I have been married a week.

A _week_ indeed! a week in the sense in which the creation of the world occupied a week!--seven geological ages, perhaps, but _not_ seven days.

We have been to Brussels, to Antwerp, to Cologne.

We have seen--( with the penetrating incense odor in our nostrils, and the kneeling peasants at our feet)--the Descent from the Cross, the Elevation of the Cross--dead Christs manifold.

Can it be possible that the brush which worthily painted Christ's agony, can be the same that descended to eternize redundant red fishwives, and call them goddesses?
We have given ourselves cricks in the necks, staring up at the divine incompleteness of Cologne Cathedral.