Her confessed power at last expires amidst a hubbub of odes and sonatas; and I suppose her presence at a Morning Popular is as little anticipated as desired. Unconfessed, she is of all the mythic saints for ever the greatest; and the child in its nurse's arms, and every tender and gentle spirit which resolves to purify in itself,--as the eye for seeing, so the ear for hearing,--may still, whether behind the Temple veil,[25] or at the fireside, and by the wayside, hear Cecilia sing. [Footnote 25:"But, standing in the lowest place, And mingled with the work-day crowd, A poor man looks, with lifted face, And hears the Angels cry aloud. "He seeks not how each instant flies, One moment is Eternity; His spirit with the Angels cries To Thee, to Thee, continually. "What if, Isaiah-like, he know His heart be weak, his lips unclean, His nature vile, his office low, His dwelling and his people mean? "To such the Angels spake of old-- To such of yore, the glory came; These altar fires can ne'er grow cold: Then be it his, that cleansing flame." These verses, part of a very lovely poem, "To Thee all Angels cry aloud," in the 'Monthly Packet' for September 1873, are only signed 'Veritas.' The volume for that year (the 16th) is well worth getting, for the sake of the admirable papers in it by Miss Sewell, on questions of the day; by Miss A.C. Owen, on Christian Art; and the unsigned Cameos from English History.] It would delay me too long just now to trace in specialty farther the functions of the mythic, or, as in another sense they may be truly called, the universal, Saints: the next greatest of them, St. Ursula, is essentially British,--and you will find enough about her in 'Fors Clavigera'; the others, I will simply give you in entirely authoritative order from the St. Louis' Psalter, as he read and thought of them.