We went to see the Cathedral of Notre Dame.

We had heard of it before.
It surprises me sometimes to think how much we do know and how intelligent we are.

We recognized the brown old Gothic pile in a moment; it was like the pictures.

We stood at a little distance and changed from one point of observation to another and gazed long at its lofty square towers and its rich front, clustered thick with stony, mutilated saints who had been looking calmly down from their perches for ages.

The Patriarch of Jerusalem stood under them in the old days of chivalry and romance, and preached the third Crusade, more than six hundred years ago; and since that day they have stood there and looked quietly down upon the most thrilling scenes, the grandest pageants, the most extraordinary spectacles that have grieved or delighted Paris.