side chapels to the right:  and yet a more modern one, much inferior, on the opposite side.  In almost every side chapel, and in the confessionals, the priests were busily engaged in the catechetical examination of young people previous to the first Communion on the following sabbath, which was the Fete-Dieu.  The western front is wholly Grecian—­perhaps about two hundred years old.  It is too lofty for its width—­but has a grand effect, and is justly much celebrated.  Yet the situation of this fine old Gothic church is among the most wretched of those in Paris.  It is preserved from suffocation, only by holding it head so high.  Next in importance to St. Gervais, is the Gothic church of St. EUSTACHE:  a perfect specimen, throughout, of that adulterated style of Gothic architecture (called its restoration!) which prevailed at the commencement of the reign of Francis I. Faulty, and even meretricious, as is the whole of the interior, the choir will not fail to strike you with surprise and gratification.  It is light, rich, and lofty.  This church is very large, but not so capacious as St. Gervais—­while situation is, if possible, still more objectionable.

Let me not forget my two old favourite churches of ST. GERMAIN DES PRES, and St. Genevieve; although of the latter I hardly know whether a hasty glimpse, both of the exterior and interior, be not sufficient; the greater part having been destroyed during the Revolution.[8] The immediate vicinity of the former is sadly choaked by stalls and shops—­and the west-front has been cruelly covered by modern appendages.  It is the church dearest to antiquaries; and with reason.[9] I first visited it on a Sunday, when that part of the Service was performed which required the fullest intonations of the organ.  The effect altogether was very striking.  The singular pillars—­ of which the capitals are equally massive and grotesque, being sometimes composed of human beings, and sometimes of birds and beasts, especially towards the choir—­the rising up and sitting down of the congregation, and the yet more frequent movements of the priests—­the swinging of the censers—­and the parade of the vergers, dressed in bag wigs, with broad red sashes of silk, and silk stockings—­but, above all, the most scientifically touched, as well as the deepest and loudest toned, organ I ever heard—­ perfectly bewildered and amazed me!  Upon the dispersion of the congregation—­which very shortly followed this religious excitation—­I had ample leisure to survey every part of this curious old structure; which reminded me, although upon a much larger scale, of the peculiarities of St. Georges de Bocherville, and Notre Dame at Guibray.  Certainly, very much of this church is of the twelfth century—­and as I am not writing to our friend P*** I will make bold to say that some portions of it yet “smack strongly” of the eleventh.