a tear of penitence. Temple and altar, charity and pity, and
martyrdom, sunk before that.

I have seen the magnificence of all ceremonial in worship; and this was
the thought that struck me then. Permit me to describe the scene, and to
express the thought that rose in my mind, as I gazed upon it. It was in
the great cathedral church of the world; and it brings a kind of religious
impression over my mind to recall its awfulness and majesty. Above, far
above me, rose a dome, gilded and covered with mosaic pictures, and vast
as the pantheon of old Rome; the four pillars which supported it, each of
them as large as many of our churches; and the entire mass, lifted to five
times the height of this building--its own height swelling far beyond; no
dome so sublime but that of heaven was ever spread above mortal eye. And
beyond this dome, beneath which I stood, stretched away into dimness and
obscurity the mighty roofing of this stupendous temple--arches behind
arches, fretted with gold, and touched with the rays of the morning sun.
Around me, a wilderness of marble; with colors, as variegated and rich as
our autumnal woods; columns, pillars, altars, tombs, statues, pictures set
in ever-during stone; objects to strike the beholder with neverceasing
wonder. And on this mighty pavement, stood a multitude of many thousands;
and through bright lines of soldiery, stretching far down the majestic
nave, slowly advanced a solemn and stately procession, clothed with
purple, and crimson, and white, and blazing with rubies and diamonds;
slowly it advanced amidst kneeling crowds and strains of heavenly music;
and so it compassed about the altar of God, to perform the great
commemorative rite of Christ's resurrection. Expect from me no sectarian
deprecation; it was a goodly rite, and fitly performed. But, amidst solemn
utterances, and lowly prostrations, and pealing anthems, and rising
incense, and all the surrounding magnificence of the scene, shall I tell
you what was my thought? One sigh of contrition, one tear of repentance,
one humble prayer to God, though breathed in a crypt of the darkest
catacomb, is worth all the splendors of this gorgeous ceremonial and this
glorious temple.

VIRTUE IN OBSCURITY.

And let me add, that upon many a lowly bosom, the gem of virtue shines
more bright and beautiful than it is ever likely to shine in any court of
royalty or crown of empire: and this, for the very reason that it shines
in loneliness