procession, across
the silent place, and up the great steps. We said not a word to each
other of what we meant to do. All was fair and silent in the holy place;
a breath of incense still in the air; a murmur of psalms (as one could
imagine) far up in the high roof. There I served, while he said his
mass. It was for my friend that this impulse came to my mind; but I was
rewarded. The days of my childhood seemed to come back to me. All
trouble, and care, and mystery, and pain, seemed left behind. All I
could see was the glimmer on the altar of the great candle-sticks, the
sacred pyx in its shrine, the chalice, and the book. I was again an
_enfant de choeur_ robed in white, like the angels, no doubt, no
disquiet in my soul--and my father kneeling behind among the faithful,
bowing his head, with a sweetness which I too knew, being a father,
because it was his child that tinkled the bell and swung the censer.
Never since those days have I served the mass. My heart grew soft within
me as the heart of a little child. The voice of M. le Cure was full of
tears--it swelled out into the air and filled the vacant place. I knelt
behind him on the steps of the altar and wept.

Then there came a sound that made our hearts leap in our bosoms. His
voice wavered as if it had been struck by a strong wind; but he was a
brave man, and he went on. It was the bells of the Cathedral that pealed
out over our heads. In the midst of the office, while we knelt all
alone, they began to ring as at Easter or some great festival. At first
softly, almost sadly, like choirs of distant singers, that died away and
were echoed and died again; then taking up another strain, they rang out
into the sky with hurrying notes and clang of joy. The effect upon
myself was wonderful. I no longer felt any fear. The illusion was
complete. I was a child again, serving the mass in my little
surplice--aware that all who loved me were kneeling behind, that the
good God was smiling, and the Cathedral bells ringing out their majestic
A

Margaret Oliphant Oliphant (nee Margaret Oliphant Wilson) (April 4, 1828 - June 25, 1897), Scottish novelist and historical writer, daughter of Francis Wilson, was born at Wallyford, near Musselburgh, East Lothian.

Stephen Oliver can refer to:

Various, or Various Production, is an English dubstep/electronic music duo formed in 2003. The group blends samples, acoustic and electronic instrumentation, and singing from a revolving cast of vocalists. Its members, Adam and Ian, purposefully give very little information about the group or themselves, and tend to do little in the way of self-promotion.[1] Nevertheless, the group began winning critical acclaim with its single releases in 2005 and 2006.[2] Their full-length for XL, The World is Gone, arrived in July of 2006.[3][4][5][6][7] They have released a large number of vinyl EPs and 7 records, as well as digital exclusives for Rough Trade, iTunes, and Boomkat.[8]