elish, and all confined and bounded by death; whichever way my
thoughts turned, a grey prospect met me.

Little by little the misery abated, recurring at longer and longer
intervals, till at last I slept again; but the mood overclouded me all
day long, and I went about my duties with indifference. But there is
one medicine which hardly ever fails me--it was a half-holiday, and,
after tea, I went to the cathedral and sate in a remote corner of the
nave. The service had just begun. The nave was dimly lighted, but an
upward radiance gushed behind the screen and the tall organ, and lit up
the vaulted roof with a tranquil glory. Soon the Psalms began, and at
the sound of the clear voices of the choir, which seemed to swim on the
melodious thunder of the organ, my spirit leapt into peace, as a man
drowning in a stormy sea is drawn into a boat that comes to rescue him.
It was the fourth evening, and that wonderful Psalm, My God, my God,
look upon me--where the broken spirit dives to the very depths of
darkness and despair--brought me the message of triumphant sorrow. How
strange that these sad cries of the heart, echoing out of the ages, set
to rich music--it was that solemn A minor chant by Battishill, which
you know--should be able to calm and uplift the grieving spirit. The
thought rises into a burst of gladness at the end; and then follows
hard upon it the tenderest of all Psalms, The Lord is my Shepherd, in
which the spirit casts its care upon God, and walks simply, in utter
trust and confidence. The dreariness of my heart thawed and melted into
peace and calm. Then came the solemn murmur of a lesson; the
Magnificat, sung to a setting--again as by a thoughtful tenderness--of
which I know and love every note; and here my heart seemed to climb
into a quiet hope and rest there; the lesson again, like the voice of a
spirit; and then the Nunc Dimittis, which spoke of the beautiful rest
that remaineth. Then the quiet monotone of prayer, and then, as though
to complete my happiness, Mendelssohn's Hear my prayer. It is the
fashion, I believe, for some musicians to speak contemptuously of this
anthem, to say that it is over-luscious. I only know that it brings all
Heaven about me, and reconciles the sadness of the world with the peace
of God. A boy's perfect treble--that sweetest of all created sounds,
because so unconscious of its pathos and beauty--floating on the top of
the music, and singing as an angel might sing among the sta