It is usually so in cathedrals; the Right Reverend So-and-So is assisted by the very Reverend Such-and-Such, and the good deal Reverend Thus-and-Thus, and so on.  But a good deal of the minister’s voice appeared to go up into the groined arches, and, as there was no one up there, some of his best things were lost.  We also had a notion that some of it went into the cavernous organ-loft.  It would have been all right if there had been a choir there, for choirs usually need more preaching, and pay less heed to it, than any other part of the congregation.  Well, we drew a sort of screen over the organ-loft; but the result was not as marked as we had hoped.  We next devised a sounding-board,—­a sort of mammoth clamshell, painted white,—­and erected it behind the minister.  It had a good effect on the minister.  It kept him up straight to his work.  So long as he kept his head exactly in the focus, his voice went out and did not return to him; but if he moved either way, he was assailed by a Babel of clamoring echoes.  There was no opportunity for him to splurge about from side to side of the pulpit, as some do.  And if he raised his voice much, or attempted any extra flights, he was liable to be drowned in a refluent sea of his own eloquence.  And he could hear the congregation as well as they could hear him.  All the coughs, whispers, noises, were gathered in the wooden tympanum behind him, and poured into his ears.

But the sounding-board was an improvement, and we advanced to bolder measures; having heard a little, we wanted to hear more.  Besides, those who sat in front began to be discontented with the melodeon.  There are depths in music which the melodeon, even when it is called a cabinet organ, with a colored boy at the bellows, cannot sound.  The melodeon was not, originally, designed for the Gothic worship.  We determined to have an organ, and we speculated whether, by erecting it in the apse, we could not fill up that elegant portion of the church, and compel the preacher’s voice to leave it, and go out over the pews.  It would of course do something to efface the main beauty of a Gothic church; but something must be done, and we began a series of experiments to test the probable effects of putting the organ and choir behind the minister.  We moved the desk to the very front of the platform, and erected behind it a high, square board screen, like a section of tight fence round the fair-grounds.  This did help matters.  The minister spoke with more ease, and we could hear him better.  If the screen had been intended to stay there, we should have agitated the subject of painting it.  But this was only an experiment.

Our next move was to shove the screen back and mount the volunteer singers, melodeon and all, upon the platform,—­some twenty of them crowded together behind the minister.  The effect was beautiful.  It seemed as if we had taken care to select the finest-looking people in the congregation,—­much to the injury of the congregation, of course, as seen from the platform.  There are few congregations that can stand this sort of culling, though ours can endure it as well as any; yet it devolves upon those of us who remain the responsibility of looking as well as we can.