If it be a
dwelling-house, I suppose it is inhabited by the person who takes care of
the cathedral. This morning, while listening to the tedious chanting and
lukewarm sermon, I depreciated the whole affair, cathedral and all; but
now I do more justice, at least to the latter, and am only sorry that its
noble echoes must follow at every syllable, and re-reverberate at the
commas and semicolons, such poor discourses as the canon's. But, after
all, it was the Puritans who made the sermon of such importance in
religious worship as we New-Englanders now consider it; and we are absurd
in considering this magnificent church and all those embroidered
ceremonies only in reference to it.
Before going back to the hotel, I went again up the narrow and twisted
passage of College Street, to take another glance at St. William's
College. I underestimated the projection of the front over the street;
it is considerably more than three feet, and is about eight or nine feet
above the pavement. The little statue of St. William is an alto-relievo
over the arched entrance, and has an escutcheon of arms on each side, all
much defaced. In the interior of the quadrangle, the houses have not
gables nor peaked fronts, but have peaked windows on the red-tiled roofs.
The doorway, opposite the entrance-arch, is rather stately; and on one
side is a large, projecting window, which is said to belong to the room
where the printing-press of Charles I.
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