palaces of the Vanderbilt family, two
miles of splendid residences and magnificent churches before you reach
Central Park at 59th Street.

The walks were thronged with beautiful women and well dressed men. It was
now 10:30 o'clock. The chimes had ceased their hallowed music. People of
all nationalities were jostling each other in their haste to enter St.
Patrick's Cathedral, a copy of the Gothic masterpiece in Cologne, and the
most imposing church building in America.

The Harris carriage stopped; Lucille's heart suddenly began to beat
quickly, for she saw Leo Colonna hastening from the Cathedral steps
towards the carriage. "Good morning, Mrs. Harris! Glad you have come to
my church," Leo said; then taking her hand cordially, he added, "And
you have brought the family. Well, I am pleased, for you could not have
come to a more beautiful church or service."

As Leo conducted his friends up the granite steps, all were enthusiastic
in their praise of the Fifth Avenue facade; white marble from granite
base to the topmost stones of the graceful twin spires.

All passed under the twelve apostles, that decorate the grand portal,
and entered the cathedral. The interior is as fine as the exterior. The
columns are massive, the ceiling groined; the style is the decorated or
geometric architecture, that prevailed in Europe in the thirteenth
century. The cardinal's gothic throne is on the right. The four altars
are of carved French walnut, Tennessee marble and bronze. Half of the
seventy windows are memorials, given by parishes and individuals in
various parts of America. The vicar-general was conducting services. His
impressive manner, aided by the sweet tones of singers and organ, and the
sun's rays changed to rainbows by the stained-glass windows, produced
a deep religious feeling in the hearts of the several thousand persons
present.

As the party left the church, Leo said, "In 1786, the Kings of France and
Spain contributed to the erection of the first cathedral church, St.
Peter's, in New York." The Harrises having invited Leo to dinner, said
good-bye to him, and in their carriage returned to the Waldorf for lunch.

While the colonel waited near the reception-room, he chanced to look at
the stained-glass window over the entrance to the Garden Court. Here was
pictured the village of Waldorf, the birthplace of the original John
Jacob Astor. This pretty little hamlet is part of the Duchy of Baden,
Germany, and has been lovin