h, in quiet country
places, far from crowded haunts, surrounded only by the beauties of
nature, there seems a special peace and repose in earth and sky, and
people say to each other, "One feels that it is Sunday."

But we were very nearly in danger of prolonging our dreams until the
night shadows passed away, and the day-dawn broke and lighted up that
far-off east window. H.C. was a very broken reed to trust to on such
occasions. He was not only wrapped in visions--his spirit seemed
altogether to have taken flight. I was rudely brought back to earthly
scenes and necessities by hearing the key hastily turned in the west
door by which we had entered, and the verger commencing to retrace his
steps, preparatory to putting out the lights and departing himself
through the sacristy.

We hurried up to him, having no mind to pass the night in silent
contemplation, with the pavement for couch and a stone for pillow. The
influence we had just experienced must have given us "pallid sorrowful
faces," for the verger almost dropped his torch, and his keys fell to
the ground and awoke mysterious echoes in the distant arches.

It was a weird, wonderfully expressive scene. The torch threw lights and
shadows upon aisle and arch, which flickered and danced like so many
ghosts at play, until our nerves felt overwrought and our flesh creeped.
In our present mood it all seemed too strange, too mysterious for earth.
We felt as if we had joined the land of shadows in very truth. But the
verger's voice awoke us to realities: a very earthly voice, unmusical
and pronounced, not at all in harmony with the moment. It grated upon
us; nevertheless, under the circumstances, it was good hearing.

"Sirs, you are very imprudent," he cried. "You might have been locked up
for the night, and I promise you that it is neither warm nor lively in
this great building at three o'clock in the morning. You also alarmed
me, for I took you for ghosts. I have seen them and believe in them, and
I ought to know. When I die I am persuaded that I, too, shall visit
these haunts, whose pavement I have trod with staff and torch for fifty
years. I took you for ghosts, look you, for you seem harmless and
peaceable, incapable of visiting these sacred aisles for sacrilegious
purposes."

We felt flattered. The countenance is undoubtedly the index to the inner
man, though it is not given to everyone to read the riddle. It was
consoling to hear that we did not exactly look like