The Prince George's enquirer and southern Maryland advertiser. (Upper Marlborough, Md.) 1882-1925, 1904-09-23

of gold and precious stones, woman,
yes. because it was not any more the
Virgin whom | venerate, and before
whom | humble myself; it was a wo-
man, a woman like myself, who look
ed at me, and laughed, mocking me
Do You see it?' she seemed to say :,
showing me the jewel How it shines!
1t seems like a ring of stars taken
from heaven on a midsummer's night.
Do you see il? Well, it is not yours;
it will never be yours, never!-1 ou
will perhaps have other jewels-better,
richer if possible, but this this one
that shines so fantastically, so fasci-
natingly,-never-n l woke;
but with the same idea fixed here,
then as we'll as now, like red-hot
nail, diabolic, immovable, inspired per-
haps by Satan himself-What!-You
are silent-you are silent and bend
your bead!-Does not my insanity
make you laugh?'
Pedro, with a convulsive movement,
pressed the hilt of his sword, raised
his head, which he had in fact inclined
and said with hoarse voice:
What Virgin has that jewell"
The Virgin of the Sagrario,' mur-
m ured Maria.
"The Virgin Of the Sagrario!'' re-
peated the young man with terrific
accent. "Tbe Virgin of the Sagrario
of the Cathedral!' And in his fea-
lures was pictured the state Of his
soul, frightened at a horrible idea.
"Ah, why does not someone else
possess it?" be went on with passion
ate and energetic voice: "Why does
not the Bishop have it on his mitre,
or the King on his crown or the devil
in his paws? l would steal it for you
even if in so doing l should lose my
life or be condemned.-But to the
Virgin of the Sagraria, to our blessed
patroness, IL who have been born
in Toledo, impossible, impossi-
ble!" -.
"Never!" murmured Marie with a
faint voice, almost imperceptible.
"Nevel!'' And she wept on.
Pedro fixed stupid look on the
current of the river, on the ripping
current of the river, which passed un.
ceasingly before his strayed eyes,
breaking on the rock at the foot OF
the castle.
The Cathedral of Toledo! Imagine
a forest of gigantic palms of granite
that weaving their branchea form a
magnificent and colossal vault, under
which whole creation of real and
imaginary beings dwell and live with
the life that genius has given them.
Imagine a stupendous chaos of
shadow and light, where the darkness
of the naves is mixed and confused
with the rays of a thousand colors
from the windows; where the light of
chandeliers struggles and dies, and is
buried in the gloom of the sanctuary.
Imagine a world of stone, immense
as the spirit of our religion, shadowy
as its traditions, enigmatic as its par
ables, and you will not have yet the
remotcst idea of that eternal monu.
ment of the enthusiasts m and faith of
our forefathers, and upon which the
centuries have INCREASINGLY lavished
the treasure of their belief, their in
spiration and their arts.
In it's bosom lives the silence, the
majesty and the poetry of mysticism,
and, withal, holy fear which defends
it's doors against worldly thoughts
and petty passions on the earth.
Just as consumption is relieved by
breathing the pure ar Of the noun
tains so atheism must be cured by
breathing this atmosphere of faith.
But although the Cathedral pre-
sents itself, great and imposing, to
our eyes at the moment we enter. its
mysteries and sacred precinct, yet it
never produces an impression so pro-
found as on the days when it displays
all the solemnites Of its religious
pomp-when it's tabernacles are COW
cred with gold and silver and preious
stones, its floors with carpets and its
pillars and tapestry.
Then when a torrent of light darts
out from its thousand burning silver
lamps; when cloud of incense floats
in the air, and the voices of the choir
and the harmony OF the organ and the
bells and chimes of its towers shake
the edlfice from its basement to the
points of the lightning rods that crown
it's spires-then it is that one under
sta nds and feels that tremendous ma.