Chapter VI: Part 6

Ralph, Earl of Westmoreland, and Prince John, were despatched against Scrope and Mowbray, but they found the northern army so formidable that they dared not strike. On approaching the Archbishop they found him ready to enter into negotiations for the correcting of the King's government, and the Earl of Westmoreland, with a treachery that was infamous at a time when treachery and perjury were common, pretended to grant all Scrope's demands, and, as a ratification of the terms of pacification, proposed the disbanding of the two armies. This was unsuspiciously acceded to, and the northern army was immediately disbanded, although the royal army maintained its formation. Danger of rescue past, the Earl of Westmoreland, with infamous treachery, arrested Scrope, Mowbray, and several of their captains. "The King was then at Pontefract, and when the Archbishop and the other captives were brought thither to him, they were ordered to be carried from thence to York, where they were condemned to death by the judges, Fulford and Gascoign. Judgment was no sooner passed, but the Archbishop was set upon a lean deformed horse, with his face backward; and that Bishop, whose grave age commanded every man's respect, having been always accompanied with holiness of life, incomparable learning, and a lovely person, was now loaded with all sorts of disgrace and reproaches, and so conducted to the place of execution, where his head was cut off, June 8th, 1405, by an unskilful executioner, who scarcely effected it at five strokes. He was buried on the eastern part of the new works, where certain miracles were said to have been done by the merits of this martyr, and the King to be smitten with an incurable leprosy. It is certain he was the first archbishop that was condemned to death by a legal trial. The Pope excommunicated the authors of this archbishop's death, but was easily intreated to absolve them a little time after." To augment the bitterness of death, Scrope was removed to his palace of Bishopthorpe for execution, and his head was piked and exposed on the walls of York.

Mowbray, Sir Robert Plumpton, Sir John Lamplugh, and other unfortunates, also suffered decollation.

During the great rebellion that cost Charles Stuart his crown and head, another Archbishop of York took up arms, to figure obscurely during a struggle in which he certainly was not called upon to assume the soldier's painful and difficult part. A changeful and troublous history is that of John Williams. In 1621 he was elevated to the Bishopric of Lincoln, and Lord Keeper of the Great Seal, but his fortunes waned as Laud rose to power; he lost the Seals, and at the coronation of Charles I. it was his duty, as Dean of Westminster, to read divine service, but Laud took his place. He was further affronted by being forbidden to sit in the House, and Laud brought him into the Star Chamber for having written the "Holy Table." He was suspended, fined L10,000, and imprisoned in the Tower during the King's pleasure. He obtained his release November 16th, 1640.

Not unnaturally his suffering made him an object of interest to the Puritan party, but he was loyal to Charles, and by preaching before him in condemnation of the discipline of Geneva he won the royal favour, and he was raised to the Archbishopric of York. The evil times had closed in, and for leading the bishops in their protest against the House of Lords, he was committed to the Tower, where he remained some time. Then came the war.

When Captain Hotham and Sir Thomas Fairfax were earning their spurs by the most daring exploits against the Royalists of Yorkshire, Hotham received some cause for offence from the Archbishop, and irefully vowed to cut off his head.

A friendly warning of the threat reached the Archbishop late on the 3rd of October, and, appreciating the spirit of the young dare-devil, the prelate left Cawood Castle in hot haste. Not long after, Hotham and his fiery riders spurred up in hot haste, and finding their intended victim had escaped, they solaced themselves by sacking the castle.

Joining the king at Oxford, Williams received the royal commission and instructions, and proceeded to fortify his castle at Aberconway, but, apparently from some unworthy suspicion of his loyalty, the king appointed another commandant to the castle, and Williams, in deep disgust, retired to his house at Penryn, placed it in a state of defence, and gave in his adhesion to parliament.

Assisted by Colonel Mitton, he besieged Abergavenny, in South Wales, and reduced the stronghold to the obedience of parliament. He expired at Lady Mostyn's house at Gloded, on the 25th of March, 1650, being the 68th anniversary of his birth.

Thus an old Yorkshire history: "While he was in his greatness, he was characterized a person of a generous mind, a lover and encourager of learning and learned men (being himself very learned), hospitable and a great benefactor to the public; but when, through anger and disgust, he sided with the parliament and Puritans, he was styled by the Royalists a perfidious prelate, the shame of the clergy, and the apostate archbishop, which how much he deserved, considering his provocations, let the reader judge. He hath many things in print, etc." Lord Campbell adds this tribute to the memory of this unfortunate prelate, for truly unfortunate he must be esteemed, "He will always be memorable in English history, as the last of a long line of eminent ecclesiastics, who, with rare intervals, held for many centuries the highest judicial office in the kingdom, and exercised a powerful influence over the destinies of the nation."

