fallen into innocuous desuetude. Slender volumes of it are still put forth, largely at the expense of the authors, so the public suspects. These volumes are damned with faint praise by the reviewers, put aside with languid interest by the readers, and, where the royalty agreement prevails, are supposedly buried with bad words by the publishers. But for the most part the place where our poems of to-day appear is the periodical, daily or weekly, and the best appear in the magazines. They are fugitives, fugitives from poetical justice, it is to be feared. Their appearance in the table of contents suggests a concession to the past or to the vague æsthetic sense of the proper make-up of a magazine number. It looks well, and diffuses a pleasant spiritual feeling, to see "The Dead Clematis Vine-a Poem," or "The Me and the Not Me-a Drama," sandwiched between an article on the automobile and a story of the wild West, like a thin slice of ham between the upper and nether millstone of a railroad eating-station sandwich. We bite through it and pause for a while to collect the taste in our

mouth.

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What is the matter? Is the fault with us? Has the grit of the two enclosing half biscuits vitiated our taste? There is a certain poetical flavor there, we feel sure of that. It is neither drivel nor doggerel, this literary produce, whatever it is. the contrary, much of it is serious and ambitious of theme, vigorous in spirit, and artistic in workmanship. Yet there is a disappointment, an unsatisfiedness, which we are apt dimly to associate with an uncompletedness in the poem. Perhaps both writer and reader are to blame, or possibly the conditions. If the average magazine number is a fair monthly summary of our intellectual status, then the surreptitious and apologetical presence of these little stanzas may be a good representation of the small place that poetical or ideal emotion holds in our life.

"That is it," some one will say, "our age is not poetical. It is utterly materialistic." "No, not that," objects another, "but hurried, constructive, positive, dealing in facts and the external interests of society, quite devoted to science, democracy, and practical economies, hence lacking in unworldly and leisurely contemplation."

Admitting all this, there still remain God, Nature, and the human Soul, the three eternal factors of poetry. In addition, there is more knowledge and refine

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