Even As In The Ancient Scriptures
There Are Ideas Which Seem To Overtask The Powers Of Human Language.
I
sat down with Mrs. M. in one of the little compartments, or
_stalls,_ as they are called, into which the galleries are
divided, and which are richly carved in black oak.
The whole service
was chanted by a choir expressly trained for the purpose. Some of the
performers are boys of about thirteen years, and of beautiful
countenances. There is a peculiar manner of reading the service
practised in the cathedrals, which is called "intoning." It is a
plaintive, rhythmical chant, with as strong an unction of the nasal as
ever prevailed in a Quaker or Methodist meeting. I cannot exactly
understand why Episcopacy threw out the slur of "nasal twang" as one
of the peculiarities of the conventicle, when it is in full force in
the most approved seats of church orthodoxy. I listened to all in as
uncritical and sympathetic a spirit as possible, giving myself up to
be lifted by the music as high as it could waft me. To one thus
listening, it is impossible to criticize with severity; for, unless
positively offensive, any music becomes beautiful by the power of
sympathy and association. After service we listened to a short sermon
from the Rev. Mr. Villiers, fervent, affectionate, and evangelical in
spirit, and much in the general style of sermonizing which I have
already described.
Monday morning, May 23. We went to breakfast at Mr. Cobden's. Mr. C.
is a man of slender frame, rather under than over the middle size,
with great ease of manner, and flexibility of movement, and the most
frank, fascinating smile.
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