swell through the
consecrated structure, filling its concave with solemn melody. The last
flush of evening has died in the west, and the scattered worshippers are
indistinctly seen by the dim lights, which, bringing out into strong
relief the parts immediately adjacent to the massive yet graceful
pillars to which they are attached, throw the rest of the interior into
deeper gloom, brought into sharp contrast with the illuminated
portions, by intersecting arch, clustered shaft, and all the endless
intricacies of Gothic architecture; exuberant with profusely decorated
spandrils, sculptured bosses, light flying buttresses, and delicate
fan-like tracery. How beautiful and hushed is all around! Now the
stillness is broken by approaching footsteps, and the white-robed train
of priests and choristers is seen advancing along the aisle, the organ
uttering its impressive modulations to soothe the heart, and still its
tumult of worldly care and feelings, that these may not, "like birds of
evil wing," mar the sacrifice about to be offered on its unworthy altar.
And then, amid the succeeding silence, fall on the ear--ay, on the very
soul!--the words of Holy Writ, deprecating the wrath of an offended
Creator, announcing pardon to the repentant, and cleansing from the
pollution of guilt to the heart, vexed with the defilement of this evil
world, and yearning after the purity of that higher existence for which,
erst designed, the inherited frailty of its nature, and the threefold
temptations that unweariedly beset it, have rendered it unfit and
unworthy.

How clear, simple, yet most thrilling, is the enunciation of those
words! and mark the superb harmony with which, proceeding in the sacred
service, the single plaintively modulated voice of the officiating
minister is answered by the choral supplications of the assembled
worshippers--swelling out in joyous exulting tones, and dying away in
sorrowful minor cadence, as though the shadow of sin and suffering fell
on those pathways to the highest heaven, clouding the radiance unmeet
for mortal eye! And if rude tremulous notes, from some of the lowly ones
who, still habited in their garb of daily toil, kneel by our side--for,
in that house, distinctions are there none--mingle with the harmony,
they mingle not harshly, for there is melody in the heart, and it is the
voice of a brother; not the less "bone of our bone, and flesh of our
flesh," that the blessings of this life have been more s