The Cathedral of St Bavon being in our neighbourhood, and not much out of the way of my daily walks, I frequently went in to see what was going on; for one goes to these Catholic ceremonies as to any other show. This church makes no great appearance from without, but the interior is imposing and beautiful, as all Gothic interiors are. The panels of the choir over the stalls are a series of paintings exceedingly well executed, representing the acts of St Paul, I believe. The curiosities of the church are the crypt, the tombs, and the pulpit. The former of these probably originated in the unsoundness of the ground rendering such a foundation necessary. Its arches are semicircular, and spring from low but very massive pillars. Mass is sometimes performed here, but only often enough, I should imagine, to prevent its desecration. Of the tombs, there are two of very admirable sculpture--the one in white, the other in black marble--both, I think, of bishops. The pulpit is like that of Bruges--an elaborate piece of carving in wood--notable monument of patience and perseverance. One evening, attracted by the chanting, I walked in, just as a procession wound slowly from behind the choir, and advanced with banners and lighted tapers down the side aisle. The approaching twilight had thrown every part of the church into a mysterious obscurity, harmonising well with such a scene. Two boys in scarlet surplices, with shaven heads, but beautiful faces, came first, swinging about large handsome censers of silver. The atmosphere was soon impregnated with the smoking frankincense, whose odour was well calculated to aid the imposing effect. Two banners, in form resembling the labarum, followed. To these succeeded a train of priests, in variously-coloured, rich, and picturesque dresses, some bearing other banners of different shapes and devices; and a number of boys, all habited like those already mentioned, and equally fair, flanked the procession, and enveloped it in a light haze by the fumes of their incessantly swinging censers. The chant had just died away as I entered the nave, and the procession, with solemn, silent tread, moved slowly down the aisle--the only sound that broke upon the ear being the grating rattle of the censer-lids as they were drawn rapidly up and down the chains. Then again the full impressive harmony of the chant filled the vaulted roof with its sweet and solemn notes, died away, and after another pause was again and again resumed; and thus, having made the circuit of the nave, the procession became gradually lost in the obscurity of the aisle as it slowly retired behind the choir, whence at intervals, softened by distance, the chant still rose over the dividing screen behind the high altar. Puerile as these exhibitions may be, the effect on me was exciting; and as the last notes were faintly re-echoed through the building, I left it in a frame of mind far different from that in which I had entered.