umbersome pulpit with its
huge carvings, that wide gray pavement flecked with various light from
the jewelled windows, those famous pictures between the voluminous
columns over the altars, which twinkle with their ornaments, their
votive little silver hearts, legs, limbs, their little guttering tapers,
cups of sham roses, and what not? I saw two regiments of little scholars
creeping in and forming square, each in its appointed place, under the
vast roof; and teachers presently coming to them. A stream of light
from the jewelled windows beams slanting down upon each little squad of
children, and the tall background of the church retires into a grayer
gloom. Pattering little feet of laggards arriving echo through the great
nave. They trot in and join their regiments, gathered under the slanting
sunbeams. What are they learning? Is it truth? Those two gray ladies
with their books in their hands in the midst of these little people have
no doubt of the truth of every word they have printed under their eyes.
Look, through the windows jewelled all over with saints, the light comes
streaming down from the sky, and heaven's own illuminations paint
the book! A sweet, touching picture indeed it is, that of the little
children assembled in this immense temple, which has endured for ages,
and grave teachers bending over them. Yes, the picture is very pretty of
the children and their teachers, and their book--but the text? Is it the
truth, the only truth, nothing but the truth? If I thought so, I would
go and sit down on the form cum parvulis, and learn the precious lesson
with all my heart.

BEADLE.--But I submit, an obstacle to conversions is the intrusion and
impertinence of that Swiss fellow with the baldric--the officer who
answers to the beadle of the British Islands, and is pacing about the
church with an eye on the congregation. Now the boast of Catholics is
that their churches are open to all; but in certain places and churches
there are exceptions. At Rome I have been into St. Peter's at all hours:
the doors are always open, the lamps are always burning, the faithful
are for ever kneeling at one shrine or the other. But at Antwerp not so.
In the afternoon you can go to the church, and be civilly treated; but
you must pay a franc at the side gate. In the forenoon the doors are
open, to be sure, and there is no one to levy an entrance fee. I was
standing ever so still, looking through the great gates of the choir at
the twi