I know this, at least,--that a
dirty Maronite would make very little progress, if he attempted to
shove his way unfairly through a crowd of Englishmen at the door of
a London theatre. We did shove unfairly, and we did make progress,
till we found ourselves in the centre of the dense crowd collected
in the body of the chapel.
Having got so far, our next object was to get out again. The place
was dark, mysterious, and full of strange odours; but darkness,
mystery, and strange odours soon lose their charms when men have
much work before them. Joseph had made a point of being allowed to
attend mass before the altar of the Virgin, but a very few minutes
sufficed for his prayers. So we again turned round and pushed our
way back again, Smith still following in my wake. The men who had
let us pass once let us pass again without opposition or show of
anger. To them the occasion was very holy. They were stretching
out their hands in every direction, with long tapers, in order that
they might obtain a spark of the sacred fire which was burning on
one of the altars. As we made our way out we passed many who, with
dumb motions, begged us to assist them in their object.
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