a venerable monument, a fragrant sentiment. No doubt it was
largely superstition that constructed them, a kind of insurance paid
for heavenly security. No one now seriously thinks that to endow a
college of priests to perform services would affect his spiritual
prospects in the life to come. The Church itself does not countenance
the idea. Moreover, there is little demand in the world at large for
the kind of beauty which they can and do minister to such as myself.
The pleasure for which people spend money nowadays has to have a
stirring, exciting, physical element in it to be acceptable. If it were
otherwise, then our cathedrals could take their place in the life of
the nation; but they are out of touch with railways, and newspapers,
and the furious pursuit of athletics. They are on the side of peace and
delicate impressions and quiet emotions. I wish it were not so; but it
would be faithless to believe that we are not in the hand of God still,
and that our restless energies develop against His will.

And then there falls a darker, more bewildering thought. Suppose that
one could bring one of the rough Galilean fishermen who sowed the seed
of the faith, into a place like this, and say to him, "This is the
fruit of your teaching; you, whose Master never spoke a word of art or
music, who taught poverty and simplicity, bareness of life, and an
unclouded heart, you are honoured here; these towers and bells are
called after your names; you stand in gorgeous robes in these storied
windows." Would they not think and say that it was all a terrible
mistake? would they not say that the desire of the world, the lust of
the eye and ear, had laid subtle and gentle hands on a stern and rugged
creed, and bade it serve and be bound?

"Thy nakedness involves thy Spouse
In the soft sanguine stuff she wears."

So says an eager and vehement poet, apostrophising the tortured limbs,
the drooping eye of the Crucified Lord; and is it true that these
stately and solemn houses, these sweet strains of unearthly music,
serve His purpose and will? Nay, is it not rather true that the serpent
is here again aping the mildness of the dove, and using all the
delicate, luxurious accessories of life to blind us to the truth?

I do not know; it leaves me in a sad and bewildered conflict of spirit.
And yet I somehow feel that God is in these places, and that, if only
the heart is pure and the will strong, such influences can minister to
th