Such are a few of the romantic and interesting facts relating to the military experience of English bishops, which are scattered through the pages of our national history. In some cases we cannot blame, in others we must actually applaud, our fighting bishops for patriotism, courage, and conduct of no common order; and where we may be disposed to censure, we may justly pause, and weigh the character of the times, the usages of the church, and admit that in their day and generation, they were not acting so opposite to their character and profession as we may be disposed to regard them, if we do so from the higher spiritual conditions of our own more favoured and settled times.

The Cloister and its Story.

BY S. W. KERSHAW, F.S.A.

"The treasures of antiquity laid up
In old historic rolls I opened."
--BEAUMONT.

Fair and famed are the monastic ruins of our land, from Fountains and Rievaulx among the Yorkshire dales, to Tintern on the silvery Wye, and Netley near the placid Solent, one and all alike tell a tale of their past annals, making up, verily, a treasured page of "Bygone England."

With these buildings are closely connected one of their great agencies, when, as dispensers of learning, in the early ages, darkness and ignorance was all around. Just as the legendary dictum arose, that the exquisite lantern of Ely Cathedral became a guiding light to the traveller, in the fens and morasses of Eastern England, so these religious homes were the beacon spots of learning.

In that remote period of way-faring, it was the custom for some churches to have a fire lighted in an iron framework on the top of an angle turret, to direct the steps of the stranger, especially through those vast woods which covered our land, and of which a famous example existed in the forest of Galtres, in Yorkshire.

The visitor to Gloucester Cathedral will have noticed its exquisite cloisters, and have seen the screens or "carols" where the monkish scribe sat diligently to copy his chronicle, or the artist to illuminate its page.

The examples at Gloucester are almost unique as an illustration, so to speak, of the workshops of the mediaeval copyist; but a "scriptorium," or room, was arranged in most monastic houses, as the more general place of labour.

As the chief homes and nurseries of religion, these houses attracted their different leaders and schools of learning. With Bede in Northumbria, and Augustine in Kent, two great missionary scholars, the memories of ancient lore seem to be recalled. In quick succession arose the vast abbeys of our land, at St. Albans, Glastonbury, York, Canterbury, Lindisfarne, and Hexham, spreading their influence far and wide, with a host of lesser foundations. Their erection, often due to the zeal of some noted ecclesiastic or pious layman, is closely connected with our church history and customs, revealing many a vivid picture of olden days. Their abbots and priors can show many illustrious names, and Matthew Paris, Aldhelm, Bishop of Sherborne, St. Cuthbert, and William of Malmesbury, are but a tithe of the roll-call of writers and chroniclers.

It is, however, the work which remains to this day as the evidence and link of an almost forgotten agency, through the preservation of our early documents, that the moving history of those times is recalled. The "scriptorium" under the abbot's direction, with specially trained scribes, was the great literary workroom, rules and admonitions were hung on its walls, expressive of the care to be taken in copying, the work was portioned out, and no monk could exchange his allotted task for another.

There were those specially selected, to insert the rubricated letters and designs of the border page, while others prepared the vellum, or attended to the binding. In the larger monasteries, especially of the Cistercians, there were smaller "scriptoria" for the more learned of the community, distinguished also by their skill and attainments.

The transcription of Missal or Service books was often made, not only for the great houses, but for the smaller ones, unable to maintain so large a staff, and then both "scriptorium" and cloister became a ceaseless centre of labour. Books were often lent from one monastery to another to be copied, and besides the actual staff, hired writers were also employed, thus rapidly developing the learning of those early times. Special grants of money were made to support this constant occupation--tithes and other aids procured the vellum, the ink, and the colours for the artist; thus, by degrees, came into existence those grand volumes which, despite time and decay, have survived to our day. The abbey chronicle and the abbot's letters became one great monastic diary, each containing a record of events and customs which shadowed forth many a noted incident or rare tradition.

In the Christ Church letters, at Canterbury, we hear of Prior Chillenden's love of building, and mention of the grey old walls of that city, portions of which are now standing, is found in this correspondence.

Truly can it be said, that the abbey and its literature grew together, that the annals of the one were the foundation stones of the other. The "Chronicle," perhaps the most typical form of monastic work, gave expression to endless literary fragments, some, undoubted forgeries, as one scribe often copied the errors of a preceding writer. The lives of saints, and their legends, were lightly interwoven in this day-book of the religious house, and the famous miracles of Thomas a Becket, repeated in all their varying allurements, formed the staple theme for many a credulous monk.

