But though the sun does not enter, a certain indefinable reflection from the whitened walls reminds us that outside there is a flaming, resplendent Eastern spring.
In this, the old grandfather, as it were, of churches, filled now with a cloud of odorous smoke, what one hears, more even than the chanting of the mass, is the ceaseless movement, the pious agitation of the faithful; and more even than that, the startling noise that rises from the holy crypt below--the sharp clashing of cymbals and those multitudinous little wailings, that sound like the mewings of kittens.
But let me not harbour thoughts of irony! Surely not.

If, in our Western lands, certain ceremonies seem to me anti-Christian--as, for example, one of those spectacular high masses in the over-pompous Cathedral of Cologne, where halberdiers overawe the crowd--here, on the contrary, the simplicity of this primitive cult is touching and respectable in the extreme.

These Copts who install themselves in their church, as round their firesides, who make their home there and encumber the place with their fretful little ones, have, in their own way, well understood the word of Him who said: "Suffer the little children to come unto Me, and do not forbid them, for of such is the kingdom of God.".