her architectural attractions of Malines might be, and
they were many, it was always to the great cathedral that one turned,
for the townspeople were so proud of the great gray tower, venerated
throughout the whole region, that they were insistent that we should
explore it to the last detail. "The bells," they would exclaim, "the
great bells of Saint Rombauld! You have not yet seen them?"

St. Rombauld simply compelled one's attention, and ended by laying so
firm a hold upon the imagination that at no moment of the day or night
was one wholly unconscious of its unique presence. By day and night its
chimes floated through the air "like the music of fairy bells," weird
and soft, noting the passing hours in this ancient Flemish town. For
four hundred years it had watched over the varying fortunes of this
region, gaining that precious quality which appealed to Ruskin, who
said, "Its glory is in its age and in that deep sense of voicefulness,
of stern watching, of mysterious sympathy, nay, even of approval or
condemnation, which we feel in walls that have long been washed by the
passing waves of humanity."

From below the eye was carried upward by range upon range of exquisite
Gothic detail to the four great open-work, gilded, clock discs, through
which one could dimly see the beautiful, open-pointed lancets behind
which on great beams hung the carillon bells, row upon row.

No words of mine can give any idea of the rich grayish brown of this old
tower against the pale luminous sky, or the pathetic charm of its wild
bell music, shattering down through the silent watches of the night,
over the sleeping town, as I have heard it, standing by some silent,
dark, palace-bordered canal, watching the tall tower melting into the
immensity of the dusk, or by day in varying light and shade, in storm
and sunshine, with wind-driven clouds chasing each other across the sky.

The ascent of the tower was a formidable task, and really it seemed as
if it must have been far more than three hundred and fifty feet to the
topmost gallery, when I essayed it on that stormy August day. It was not
an easy task to gain admittance to the tower; on two former occasions,
when I made the attempt, the _custode_ was not to be found. "He had gone
to market and taken the key to the tower door with him," said the
withered old dame who at length understood my wish. On this day,
however, she produced the key, a huge iron one, weighing, I should say,
half a po