The Curry-Comb.
The Three Hammers.
The Double Halberd.


I would rather have explored any of those breweries than the modern
Delft factory.

Ireland, by the way, mentions a whimsical sign-board which he saw
somewhere in Holland, but which I regret to say I did not find. "It
was a tree bearing fruit, and the branches filled with little, naked
urchins, seemingly just ripened into life, and crying for succour:
beneath, a woman holds up her apron, looking wistfully at the children,
as if intreating them to jump into her lap. On inquiry, I found it to
be the house of a sworn midwife, with this Dutch inscription prefixed
to her name:--


'Vang my, ik zal zoet zyn,'


that is, 'Catch me, I'll be a sweet boy'. This new mode of procreation,
so truly whimsical, pleased me," Ireland adds, "not a little."

Let me close this chapter by quoting from an essay by my friend,
Mr. Belloc, a lyrical description of the Old Church's wonderful wealth
of bells: "Thirdly, the very structure of the thing is bells. Here
the bells are more even than the soul of a Christian spire; they are
its body, too, its whole self. An army of them fills up all the space
between the delicate supports and framework of the upper parts. For