ypes and antitypes,
in the manner of the "Biblia Pauperum." There was then only a single
subject in each light; and Anthony let his eyes wander musingly to and
fro in the east window from the central figure of the Crucified to the
types on either side, especially to a touching group of the unconscious
Isaac carrying the wood for his own death, as Christ His Cross. Beneath,
instead of the old stately altar glowing with stuffs and precious metals
and jewels which had once been the heart of this beautiful shrine, there
stood now a plain solid wooden table that the Archbishop used for the
Communion. Anthony looked at it, and sighed a little to himself. Did the
altar and the table then mean the same thing?

Meanwhile the glorious music was rolling overhead in the high vaulted
roof. The old man was extemporising; but his manner was evident even in
that; there was a simple solemn phrase that formed his theme, and round
this adorning and enriching it moved the grave chords. On and on
travelled the melody, like the flow of a broad river; now sliding
steadily through a smiling land of simple harmonies, where dwelt a people
of plain tastes and solid virtues; now passing over shallows where the
sun glanced and played in the brown water among the stones, as light
arpeggio chords rippled up and vanished round about the melody; now
entering a land of mighty stones and caverns where the echoes rang hollow
and resonant, as the counterpoint began to rumble and trip like boulders
far down out of sight, in subaqueous gloom; now rolling out again and
widening, fuller and deeper as it went, moving in great masses towards
the edge of the cataract that lies like a line across the landscape: it
is inevitable now, the crash must come;--a chord or two
pausing,--pausing;--and then the crash, stupendous and sonorous.

Then on again through elaborate cities where the wits and courtiers
dwell, and stately palaces slide past upon the banks, and barges move
upon its breast, on to the sea--that final full close that embraces and
engulfs all music, all effort, all doubts and questionings, whether in
art or theology, all life of intellect, heart or will--that fathomless
eternal deep from which all comes and to which all returns, that men call
the Love of God.

* * * *

Anthony stirred in his seat; he had been here ten minutes, proposing to
take his restless thoughts in hand and quiet them; and, lo! it had b