On the other hand, the "Chronicle" recorded important events, especially the building of a noted minster, oratory, or shrine. Ingulphus treated of Croyland; William of Malmesbury, of Glastonbury; Gervase, the burning of Canterbury, and many like instances. In these volumes we often find allusions to the means used to raise money for building, and the curious customs arising out of this effort. When a cathedral wanted repair, the bishop selected from among his clergy a few preachers, and along with them a saint's shrine, in which relics were enclosed and carried by young clerks in procession. On reaching a town, these relics were taken to the church and left on one of the altars, and those who could afford, threw their offerings on the same.

Processions to some noted spot formed another source of revenue, and the picturesque though fanciful custom of strewing the churchyard cross with boughs on Palm Sunday, may have been another of the quaint usages to attract the devotee to make his offerings.

Fairs, too, were held, sometimes in the very cathedral precincts, and mystery and miracle plays also combined to increase the funds required for a grand fabric, or village church. A leading feature in the archivist's work were the bishop's registers, to be found in every diocese, and varying greatly in their interest and contents. Those of Canterbury and York form a unique collection of church history, while others are models of exactness or statesmanlike precision.

As we turn over their pages, we recall the names of William of Wykeham (Bishop of Winchester), Bishop Alcock (Ely), Chichele, the munificent founder of All Souls', Oxford, while among lesser dignitaries may be classed Abbot Islip, of Westminster, and John of Whethampstead, for St. Alban's, whose registers and minute books betoken their care and knowledge, as "Supervisors" of the noble buildings under their charge. Perhaps the register of St. Osmund, Bishop of Salisbury (1078-1107), may fairly be taken to represent the idea of what is usually found to illustrate the growth, maintenance, and customs connected with those stately fabrics and minsters of our land. As St. Osmund was one of the prelate-architects, so to speak, and having much to do with the building of that cathedral, there are, naturally, endless allusions to antiquarian lore, indeed, his register can well be likened to a storehouse of local customs, and ecclesiological learning.

On one page is an account of the maintenance of Savernake forest, over which the Dean and chapter of Sarum had certain rights. On another, we find a description of the stones and ornaments for the church, while elsewhere are the charters for the bestowal of land, towards the endowment of canonries and other preferments, and to these last were attached seals of deep historical value.

This register may be taken then as the keystone to the annals of Sarum diocese, and what the keen inquirer finds in this as a typical book, may equally be said of several other episcopal archives. In their silent, though not less expressive, language, they have handed down those incidents on which hang the story of many an effort to build a costly shrine, a sculptured porch, or greater still, the minsters and abbeys which have made England of the past so rich an inheritance for us of to-day.

The fullest scope for the mediaeval artist was found in the pictured chronicle, or the illuminated missal, that task on which painter and scribe devoted their best talents, and with this embellishment is interwoven many an old usage or fanciful legend.

The monastery garden supplied endless designs for the exquisite plant-forms and scrolls which mingled so gracefully with the written text or the printed page. In the gifted words of the late Lady Eastlake, who said, "Here on these solid and well-nigh indestructible parchment folios, where text and picture alternately take up the sacred tale--the text itself a picture, the picture a homily--the skill of the artist has exhausted itself in setting forth the great scheme of salvation."[21]

Flowers also supplied an un-ending theme for symbolism which always allied itself to sacred and legendary art, and tradition asserts that the monks reared an appropriate flower for each holy-day, and that certain flowers were dedicated to saints. The ivy a type of immortality, the oak of virtue and majesty, the lily, and the rose, all had their significance on the vellum book.

Mingled with the border designs were satirical allusions in the form of grotesques and other drolleries, evidently aimed at the jealousies of the secular and regular clergy, one against the other, or both against the mendicant friars. What was found on the illuminated page, was echoed in the architectural carvings of the time, and the fantastic wood work in some of our cathedrals and many churches, especially in the stalls of Christ Church, Hants, repeat the teachings of the caustic monk in his cloistered seclusion.

It was reserved for the architect-artist to perpetuate in stone the beauties of the floral world, and nothing speaks a stronger though mute language than the foliage sculptured on the arches, doorways, and nooks of our minsters, churches, and abbey ruins.

"Ivy, and vine, and many a sculptured rose,
The tenderest image of mortality,
Binding the slender columns, whose light shafts
Cluster like stems in corn-sheaves."

