te.

There is evidence in the very forms of churches. The early Christian
churches were in the basilica form,--bearing a resemblance to the Roman
courts of justice. This is supposed to have arisen from the churches
being, in fact, the courts of spiritual justice, where penance was
awarded by the priest to the guilty, and absolution granted to the
penitent. From imitation, the Christian churches of all Europe for
centuries bore this form; and even some built since the Reformation
preserve it. But they have something of their own which serves as a
record of their own times. The history of the Crusades does not present
a more vivid picture of feudal society than shines out from the nooks of
our own cathedrals. The spirit of monachism is as distinguishable as if
the cowled ghosts of the victims were actually seen flitting along the
aisles. What say the chantries ranged along the sides? There perpetual
prayers were to be kept up for the prosperity of a wealthy family and
its retainers in life, and for their welfare after death. What says the
chapter-house? There the powerful members of the church hierarchy were
wont to assemble, to use and confirm their rule. What say the cloisters?
Under their shelter did the monks go to and fro in life; and in the plot
of ground enclosed by these sombre passages were they laid in death.
What says the Ladye chapel? What say the niches with their stone basins?
They tell of the intercessory character of the sentiment, and of the
ritual character of the worship of the times when they were set up. The
handful of worshippers here collected from among the tens of thousands
of a cathedral town also testify to the fact that such establishments
could not be originated now, and are no longer in harmony with the
spirit of the multitude.--The contrast of the most modern sacred
buildings tells as plain a tale:--the red-brick meeting-house of the
Friends; the stone chapel of the less rigid dissenters, standing back
from the noise of the busy street; the aristocratic chapel nestling
amidst the shades of the nobleman's park; and the village church in the
meadow, with its neighbouring parsonage. These all tell of a diversity
of opinion; but also of something else. The more ancient buildings are
scantily attended; the more modern are thronged;--and indeed, if they
had not been wanted by numbers, they would not have been built. This
speaks the decline of a ritual religion, and the preference of one which
is m