of grey columns to the dimness of its embowed roof, the delicate
traceries of the organ screen, the swelling notes of the organ, the
mellow shafts of light filtered through the stained-glass windows
whose hues were as those of emeralds and rubies and amethysts, the
stainless purity of the surplices of clergy and choir, the sober
richness of Sunday bonnets in the transept, the faint yet heavy
fragrance exhaled from the hot-water pipes--all these familiar things,
appealing, as he sometimes felt, almost too strongly to that sensuous
side of his nature which made him so susceptible to the paintings of
Mr. Leader, of Sir Luke Fildes, were on Christmas morning more than
usually affecting by reason of that note of quiet joyousness, of peace
and good will, that pervaded the lessons of the day, the collect, the
hymns, the sermon.

It was this spiritual aspect of Christmas that Percy felt to be
hardly sufficiently regarded, or at least dwelt on, nowadays, and he
sometimes wondered whether the modern Christmas had not been in some
degree inspired and informed by Charles Dickens. He had for that
writer a very sincere admiration, though he was inclined to think that
his true excellence lay not so much in faithful portrayal of the life
of his times, or in gift of sustained narration, or in those scenes of
pathos which have moved so many hearts in so many quiet homes, as in
the power of inventing highly fantastic figures, such as Mr. Micawber
or Mr. Pickwick. This view Percy knew to be somewhat heretical, and,
constitutionally averse from the danger of being suspected of "talking
for effect," he kept it to himself; but, had anyone challenged him to
give his opinion, it was thus that he would have expressed himself.
In regard to Christmas, he could not help wishing that Charles Dickens
had laid more stress on its spiritual element. It was right that the
feast should be an occasion for good cheer, for the savoury meats, the