The altar of this famed church has often been described. The marble group above it is singularly beautiful, it represents Mary Magdalen, supported by angels; the figures are of heroic size, and of the purest white marble. At this altar ministered a large number of golden-robed priests, surrounded by a bevy of boys in scarlet and white. Had I, too, been a Protestant, ignorant of the deep and holy meaning hidden under these symbols, and seeing in them but the glitter of gold and rich colors, I dare say I should, like them, have pronounced it but a gorgeous show, a theatrical display; as it was, my thoughts flew eagerly back to a certain well remembered chapel across the Atlantic, where I had often assisted at the same ceremony performed with a simplicity and devotion which contrasted pleasingly with this grand high mass at the Madeleine. Persecution and poverty are wonderful safeguards to the virtue of man; they are, perhaps, also necessary to the perfection of churches. Religion--faith--must always remain pure, but the professors thereof may easily be influenced by the accidents of wealth and splendor. {101} While making these reflections, and indoctrinating myself with charity toward our Protestant brethren, the mass went on, and the really beautiful music filled the lofty church. But there was something discordant to my ears in the harmony of the violins and brass instruments; to my mind the organ alone, that most holy of instruments, is worthy of ministering to the service of God. Still, the music was beautiful, and after all true music is always sacred; and when at the elevation the loud instruments held their breath, and a rich barytone voice alone was heard, I had to confess that, whatever its surroundings, religion and religious spirit are always to be found by him who really seeks them. Remember, also, that I have been talking of the Madeleine, which is essentially the worldly church of Paris. At St. Roch, situated in Rue St. Honoré, and from whose steps the blood-thirsty crowd jeered at Marie Antoinette as she was being led to the Place de la Concorde, where stood the awful guillotine; at Notre Dame de Lorette, and many others, there is less glitter, less parade, and apparently more devotion. At St. Roch, the beautifully trained choir of boys, and the good music given, attract many Protestants; still the feeling of the church is more Catholic than that of the Madeleine. Here, as elsewhere, I was struck by the vast number of priests in the sanctuary. I thought of our own overworked, faithful priests, and could not help wondering whether a little of their hard work would not be good for those before me.