t intoned
service, with all its 'witchcraft of harmonic sound.' I sat quite by
myself in a high carved oak seat, and the hour was passed in a trance of
serene delight. I do not have many opinions, it is true, but papa says I
am always strong on sentiments; nevertheless, I shall not attempt to
tell even what I feel in these new and beautiful experiences, for it has
been better told a thousand times.

[Illustration: "It would 'ardly be a substitute for gooseberry-tart,
miss."]

There were a great many people at service, and a large number of
Americans among them, I should think, though we saw no familiar faces.
There was one particularly nice young man, who looked like a Bostonian.
He sat opposite me. He didn't stare--he was too well bred, but when I
looked the other way he looked at me. Of course, I could feel his eyes;
anybody can--at least, any girl can; but I attended to every word of the
service, and was as good as an angel. When the procession had filed out,
and the last strain of the great organ had rumbled into silence, we went
on a tour through the cathedral, a heterogeneous band, headed by a
conscientious old verger, who did his best to enlighten us, and
succeeded in virtually spoiling my pleasure.

After we had finished (think of 'finishing' a cathedral in an hour or
two!), Aunt Celia and I, with one or two others, wandered through the
beautiful close, looking at the exterior from every possible point, and
coming at last to a certain ruined arch which is very famous. It did not
strike me as being remarkable. I could make any number of them with a
pattern without the least effort. But, at any rate, when told by the
verger to gaze upon the beauties of this wonderful relic and tremble, we
were obliged to gaze also upon the beauties of the aforesaid nice young
man, who was sketching it.

As we turned to go away, Aunt Celia dropped her bag. It is one of those
detestable, all-absorbing, all-devouring, thoroughly respectable, but
never proud, Boston bags, made of black cloth with leather trimmings,
'C. Van T.' embroidered on the side, and the top drawn up with stout
cords which pass over the Boston wrist or arm. As for me, I loathe them,
and would not for worlds be seen carrying one, though I do slip a great
many necessaries into Aunt Celia's.

I hastened to pick up the horrid thing, for fear the nice young man
would feel obliged to do it for me; but, in my indecorous haste, I
caught hold of the wrong end, and e