Never have I been
more sensible of the sanctifying effect of church music than when
I have heard it thus poured forth, like a river of joy, through
the inmost recesses of this great metropolis, elevating it, as it
were, from all the sordid pollutions of the week, and bearing the
poor world-worn soul on a tide of triumphant harmony to heaven.
The morning service is at an end. The streets are again alive
with the congregations returning to their homes, but soon again
relapse into silence. Now comes on the Sunday dinner, which, to
the city tradesman, is a meal of some importance. There is more
leisure for social enjoyment at the board. Members of the family
can now gather together, who are separated by the laborious
occupations of the week. A school-boy may be permitted on that
day to come to the paternal home; an old friend of the family
takes his accustomed Sunday seat at the board, tells over his
well-known stories, and rejoices young and old with his
well-known jokes.
On Sunday afternoon the city pours forth its lesions to breathe
the fresh air and enjoy the sunshine of the parks and rural
environs. Satirists may say what they please about the rural
enjoyments of a London citizen on Sunday, but to me there is
something delightful in beholding the poor prisoner of the
crowded and dusty city enabled thus to come forth once a week and
throw himself upon the green bosom of nature.
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