Visitors to this stronghold of Protestantism mounted a short flight of stairs and arrived in a wide passage. Four or five doors opening into it all bore the name of the association in large letters of white enamel. The first door bore the legend: "PUBLISHING AND GENERAL OFFICE INQUIRIES" This room, the one by which the general public were admitted to the inner sanctuaries, was a large place fitted up with desks and glass compartments in much the same way as the ordinary clerks' office of a business house. A long counter divided the room, and upon it were stacked piles of the newly published pamphlet literature of the League. Here could be seen that stirring narrative, _Cowed by the Confessional; or, The Story of an English Girl in the Power of the "Priests."_ This publication, probably the cheapest piece of pornography in print at the moment, was published, with an illustration, at three pence. Upon the cover a priest--for some unexplained reason in full eucharistic vestments--was pointing sternly to the armour-plated door of a grim confessional, while a trembling lady in a large picture hat shrunk within. This little book was flanked by what appeared to be a semi-jocular work called _Who Said Reredos?_ and bore upon its cover the already distinguished name of Samuel Hamlyn, Jr. The eye fell upon that popular pamphlet in a wrapper of vivid scarlet--now in its sixtieth thousand--known as _Bow to the "Altar" and Light Bloody Mary's Torture Fires Again_. _As Soon Pay the Devil as the Priest_ lay by the side of a more elaborately bound volume on which was the portrait of a lady. Beneath the picture appeared the words of the title, _My Escape; or, How I Became a Protestant_, by Jane Pritchett. Two clerks wrote in the ledgers on the desks, attended to visitors, and looked after what was known in the office as the "counter trade"--to distinguish it from the sale of Protestant literature in bulk, which was managed direct from the "Luther League Printing Works, Hornham, N." A second room opening into the general office was tenanted by the assistant secretary of the League, Mr. Samuel Hamlyn, Junior. Here the walls were decorated with scourges, horribly knotted and thonged; "Disciplines," which were belts and armlets of sharp iron prickles, designed to wear the skin of the toughest Ritualist into an open sore after three days' wear. There were also two hair shirts, apparently the worse for wear, and a locked bookcase of Ritualistic literature with a little _index expurgatorius_ in the neat, clerkly writing of Sam Hamlyn, and compiled by that gentleman himself. In this chamber of horrors, the assistant secretary delighted to move and have his being, and three or four times a day it was his pleasing duty to show friends of the League and its yearly subscribers, the penitential machinery by which the priest-ridden public was secretly invited to hoist itself to heaven.