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July 10, 1912] T H B I
FIVE SUNDAYS IN EUROPE.
BY MRS. SUSAN LEL.AND BAKER.
Five restful, peaceful days in which it was
no longer necessary to visit museums and art
galleries, but just to enjoy life and decide in
which temple of the living God our praises
should ascend, and we give thanks for mercies
past.
As our first Sunday on land was spent in
Home we determined to worship (?) in St.
Peters. Not being accustomed to the speech
and ways of Roman liackmen, we were not in
time for the celebration of high mass, but saw
the gorgeous receeding procession, the light
from a hundred candles falling on red capes
and hanging rosaries. The high alter was dazzling
with gold and jewels, and the richness of
ornaments was overpowering; but the modest
prayer benches scattered here and there
through the vast expanse, invited to prayer.
So kneeling on the stone pavement under the
mighty dome, a petition arose to "Our F?tW'
through the mediatiou of one "Great High
Priest," who ever liveth to make intercession
for us." My first prayer, in public, in Europe.
Rising, 1 saw we were near the bronze statue
of St. Peter, and saw with a mixture of awe
and curiosity, the ceremony of kissing St. Peter's
toe, by four soldiers. This over, they
passed on to kneel before the altar. It was interesting
to watch the stream of people coming
and going in this biggest church of the world.
Some stooped to pray, some looked at relics,
some stepped in the confessional boxes, but no
one interfered with another. The tinkling of a
bell or the sound of distant music, would indicate
that service was going on in one of the
many chapels. Stop in if you wish, or pass
on; no one seemed to care. The priest still
swung his censor. So having followed the first
part of the injunction "say your prayers in
n? *> - -
ot. .reters, and meditate in the Coliseum," we
reluctantly left the grand church, the treasure
house of the genius of Michael Augelo.
In the afternoon we visited the Church of the
Capuchins, a gloomy pile, presided over by
gloomy priests and undermined by gloomy
vaults. With lighted lamps we were guided
through dark chambers, receptacles of bones of
murdered priests and nuns. Tis the life work
of the monks to arrange the bones in fantastic
shapes and geometrical forms; wreaths of
skulls; star forms of arm-bones; flower arrangements
innumerable. What a shaking of
the dry bones will there be when the breath of
the Spirit moves over them, and "bone comes
to bone."
There was no service in this church, and on
returning to the upper regions, Sunday as it
was, a priest met us with a tray of relics for a
modest sum. A stroll through the gardens on
the Pincian closed the day, and under the blue 1
skies of free Italy, the shadows of medieval
itome were chased away. 1
Seven days more and we worshipped in a 1
temple not made with hands, for we were driving
through the famous Dolomite region?the
wildest scenery in Europe. We had spent the
night at Belluno in a picturesque medieval
"castelle" whose Very back touched the mountains.
Leaving early Sunday morning on a fine ]
road and under blue skies, the way wound 1
through mountains pink, blue, purple and i
gray, rising ever higher and higher, Alps on <
Alps. Little children ran down the mountain
sides, their hands full of the quaint little snow i
flowers the Idelwiess, which they were de- i
lighted to exchange for the small coins thrown ]
to them. Suddenly the notes of "Old Hun- '
dred" was started by one of the travelers and
"Praise God from whom all blessings flow" 1
PRESBYTERIAN OF THE SO
was heartily sung, on that Sabbath day in that
grand natural cathedral. Then followed?
"How firm a foundation," and other church
hymns, and as the songs rolled up the mountain
sides, they were echoed back from peak
to peak. Mere words were powerless to express
feeling. Then he passed into the Tyrol, snow
capped mountains hemmed us in on every side,
and the songs died away in the effort to keep
warm. We had exchanged the sunny southern
skies for the glaciers and snow capped
mountain peaks, but that Sabbath day's journey
is a grand memory picture never to be forgotten
this side of the great divide.
Another Sunday that stands out in bright,
glowing colors, was spent at the Falls of the
Rhine in the little Swiss town of Nenhausen.
TnLrirw* o ?> --
u damage at o^uaiiiittuiicu, wiiere we
had spent the night, we drove to the toot of a
high, wooded hill. Then taking our feet, we
climbed terrace after terrace through dense
foliage, searching for the English Chapel that
was at the top. Meeting a Swiss lady, who
could "speak the English," she kindly took us
in charge, and showed us to a seat in the
chapel. The congregation seemed to be made
up of tourists like ourselves, and it was pleasant
to hear the mother tongue once more, in
this far away foreign country. After service
the same kind friend directed us to the "Falls"
and "a Pension," she said "where you might
have dinner." Suddenly emerging from the
deeply shaded roads, a bold height rose before
us crowned by what seemed to be a "castle 1
on the Rhine," which was the hotel, and from
that prominence looking down upon the most
beautiful natural scenery that we had yet view- <
ed, my dream of seeing the Rhine River, its
castles and watch towers was fulfilled.
