octagonal, then they became polygonal, then circular, and now they
have got quadrangular. Two of the finest baptisteries in the world
are at Florence and Pisa; that at the former, place being 100 feet
in diameter, made of black and white marble, and surrounded with a
gallery on granite columns; that at the latter being 116 feet wide,
and beautifully ornamented. The biggest baptistery ever made is
supposed to have been that at St. Sophia, in Constantinople, which,
we are told, was so spacious as to have once served for the
residence of the Emperor Basilicus. But there is no marble about the
baptistery in Fishergate Chapel, and no one would ever think of
transmuting it into a residence. It is used two or three times a
year, and if outsiders happen to get a whisper of an intended
dipping, curiosity leads them to the chapel, and they look upon the
ceremony as a piece of sacred fun, right enough to look at, but far
too wet for anything else. This dipping is, indeed, a quaint, cold
piece of business. None except adults or youths who have, it is
thought, come to sense and reason, are permitted to pass through the
ordeal, and it is recognised by them as symbolic of their entrance
into "the Church." Sometimes as many as six or seven are immersed.
They put on old or special garments suitable for the occasion, and
the work of baptism is then carried on by the minister, who stands
in the figurative Jordan. He quietly ducks them overhead; they
submit to the process without a murmur; they neither bubble, nor
scream, nor squirm; and the elders look on solemnly, though
impressed with thoughts that, excellent as the ceremony may be, it
is a rather shivering sort of business after all. After being
baptised, the new members retire into an adjoining room, strip their
saturated cloths, rub themselves briskly with towels, or get the
deacons to do the work for them, then re-dress, comb their hair, and
receive liberty to rejoice with the general Israel of the flock.