196 WHIP AND SPUR. 



for the rebuilding of the church was a title to 

 his lasting and grateful recognition. 



But the light was fast waning, and the cathe- 

 dral must be seen now or perhaps never. It was 

 already past the hour for closing, but one of the 

 vergers had formerly been a Poor Brother of St. 

 John's, and my companion went to him to secure 

 our admission. 



I stood before the west front of the cathedral, 

 which was then bathed in the lingering light of 

 the after-day, its great central window gleaming as 

 though the altar lamps were still burning behind 

 it, and the western spires almost losing them- 

 selves in the sky. The quaint effigies that fill the 

 niches across the whole facade lost their grotesque- 

 ness in the dusk, and seemed really the sacred 

 sculptures they were meant to be. Fair though 

 this rich front must be at high midday, it needs 

 for its full beauty the half-light of a Northern 

 evening. As seen on that rarest of all evenings, it 

 was a fit introduction to the subdued glory which 

 greeted us in the dim religious light to which we 

 entered as the great central door closed behind us. 



