refathers! Ah, well--then _live_ better; that is all we have
got to say to you!

Our very parish churches are now emulating the impressive ceremonial and
exquisite musical service of the cathedral. Enter, then, with us one
that has seemed, in some degree, to revive the glory of the olden time,
when men, as they received, gave lavishly for the service of the altar;
nor meted out their offerings with the niggard hand that is moved by the
heart of this generation; unmoved, unwarmed, but boastful of its
_light_--the light of a moonbeam playing on an iceberg! There is the
long sweep of the nave, with the open chancel (not separated from the
former by the richly carved and fretted screen, which, however beautiful
in itself, mars the grand effect of the whole) leading to the altar--we
are old-fashioned people, and fear not to offend by this old-fashioned
term--whose sacred garniture glows beneath the many tints of the fine
eastern window, with its monograms and emblems, and flowing-robed
apostles, through which the mellowed summer sun shines obliquely,
throwing strange, grotesque, many-coloured shadows on the walls and
pavement; while on either side tall lancet-shaped windows, thickly
covered with heraldic devices, bear modest record to the willing service
of those whose munificence has reared the pile, and give increased light
and richness to the scene. The great western window, also covered with
armorial bearings, throws a dim, yet kindling, tint on the stone font
aptly placed beneath it, as figurative of its character--initial to that
further sacrament, meetly celebrated where the star of Him who first
blessed it proclaimed His advent to the expectant world. While
throughout the holy building, high-springing arch, and sombre aisle, and
vaulted ceiling, and curiously-wrought oaken roof; all combine to
impress the mind with awe and admiration, with thoughts of the past and
hopes for the future.

But this is not all: these are but the glories of art, worthily
employed, indeed, in the service of the temple; 'tis but the body
without the life, the soul that animates it. Return at the decline of
day, when "man, who goeth forth unto his labour even unto the evening,"
has received a respite from his ordained toil, and seeks to refresh and
elevate his spirit, wearied and worn down with the low, inevitable cares
of the day, with the mingled prayer and chant, "rising and falling as on
angels' wings," that duly, at each appointed eve,