To the Editor of the CRIMSON:

Acting upon a suggestion offered by Professor Hurlbut to men in English 29 I dropped into Appleton Chapel the other morning. I had almost forgotten that this gray, rigidly silent building had an interior. It has. And the atmosphere there is rather beautiful; dreamily quiet and mellow. Seasoned browns and dusty crimsons meet the eye except high in the chancel where a circular, stained glass window reveals sea greens and yellows and scarlets. The seasoned browns and dusty crimsons are, perhaps, symbolic of the past; the greens and yellows and scarlets, of the future. Here they meet in mutual awe.

At twenty minutes before nine three men besides myself were seated in the stiff-backed wooden pews. We looked like intruders upon the privacy of the empty pews--sedate and decorous rows conducting themselves as proper pews should. It was so quiet here that the miniature congregation glanced up started when an elderly man stole noiselessly along an aisle and stealthily changed the hymn number on the announcement board. We watched him intently until he completed his duty and returned safely to his appointed seat.

The chancel door opened and a man in black cassock entered and gravely sat down. He raised his eyes--serious eyes in a face deepened through experience and thought. It was Bishop Brent whose name is associated with man work in the Philippines. The empty pews appeared still emptier.

Happily, however, the swinging doors began to open more frequently during the next few minutes until perhaps fifty men came in. A fourth of these looked like graduate students. Professor Hurlbut was the only member of the Faculty present.

In a clear, deep voice Bishop Brent read a passage from the Bible. Apart from any meaning, the words fell on the ear like the call of a bell on a frosty morning. They were clean, terse, direct words such as an honest Angle Saxon uses. The ten-minute sermon which followed was like this, too. It was the encouraging hand grip of a man you could trust. Then the choir sang as only Dr. Davison can make a choir sing--feeling expressed in music. And everyone joined in a hymn and listened to the tense little prayer which concluded the service.

That was all, Less than twenty minutes had passed but it must have been a dull fellow who did not carry with him the memory of those twenty minutes through the remainder of the day. It got inside as, if nothing more, an emotional experience. It left one conscious of what lies back all exteriors. FREDERICK ORN BARTLETT ocC.

February 22, 1923.