contemplation until the service began, looking very solemn, and white,
and ghastly, like an army of tombstones by moonlight.

The service commenced as the clock finished striking seven: the organ
pealed out, a very cracked and old one, and presently some weak old
voice from the choir overhead quavered out a canticle; which done,
a thin old voice of a priest at the altar far off (and which had now
become quite gloomy in the sunset) chanted feebly another part of the
service; then the nuns warbled once more overhead; and it was curious to
hear, in the intervals of the most lugubrious chants, how the organ went
off with some extremely cheerful military or profane air. At one time
was a march, at another a quick tune; which ceasing, the old nuns began
again, and so sung until the service was ended.

In the midst of it one of the white-veiled sisters approached us with a
very mysterious air, and put down her white veil close to our ears and
whispered. Were we doing anything wrong, I wondered? Were they come to
that part of the service where heretics and infidels ought to quit the
church? What have you to ask, O sacred, white-veiled maid?

All she said was, "Deux centiemes pour les suisses," which sum was paid;
and presently the old ladies, rising from their chairs one by one, came
in face of the altar, where they knelt down and said a short prayer;
then, rising, unpinned their veils, and folded them up all exactly in
the same folds and fashion, and laid them square like napkins on their
heads, and tucked up their long black outer dresses, and trudged off to
their convents.

The novices wear black veils, under one of which I saw a young, sad,
handsome face; it was the only thing in the establishment that was
the least romantic or gloomy: and, for the sake of any reader of a
sentimental turn, let us hope that the poor soul has been crossed in
love, and that over some soul-stirring tragedy that black curtain has
fallen.

Ghent has, I believe, been called a vulgar Venice. It contains dirty
canals and old houses that must satisfy the most eager antiquary, though
the buildings are not quite in so good preservation as others that may
be seen in the Netherlands. The commercial bustle of the place seems
considerable, and it contains more beer-shops than any city I ever saw.

These beer-shops seem the only amusement of the inhabitants, until,
at least, the theatre shall be built, of which the elevation is now
complete, a very h