SUNDAY EVENING AT THE BISHOP’S.—THE REV. MR. WOOD’S TALK ABOUT
ICEBERGS.
MONDAY, _June 27_. We attended church, yesterday, at the cathedral,
where we heard practical sermons and fine congregational singing. The
evening was passed at the Bishop’s, when the conversation was about
Oxford, and Keble, English parsonages, and Christian art. A few poems
were read from Keble’s Christian Year, and commented upon by the Bishop,
who is a personal friend and admirer of the poet. Before the company
separated, all moved into a very beautiful private chapel, and closed
the evening with devotions.
This has been a bright day, and favorable for our preparations. We took
tea with the Consul, and had the pleasure of meeting the Rev. Mr. Wood,
the Rector of St. Thomas’, one of the city churches; who has true
feeling, and a thorough appreciation of fine scenery, and whose
descriptive abilities are rare. He says that an iceberg is to him the
most impressive of all objects. Most beautiful in its life and changes,
it is, next to an earthquake, most terrible and appalling, in the moment
of its destruction, to those who may happen to be near it. Upon the
falling of its peaks and precipices, waves and thunders carry the
intelligence across the waters. Lofty as it frequently is, the head
only, helmeted and plumed with dazzling beauty, is above the sea. In its
solemn march along the blue main, how it steps upon the high places of
the deep, is all unseen. Around its mighty form, far down its alabaster
cliffs and caverns, no eye plays but that of the imagination. When it
pauses in its last repose, and perishes, at times; as quickly as if it
were smitten by the lightning, you may stand in the distance and gaze
with awe, but never draw near to witness the motions and sounds of its
dissolution. After tea, we sat by the windows, which face the east and
command the harbor, with its grand entrance from the Atlantic, and
enjoyed the scene, one of unusual splendor, every cliff glowing with
hues of reddish orange.