hand and a pencil in the other and check the items, thus cleaning up in th

f impressions, and kept whichever we liked best. It was a loose system, to be recommended only for its variety. At the church of St. Agricole, for instance, which we happened upon when we started out one morning, we had a most interesting half hour discussing the age and beauty of its crumbling exterior and wandering about in its dimness, speculating concerning its frescoes and stained marbles and ancient tombs. When

ive arched entrance, and there was a guardian, or guide, to show us through. It is true he spoke only French-Proven?al French-but two gracious Italian ladies happened to be going through at the same time and, like all cultured continentals,

e, and once, in later times-the period of the Revolution-a massacre in which seventy perished. He also mentioned a bishop of the earlier

e entrance some workmen were uncovering a large square basin-a swimming pool, he said-probably of Roman time

be limitless, they were reconstructing perfectly every ruined part, and would spend at least two million dollars, we were told, to make the labor complete. Battered corners of towers had been carefully rebuilt, tumbled parapets replaced. We stood facing an exquisite mullioned wind

Jeanne of Naples came to plead for absolution, nearly six centuries ago. It was of overpowering size and interest, and in one of the upper corners was a picture I shall not soon forget. It was not a painting or tapestry, but it might have been either of these things and less beautiful. It was a living human being, a stone carver on a

ich were plainly marked by an outline on the stone floor, worn by the feet of feasting churchmen. Then we went to the kitchen, still more impressive in its suggestion of the stouter needs of piety. Its chimney is simply a gigantic central funnel that, rising directly from the four walls, goes towering and tapering toward the stars.

on the roofs of Avignon-an expanse of brown tiling, toned by the ages, but otherwise not greatly different from what the popes saw when this tower and these housetops wer

the season. "The mistral," our conductor said, and, though he did not cross himself,

nd willing to let that wind blow on him as a sort of benediction. It is said, however, that the mistral wind is not always agreeable in Avignon. It blows away disease, but it i

cathedral of Notre Dame des D?mes, where John XXII, who brought this glory to Avignon, lies in his Gothic tomb. All the popes of Avignon were crowned here; it was the foremost church of Christendom for the bette

a long flight to the narrow streets. Everywhere about us the lower foundations of the papal palace joined the living rock, its tow

ade friends and to say good-by. One of them said, "You are from America; perhaps you might happen to know a friend of ours there," and she named one whom we did know very well indeed-one