pathetic in their appealing interest as many situated in a less
austere climate. To realize this one has but to recall the
ship-model-hung Kerk at Haarlem; the quaint little minaret which rises
above the roof tops of Leyden; or, the grandest of all, the Groote Kerk
of Rotterdam, which, on a cloud-riven autumn day, composes itself into
varying moods and symphonies which would have made Whistler himself
eager and envious of its beauty and grandeur.

In so far as this book deals only with the churches and cathedrals of
the Rhine, and follows the course of the Neder Rijn and the Oud Rijn
through Holland, there are but three Dutch cities which bring themselves
naturally into line: Arnheim, Utrecht, and Leyden.

So far as Americans are concerned, there is a warm spot in their hearts
for Old Holland, when they remember the brave little band of Pilgrims
who gathered at Leyden and set sail from Delfthaven for their new home
across the seas. This was but three hundred years ago, which, so far as
the antiquity of European civilization goes, counts for but little. It
is something, however, to realize that the mediaeval architectural
monuments of these places are the very ones which the Pilgrims
themselves knew. It is true, however, that their outlook upon life was
too austere to have allowed them to absorb any great amount of the
artistic expression of the Dutch, but they must unquestionably have been
impressed with the general appropriateness of the architecture around
them.

[Illustration: GENERAL VIEW _of LEYDEN_]

Below Duesseldorf the topography and architectural features alike change
rapidly, and the true Rhenish architecture of heavy arches, with an
occasional sprinkling of fairy-like Gothic, really begins. Neuss, Essen,
and all the Westphalian group of solidly built muensters speak volumes
for German mediaeval church architecture, while up the Rhine, past
Duesseldorf, Cologne, Bonn, Koenigswater, Remagen, Sinzig, Andernach,
Coblenz, and all the way to Mayence, and on past Schaffhausen to Basel
are at least three score of interesting old churches as far different
from those elsewhere as could possibly be imagined, and yet all so like,
one to another, that they are of a species by themselves; all except the
cathedral at Cologne, which follows the best practice of the French,
except that its nave is absurdly short for its great breadth, and that
its ponderous towers stand quite alone in their class.

In general, then, the