always
difficult to describe architectural beauties. This had its tower in
the centre, flanked by two short wings. Everything was original--the
disposition of the windows, the air of space and largeness. Yet the
whole was small, I note that in all these Flemish bell-towers, the
topmost portion invariably develops into something charmingly
fantastic, into cupolas and short, little galleries and lanterns
superimposed, the mixture of solidity and airiness being astonishing.
It is appropriate and fitting that this grace should attend on what
are the sweetest musical instruments conceivable. Mr. Haweis, who is
the poet of Flemish bells, has let us into the secret. 'The fragment
of aerial music,' he tells us, 'which floats like a heavenly sigh over
the Belgian city and dies away every few minutes, seems to set all
life and time to celestial music. It is full of sweet harmonies, and
can be played in pianoforte score, treble and bass. After a week in a
Belgian town, time seems dull without the music in the air that
mingled so sweetly with all waking moods without disturbing them, and
stole into our dreams without troubling our sleep. I do not say that
such carillons would be a success in London. In Belgium the towers are
high above the towns--Antwerp, Mechlin, Bruges--and partially
isolated. The sound falls softly, and the population is not so dense
as in London. Their habit and taste have accustomed the citizens to
accept this music for ever floating in the upper air as part of the
city's life--the most spiritual, poetical, and recreative part of it.
Nothing of the kind has ever been tried in London. The crashing peals
of a dozen large bells banged violently with clapper instead of softly
struck with hammer, the exasperating dong, or ding, dong, of the
Ritualist temple over the way, or the hoarse, gong-like roar of Big
Ben--that is all we know about bells in London, and no form of church
discipline could be more ferocious. Bell noise and bell music are two
different things.' This fanciful tower had its four corner towerlets,
suggesting the old burly Scotch pattern, which indeed came from
France; while the vane on the top still characteristically flourishes
the national Flemish lion.

Most bizarre, not to say extravagant, was the great cathedral, which
was laid out on strange 'lines,' having a huge circular chapel or
pavilion of immense height in front, whose round roof was capped by a
vast bulbous spire, in shape something a