nificence, and might not inaptly be compared to a silver thread running through a web of dirty sackcloth; or, to a “wounded snake,” dragging “its slow length along" between the huge, misshapen piles that overhung, or abutted upon, its banks. Altogether I was less gratified with what I here saw than I had expected to be, and from that day forwards have never felt any wish to look again upon this farfamed panoramic view, unless I could do so with less weariness of body, and with a greater power of distinguishing distant objects.

Of the structure itself I purposely forbear giving an opinion; not only because of my inability to criticise works of art, but also because I suspect myself of having some unreasonable prejudice against the adoption of any other style than that which is commonly called the Gothic, for ecclesiastical edifices. For myself, I greatly prefer the latter style in buildings consecrated to Christian worship, although I am quite willing to believe that the noble edifice referred to is deserving of all the commendation it has ever received from competent judges.

Whatever was the cause, I certainly surveyed the Abbey of Westminster with feelings far more satisfactory and pleasing than were those produced by looking over the Cathedral of St. Paul. The antiquity of this venerable structure; the style of its architecture; the characters and pursuits of the numerous and illustrious persons whose ashes repose under its roof; the variety, expressiveness, and general appropriateness of their sepulchral monuments; together with the almost unbroken stillness of the place, and the quiet

ing influence of the subdued light admitted through its magnificent, storied windows: all these contributed to inspire me with elevating thoughts, and to produce emotions at once solemn and tranquillizing.

But it was during the celebration of divine service that I more especially loved to visit these celebrated places. At these times there was, over and above the emotions usually produced, those which were awakened by the presence of a concourse of people; by the solemn, yet delightful, music of the organ, which to me is the noblest of musical instruments; and by the melodious voices of the choristers.* All these conspired to produce feelings of a most grateful and appropriate order, and seldom failed to call to my remembrance the following beautiful lines of Thom

son:

"In swarming cities vast,
Assembled men to the deep organ join
The long-resounding voice, oft breaking clear
At solemn pauses through the swelling bass,
And, as each mingling flame increases each,
In one united ardour rise to heaven."

* I cannot but wish that there was a more full and general use made of the powerful aid of music-both vocal and instrumental-in the celebration of public worship. As to instrumental music, I have long considered the arguments commonly used against its being thus employed to be as nothing when compared with those which may be adduced in its favour. Abstract opinions ought not, as I think, to supersede the authority of facts; and, therefore, I conclude that the undoubted practice of the ancient churches, whether Jewish or Christian, together with a due recognition of the almost miraculous power of music over the human mind, and the almost universal passion of mankind for the delight afforded by this divine art, form a more than sufficient warrant for its constant and ample use in the sacred services of public worship.

In passing, I venture to express a doubt as to the fitness of such edifices as are consecrated to the worship of the "Prince of Peace" for the burying-places of military and naval heroes. These great men doubtless merited all the respect which is shown to their mortal remains; and I am fully willing that their names and deeds should be held in unfading remembrance, and regarded with undiminished honour. Yet I cannot help thinking that these objects would be equally well attained, and that too in a far more appropriate way than now, by depositing their bodies in a public cemetery, or in burying-grounds set apart for the exclusive use of themselves and their humbler companions in arms.

But the Sunday was my most interesting time-my true holiday-when I felt at liberty to go where I pleased, and had no unpleasant thoughts about the loss of time. On this day I usually walked to a considerable distance from my lodging, in order that I might see something new, and also get a view of the country, my relish for which was rather heightened than otherwise by my being, on the other days of the week, debarred from seeing what I so much loved. In the course of these excursions I contrived to visit nearly the whole of the suburban villages, and, in general, was fully repaid for my labour by what I saw, either of Nature's glorious scenes, or of the humbler productions of her handmaid, Art.

While walking to Hampstead, I strayed into a copse not far from my road, where I seated myself upon the trunk of a tree, and read, with no small pleasure, several of the papers contained in that

highly entertaining book, Sturm's Réfléctions on the Works of God.' As I read these, surrounded by many of the objects upon which they so pleasingly descant, I was enabled to look “ through nature up to nature's God;" to hold, as it were, converse with that glorious and beneficent Being, and to recognize Him as a father and a friend.

I ought to observe that these rambles were not allowed to prevent my regular and timely attendance upon public worship. In my choice of places wherein to join in this delightful service I did not restrict myself to any one sect of professing Christians. Even then I felt it to be impossible to be a party-man. Although I had been brought up among those who dissented from the National Church Establishment, and, moreover, had often heard of its alleged abuses, or defects, I nevertheless frequently joined in its public services with unaffected satisfaction. Notwithstanding whatever I had learned of an unfavourable tendency in regard to the Church and its ministers, I could not help seeing that there was much in the first that deserved my cordial assent, and also, that there were many of the latter who justly claimed my unaffected reverence and esteem. These perceptions were useful to me at the time, and have continued to be so until now. I cannot adequately express the sense I have of the courtesy, the urbanity, and the genuine kindness with which I have been treated by not a few of these excellent men, and accomplished gentlemen. But, apart from all personal considerations, I am fully persuaded that the clergy of the Church of England are, as a community, de

serving of the most sincere respect, and the fullest confidence of the laity, whether Episcopalians or Dissenters. As to myself, I am not careful about either standards of doctrine, or modes of worship, or rules of discipline. To whichsoever of these diverse matters any one may give the preference is to me quite indifferent; all I wish for is to see a practical attention to the duties which the Christian religion enjoins, and a fair amount of resemblance, in regard to Christian charity, between the professed disciple and his beneficent Master.

But I am wandering wide of my immediate object, and therefore leave this subject, in order to take up the thread of my story. In the course of my attendance on public worship I visited many of the principal churches and chapels in the metropolis and its suburbs, where I heard discourses from the greater number of the preachers who at that time were celebrated for their learning, eloquence, or other pulpit qualifications. I had no restraint upon my movements, for I kept no company with any one. There were, indeed, two or three young men whom I esteemed; but their tastes, or duties, called them into a different path from that in which it was either my wish or my business to walk; consequently, I was left perfectly free to choose for myself. As to choosing companions from among my fellow-workmen, it was wholly out of the question; for, although I took care to be upon civil terms with every one of them, as indeed I was bound to do, yet this was a very different matter from making them my associates when out of the workshop. I respected some of them as