my spirit leapt into peace, as a man drowning in a stormy sea is drawn into a boat that comes to rescue him.  It was the fourth evening, and that wonderful Psalm, My God, my God, look upon me—­ where the broken spirit dives to the very depths of darkness and despair—­brought me the message of triumphant sorrow.  How strange that these sad cries of the heart, echoing out of the ages, set to rich music—­it was that solemn A minor chant by Battishill, which you know—­should be able to calm and uplift the grieving spirit.  The thought rises into a burst of gladness at the end; and then follows hard upon it the tenderest of all Psalms, The Lord is my Shepherd, in which the spirit casts its care upon God, and walks simply, in utter trust and confidence.  The dreariness of my heart thawed and melted into peace and calm.  Then came the solemn murmur of a lesson; the Magnificat, sung to a setting—­again as by a thoughtful tenderness—­of which I know and love every note; and here my heart seemed to climb into a quiet hope and rest there; the lesson again, like the voice of a spirit; and then the Nunc Dimittis, which spoke of the beautiful rest that remaineth.  Then the quiet monotone of prayer, and then, as though to complete my happiness, Mendelssohn’s Hear my prayer.  It is the fashion, I believe, for some musicians to speak contemptuously of this anthem, to say that it is over-luscious.  I only know that it brings all Heaven about me, and reconciles the sadness of the world with the peace of God.  A boy’s perfect treble—­that sweetest of all created sounds, because so unconscious of its pathos and beauty—­floating on the top of the music, and singing as an angel might sing among the stars of heaven, came to my thirsty spirit like a draught of clear spring water.  And, at the end of all, Mendelssohn’s great G major fugue gave the note of courage and endurance that I needed, the strong notes marching solemnly and joyfully on their appointed way.

I left the cathedral, through the gathering twilight, peaceful, hopeful, and invigorated, as a cripple dipped in the healing well.  While music is in the world, God abides among us.  Ever since the day that David soothed Saul by his sweet harp and artless song, music has thus beguiled the heaviness of the spirit.  Yet there is the mystery, that the emotion seems to soar so much higher and dive so much deeper than the notes that evoke it!  The best argument for immortality, I think.

Now that I have written so much, I feel that I am, perhaps, inconsiderate in speaking so much of the healing music which you cannot obtain.  But get your wife to play to you, in a quiet and darkened room, some of the things you love best.  It is not the same as the cathedral, with all its glory and its ancient, dim tradition, but it will serve.

And, meanwhile, think as little of your depression as you can; it won’t poison the future; just endure it like a present pain; the moment one can do that, the victory is almost won.