piers are of immense weight,
ending severely in a plain, moulded band. On these great piers rest the
cross-vaults of the roof and the broad arches of the wall. The north
aisle, disproportionately narrow, is a later addition. Behind the altar
is a true Provencal apse, shallow and rectangular, and beyond its
rounded roof opens the smaller half-dome. Architecturally, this is an
interesting interior; but the traveller who has not time to spend in
musings will fail to see it in its original intention;--cold, severely
plain, heavy, with perhaps too many arch-lines, but sober and simple. A
futile wooden wainscot now surrounds the church and breaks its wall
space, liberal coats of whitewash conceal the building material, and
taking from the church the severity of its stone, give it an appearance
of poor deprecatory bareness.

[Illustration: "THE DESECRATION OF THE LITTLE CLOISTER."--FREJUS.]

Near the entrance of the Cathedral is its most ancient portion, the
baptistery, formerly a building apart, but now an integral part of the
church itself. It is perhaps the most interesting Christian monument in
Frejus, a reminder of those early centuries when, in France as in Italy,
the little baptistery was the popular form of Christian architectural
expression. Here it has the very usual octagonal shape; the arches are
upheld by grayish columns of granite with capitals of white marble, and
in the centre stands the font. Between the columns are small
recesses, alternately rectangular and semi-domed, and above all, is a
modern dome and lantern. Structurally interesting, and reminiscent of
the stately baptistery of Aix, the effect of this little chamber, like
the church's interior, is marred by the whitewashes from whose
industrious brushes nothing but the grayish columns have escaped. And
here again, the traveller who would see the builders' work, free from
the disfigurements of time, must pause and imagine.

Yet even imagination seems powerless before the desecration of the
little Cloister. Charming it must have been to have entered its quiet
walks, with their slender columns of white marble, to have seen the
quaint old well in the little, sun-lit close. Now, between the slender
columns, boards have been placed which shut out light and sun. The
traveller sat down on an old wheel-barrow, waiting till he could see in
the dim and misty light. All around him was forgetfulness of the
Cloister's holy uses; signs of desecration and neglect. On