mured Mr. Thurber, as we stopped at one corner of the great square which surrounds it, and enjoyed the full effect of the building, shining with its many-colored marbles, its bronzes, its golden dome and crosses, and its monoliths of smooth Finland granite. These great columns at each entrance, fifty-two feet high, impress me more than any other part of the church.
"Have you been inside?" asked our English friend; and when we answered in the negative, he proposed taking a look at it.
We ascended the lofty steps, passed the massive carved bronze doors, and I found myself in a large, bare space, dimly lighted by a few candles. My disappointment was almost painful. I made no remark; and, as my eyes grew more accustomed to the obscurity, I became conscious of various prostrate figures about me, and some women holding up little children to kiss a holy picture.
"That, I suppose, is an icon," whispered Judith, pointing to a picture of the Virgin and Child, the head and hands painted, the dress simulated by means of layers of gold. Flaming jewels were hung about it, and the whole was covered with glass and enclosed in a frame.
"Nearly all the saints in the calendar are represented here by icons," remarked Mr. Thurber. "These candles are kept burning before them always, to typify the soul, which never dies. Have you not seen icons in the houses?"
Judith shook her head. "I have been in no house, except Alice's."
