The innumerable paintings which are hung in every space, might, elsewhere, receive a suitable homage of admiration, but here, eager expectation leads one only to the triumphs of Rubens. Rubens has four superb pieces here, “The Elevation of the Cross,” “_The Descent from the Cross_,” “The Resurrection,” which adorns the tomb of Moretus, the printer, and the “Assumption of the Virgin,” over the centre of the grand altar. I never saw a more striking illustration of the power of a picture, than the effect produced by the Descent from the Cross. It was closed by its two folding volets when we entered, the backs of which contain, likewise, two designs by Rubens, one of St. Cristopher, the patron saint of the guild of arquebusiers, for whom he painted the picture, and the other, of a hermit, neither of them of great merit. These engaged no attention, apparently, but when, bye and bye, the sacristan moved them to either side, and displayed the astonishing picture within, the effect was quite remarkable--the loungers and passers-by were now arrested, one by one, as they came within the circle of attraction, till a little crowd of peasants and soldiers were collected before it, in the most breathless attention, and, as if struck with a new sensation, I saw them look silently in each others’ faces, apparently to discover whether others felt as they did themselves. One girl, with a basket on her arm was caught at once, as she passed, and remained with the rest, quite abstracted in contemplation; it recalled Wordsworth’s exquisite description of the street musician by the Pantheon:-- What an eager assembly! what empire is this, The weary have life and the hungry have bliss, The mourner is cheered and the anxious have rest, And the guilt-burthened soul is no longer oppress’d. That errand-bound 'prentice was passing in haste-- What matter--he’s caught, and his time runs to waste; The newsman is stopped, though he stops on the fret, And the half-breathless lamp-lighter he’s in the net. The porter sits down on the weight which he bore, And the lass with her barrow wheels hither her store; If a thief could be here, he might pilfer with ease, _She sees the musician, ’tis all that she sees_!