I had spoken wisely. Most difficult it is to pacify one’s mind after such a conversation, and, between reflections on the past and speculations on the future of these Swiss Catholics, the night was far advanced before my eyes closed in sleep. Suddenly I was awakened by a full‐toned church‐bell booming across the waters. It might again be the Angelus; but looking at my watch, it was only a quarter before five o’clock, and moreover it was still dark. Then it must be some convent‐bell summoning the community to Matins and Prime. It was an uncharitable proceeding on their part, thought I, to waken up a whole town; and the peal kept on for the entire quarter of an hour. At half‐past five came another similar bell; and then, soon after, a chorus of full tones, like that which had greeted our arrival on the previous evening, rang out the Angelus from every church‐tower in the place, followed at six and half‐past six by others in our immediate vicinity. It was quite impossible to sleep; yet, tired though we were, the joyful sensation of awakening in a Catholic land reconciled us to the penalty it thus imposed. Up and out we should at once go in search of the Masses which these bells indicated. But there be no such hurry, said the hotel servants; for there would be eight o’clock Mass in the Hofkirche close by. Then we discovered that, so far from the quarter to five bell belonging to any convent, it was in truth rung in order to rouse the towns‐people to Mass at the S. Peterskirche—the first each day of the series which ended at eight o’clock at the Hofkirche. And then we recollected how the same custom prevails in Germany, according to the early habits of all German races; how hopeless it seems ever to be up and out before the inhabitants of a small German town; and how, in the Rhenish provinces for instance, the five o’clock Mass in summer, and the six o’clock in winter, are the most fully attended, even in the severe seasons of frost and snow.