A Sunday in London, and we "went to
church" in Westminster Abbey. We found a
seat in the nave and Mr. Gladstone's statue
was in easy view. As the great congregation
rose to the opening words: "The Lord is in
his Holy Temple," a feeling of kinship took
possession of me for the service was the same
that we knew in old St. Michiels, Charleston.
S. C., and the grand old chants are the same
the world over. The words of the Litany
seemed more solemn than usual surrounded as
we were by the echoes of the past, for we were
in the '' Mausoleum of England's greatest ,
dead." The sermon was evangelical and was (
preached with fervor by a clergyman of the ,
city, and as that day's offering were for the
poor, the spiritual and physical needs of London's
thousands of suffering humanity were (
urgea. rne congregation joined the choir in
singing well known hymns, then when the or- ]
gan had softened its thunder and the music
left you thinking of the quivering of angelic j
wings, the sun burst through the gray cloudy (
Bkies, and finding its way through some open- (
ing in the upper regions of the Cathedral, be- f
came visible in one straight beam of light, \
stained with the colors of the rainbow from j
the art glass opening, and extending through t
the vaulted ceiling to pavement floor. It was }
111-. xL - 1 ? * "
ime uie descent or tne Spirit on the multitude
bowed in prayer. {
We reached St. Paul's in time to see the dis- i
persion of another great congregation, then we i
lingered to wander around the great church,
and to be impressed with the vastness of the
dome, and the beauty of the windows. s
In the late afternoon walking slowly along a i
street, something familiar loomed in front of c
tne and again the feeling of being at home was e
present. A closer look showed the legend? 1
'St. Martins in the Field," then I knew that 1 ?
was looking at the original of which St. t
Michiel's Church, Charleston, is a copy. The
D T H (817) 3
doors being open we walked in and saw the
counterpart of the home church, both designed
by the same architect. We also saw the four
tall Mases which are carried by the office bearers
before royalty, when the King worships
there.
So passed the first Sunday on British soil,
and as "London breathes history," so the influence
of the English Bible is lasting and far
reaching.
And last but not least, was the Sabbath in
Scotland, to which we had looked forward, and
the little, old-fashioned, primitive town of Melrose,
was selected for the stop over; whose
glory is its Abbey, and about which Sir Walter
Scott said:
"If you would see fair Melrose aright
Visit it. hv tllP nnla "
-"uvungui.
A Scotch mist enveloped town and people
during our stay, but even that added to the
romance of the ruins, and gave solemnity to
the great burial place of the heart of Bruce.
A spic and span American citizen from the
West and his bride, arrived at the Abbey Hotel
Saturday night, as we did, and being seated
at our table we heard his questions to the waiter
relative to electric lights, bells and other
necessary appointments of a modern hotel.
When he found that they were conspicuous by
their absence, and that candles were used in
the bed rooms, he left an order at the office
that he was to be taken to the first train that
left in the morning for Edinburgh. Modern
comforts were more to him than the sight of
the old gray sermon in stone.
We found our way to the Presbyterian
church, in the mist Sunday morning, and here
it was that the spirit of a daughter of a long
line of Presbyterian ancestors find its true
home. Outside discomfort was forgotten in
the calm and quiet of the devout congregation.
The building was as an atom in space compared
to St. Peters, but here we found true worship
and I was glad that our last Sunday in Europe
was spent in Scotland.
THE WEAVING OF THE WEB.
"It is better to weave in the web of life a
bright and golden filling." The words rang out
with such cheerful decision that the teacher at
the school for the blind and I paused before the
open door. A young blind girl was reciting to a
group of companions. They were all so cheery
and optimistic, in spite of shadowed lives, that
L could not but express my surprise.
"Yes," answered the teacher, "you have there
a practical' illustration in 'the weaving of the
neb; the bright and golden filling is certainly
being threaded in by my girls."
What sort of a filling are you and I weaving
into the web? Dark threads or bright? Many
of us grumble and fuss more over trifles than
others do over puzzling knots. Each weaver has
marls to unravel, and the threads are often indicate
and uncertain; but courage, hope and
persistence accomplish much, and their possessor
is not apt to be of that kind that "blames
leaven for tangled ends."
THe loom of life is steadily going on, and each
lay's work adds threads to the web that will be
mrolled in eternity. See that many of them
ire "bright and golden."?East and West.
If you will let Christ walk with you in your
itreets, and sit with you in your offices, and be
vith you in your homes, and teach you in your
'.hurches, and abide with you as the living presume
in your hearts, you, too, shall know what
Teedom is, and while you do your duties, be
ibove your duties; and while you own yourselves
he sons of men, know you are the sons of God.
?Phillips Brooks.