The Holy Spirit is a Dove, or an Eagle. In the Old Testament it was an Eagle; in the NewTestament it is a Dove.And there are, standing over the Christian world, the Churches of the Dove and theChurches of the Eagle. There are, moreover, the Churches which do not belong to the HolySpirit at all, but which are built to pure fancy and logic; such as the Wren Churches inLondon.The Churches of the Dove are shy and hidden: they nestle among trees, and their bellssound in the mellowness of Sunday; or they are gathered into a silence of their own in thevery midst of the town, so that one passes them by without observing them; they are as ifinvisible, offering no resistance to the storming of the traffic.But the Churches of the Eagle stand high, with their heads to the skies, as if theychallenged the world below. They are the Churches of the Spirit of David, and their bellsring passionately, imperiously, falling on the subservient world below.The Church of San Francesco was a Church of the Dove. I passed it several times in thedark, silent little square, without knowing it was a church. Its pink walls were blind, windowless, unnoticeable, it gave no sign, unless one caught sight of the tan curtainhanging in the door, and the slit of darkness beneath. Yet it was the chief church of thevillage.But the Church of San Tommaso perched over the village. Coming down the cobbled, submerged street, many a time I looked up between the houses and saw the thin old churchstanding above in the light, as if it perched on the house-roofs. Its thin grey neck was heldup stiffly, beyond was a vision of dark foliage, and the high hillside.I saw it often, and yet for a long time it never occurred to me that it actually existed. Itwas like a vision, a thing one does not expect to come close to. It was there standing awayupon the house-tops, against a glamour of foliaged hillside. I was submerged in the village, on the uneven, cobbled street, between old high walls and cavernous shops and the houseswith flights of steps.For a long time I knew how the day went, by the imperious clangour of midday andevening bells striking down upon the houses and the edge of the lake. Yet it did not occur tome to ask where these bells rang. Till at last my everyday trance was broken in upon, and Iknew the ringing of the Church of San Tommaso. The church became a living connexionwith