the bishops and canons_ of the cathedral! This wholesale idea may be
commended to our chapters at home. It might save the too monotonous
repetition of recumbent bishops, who, after being exhibited at the
Academy, finally encumber valuable space in their own cathedrals.

The suggestiveness of the great bell-tower, owing to the peculiar
emphasis and purpose given to it, is constantly felt in the old
Belgian cities. It still conveys its old antique purpose--the defence
of the burghers, a watchful sentinel who, on the alarm, clanged out
danger, the sound piercing from that eyry to the remotest lane, and
bringing the valiant citizens rushing to the great central square. It
is impossible to look up at one of these monuments, grim and solitary,
without feeling the whole spirit of the Belgian history, and calling
up Philip van Artevelde and the Ghentish troubles.

In the smaller cities the presence of this significant landmark is
almost invariable. There is ever the lone and lorn tower, belfry, or
spire painted in dark sad colours, seen from afar off, rising from the
decayed little town below; often of some antique, original shape that
pleases, and yet with a gloomy misanthropical air, as of total
abandonment. They are rusted and abrased. From their ancient jaws we
hear the husky, jangling chimes, musical and melancholy, the
disorderly rambling notes and tunes of a gigantic musical box. Towards
the close of some summer evening, as the train flies on, we see the
sun setting on the grim walls of some dead city, and on the clustered
houses. Within the walls are the formal rows of trees planted in
regimental order which fringe and shelter them; while rises the dark,
copper-coloured tower, often unfinished and ragged, but solemn and
funereal, or else capped by some quaint lantern, from whose jaws
presently issue the muffled tones of the chimes, halting and broken,