It is the rector's boast that with a Guild House such as that there is no need for any young man of the congregation to frequent a saloon.

Nor is there.
And on Sunday mornings, when the great organ plays, and the mortgagees and the bond-holders and the debenture-holders and the Sunday school teachers and the billiard-markers all lift up their voices together, there is emitted from St.Asaph's a volume of praise that is practically as fine and effective as paid professional work.
St.Asaph's is episcopal.

As a consequence it has in it and about it all those things which go to make up the episcopal church--brass tablets let into its walls, blackbirds singing in its elm trees, parishioners who dine at eight o'clock, and a rector who wears a little crucifix and dances the tango.
On the other hand, there stands upon the same street, not a hundred yards away, the rival church of St.Osoph--presbyterian down to its very foundations in bed-rock, thirty feet below the level of the avenue.

It has a short, squat tower--and a low roof, and its narrow windows are glazed with frosted glass.

It has dark spruce trees instead of elms, crows instead of blackbirds, and a gloomy minister with a shovel hat who lectures on philosophy on week-days at the university.
He loves to think that his congregation are made of the lowly and the meek in spirit, and to reflect that, lowly and meek as they are, there are men among them that could buy out half the congregation of St.
Asaph's.
St.Osoph's is only presbyterian in a special sense.