Though in some points of doe, and perhaps of discipline I am diffident of lending a perfect assent to that church which you have so worthily historified, yet may the ill time never e to me, when with a chilled heart, or a portion of irrevereiment, I shall enter her beautiful and time-hallowed Edifices. Judge then of my mortification when, after attending the choral anthems of last Wednesday at Westminster, and being desirous of renewing my acquaintance, after lapsed years, with the tombs and antiquities there, I found myself excluded; turned out like a dog, or some profane person, into the on street, with feelings not very genial to the place, or to the solemn service which I had been listening to. It was a jar after that music.
You had your education at Westminster; and doubtless among those dim aisles and cloisters, you must have gathered much of that devotional feeling in those young years, on which your purest mind feeds still -- and may it feed! The antiquarian spirit, strong in you, and graceful blending ever with the religious, may have been sown in you among those wrecks of splendid mortality. You owe it to the place of your education; you owe it to your learned fondness for the architecture of your aors; you owe it to the venerableness of your ecclesiastical establishment, which is daily lessened and called iion through these practices -- to speak aloud your sense of them; o desist raising your voice against them, till they be totally done away with and abolished; till the doors of Westminster Abbey be no longer closed against the det, though low-in-purse, enthusiast, or blameless devotee, who must it an injury against his family ey, if he would be indulged with a bare admission within its walls. You owe it to the decies, which you wish to see maintained in its impressive services, that our Cathedral be no longer an object of iion to the poor at those times only, in which they must rob from their attendan the worship every minute which they bestow upon the fabri vain the public prints have taken up this subject, in vain such poor nameless writers as myself express their indignation. A word from you, Sir -- a hint in your Journal would be suffit to fling open the doors of the Beautiful Temple again, as we remember them when we were boys. At that tin,e of life, what would the imaginative faculty (such as it is) in both of us, have suffered, if the entrao so much refle had been obstructed by the demand of so much silver -- If we had scraped it up to gain an occasional admission (as we certainly should have done) would the sight of those old tombs have been as impressive to us (while we had been weighing anxiously prudence against se) as whees stood open, as those of the adjat Park; when we could walk in at any time, as the moht us, for a shorter or loime, as that lasted? Is the being shown over a place the same as silently for ourselves deteg the genius of it? In no part of our beloved Abbey now a person firance (out of service time) uhe sum of two shillings. The rid the great will smile at the anticlimax, presumed to lie iwo short words. But you tell them, Sir, how much quiet worth, how much capacity for enlarged feeling, how much taste and genius, may coexist, especially in youth, with a purse inpetent to this demand. -- A respected friend of ours, during his late visit to the metropolis, presented himself for admission to Saint Pauls. At the same time a detly clothed man, with as det a wife, and child, were bargai