Christ Church Philadelphia

Christ Church came next – a fine old Anglican church with a brick courtyard to match its beauty, dotted with the markers, mausoleums and stones indicating the positions where parishioners of the past had been interred. Trixie was allowed in since she was in her carriage; a good thing too, since the wind was picking up then, and the temperature was still too low.

The interior of the great old church was white with brown trim, the clear glass windows letting in plenty of light on even that fickle semi-cloudy day. The grand pipe organ was being played as we went in, admiring the clean lines of the vast hall, which attempted to emulate the great cathedrals of Europe. Mum and Pops looked around far more than I did, locating the pew where Washington worshipped along with the other members who framed the Declaration and the Constitution. We had a good long look at a rare copy of the Vinegar Bible, so named because Vineyard was misspelled as Vinegar.


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