MELLOW ENGLAND. 181 



rise to the importance of not being utterly dwarfed 

 within its walls. The annual gathering of the char- 

 ity children, ten or twelve thousand in number, mu 

 make a ripple or two upon its solitude, or an exhibi 

 tion like the thanksgiving of the Queen, when sixteen 

 or eighteen thousand persons were assembled beneath 

 its roof. But one cannot forget that it is, for the 

 most part, a great toy a mammoth shell, whose 

 bigness bears no proportion to the living (if, indeed, 

 it is living), indwelling necessity. It is a tenement 

 so large that the tenant looks cold and forlorn, and 

 in danger of being lost within it. 



No such objection can be made to Westminster 

 Abbey, which is a mellow, picturesque old place, the 

 interior arrangement and architecture of which affects 

 one like some ancient, dilapidated forest. Even the 

 sunlight streaming through the dim windows, and 

 falling athwart the misty air, was like the sunlight of 

 a long gone age. The very atmosphere was pensive, 

 and filled the tall spaces like a memory and a dream. 

 I sat down and listened to the choral service and to 

 the organ, which blended perfectly with the spirit and 

 sentiment of the place. 



ON THE SOUTH DOWNS. 



One of my best days in England was spent amid 

 the singing of skylarks on the South Down Hills, 

 near an old town at the mouth of the Little Ouse, 

 where I paused on my way to France. The proa- 

 Dect of hearing one or two of the classical birds of 