Not only was symbolism embodied in these carvings, but as an exercise and offering of devotion to the Unseen, the best efforts were lavished on it by the skilled master-workmen of the time.

Thus the scribe, the illuminator, the architect were all striving in a kind of companion rivalry, each illustrating by his efforts some phase of artistic labour, or reviving a long-forgotten custom.

However much we may dissociate legend with truth, we cannot always ignore it, mingled though it may be with monkish ignorance and superstition.

The tale of many a noble structure has been veiled under the guise of the chronicle or the monastic ledger book, and the foundation of Waltham Abbey is said to have originated from a 12th century MS., entitled, "De inventione Sancte Crucis." Around the grand church of Minister in Thanet, gathers a pretty story, in that Dompneva, wife of Penda, King of Mercia, asked Ethelbert to grant her land in Thanet, on which she might build a monastery. In answer to how much she required, "Only as much as my deer can run over at one course." The King gave her the wide tract of land run over by the deer, and she founded the cloister on the spot where now stands Minister church. Local names have sometimes been associated with the story of the cloister. The Bell-rock with its lighthouse was so called from the bell which the monks tolled, to warn the mariner of his danger.

The smallest item on the parchment page can have an extended meaning; the sign of the cross was found in many old deeds, which often contained an invocation to the Trinity, and the famous story of St. Helena, and the finding of the cross, has its incidents oft repeated in the MS., the printed book, the panel or fresco painting, as well as in the marvellous pieces of the sacred wood, so greatly venerated by the faithful! Of St. Dunstan, Archbishop of Canterbury, there is a drawing, said to be by his own hand, in the illumination of a manuscript in the Bodleian Library, and of dedication of churches to saints, the name is legion. St. Barnabas Day is specially linked with English life and manners, it was the longest day according to the old style, and the old rhyme,

"Barnaby bright, Barnaby light,
The longest day and the shortest night."

Every form of chronicled lore, be it register, fabric roll, charter, or brief, teems with some peculiar custom which is a moving history, an heirloom from the old world, helping to connect the past and the present.

Architectural items enter largely into the varied forms of church documents; the Indulgence often gave full particulars as to the repairs of a building, a fact most valuable for supplying the date at which any portion was built or renewed. Cathedral archives of whatever class, are sure to abound in allusions to the fabric or its annals, sometimes going so far as to sketch some portion in the marginal pages, of which an example is found in a drawing of old St. Paul's in the 14th century, occurring in a MS. called the "Flores historiarum." The statutes of our minsters are rich in ecclesiastical lore, the mediaeval fraternities or guilds are often mentioned in them, and in the statutes of St. Paul's a most curious custom is mentioned of waits parading the streets of London, to give notice of the feast of the Transfiguration, and carrying with them a picture or banners of that event.

The antiquarian enthusiast on these subjects cannot do better than consult the work on "English Guilds" published by the Early English Text Society, and that of the "Statutes of St. Paul's," by Dr. Sparrow Simpson, 1873.

Fabric rolls and inventories are an endless source of detailed information, in both of these, most minute descriptions are given; the painting and drawing of images, the materials, even to the pencils and brushes, being mentioned. Perhaps the most elaborate is that of the expense rolls for St. Stephen's chapel, in the old palace of Westminster, a bill of charges that helps to identify the kind of work done at that time, and the general artistic treatment in the reign of Edward III.

The following entries may be given as a typical illustration:--

William de Padryngton, mason, for making twenty
angels to stand in the tabernacles, by task work
at 6/8 per each image L6 13s. 4d.

For seven hundred leaves of gold, bought for the
painting of the tabernacles in the Chapel L1 8s. 0d.

The following item shows that there were artists who designed the work afterwards carried out by inferior craftsmen.

Hugh de St. Alban's and John de Cotton, painters,
working on the drawings of several images. L0 9s. 0d.

An examination of this expense roll, of which this is not a tithe of the entries, printed in Smith's history of Westminister, will well repay attention.

With those graceful chantries, which adorn most of our minsters, are closely connected the service books of the middle ages, for it was usual to insert in the blank spaces of the collects the names of the founders of the chantry chapels.

Indeed, the subtle way in which our old documents, of whatever class, interweave themselves with the annals of our mediaeval buildings, whether as regards the general plan, the design of some sculptured porch, the pictured images on walls, or the many-coloured votive chapel, each and all illustrating a quaint legend or significant custom, is too numerous to indicate.

"Nor was all this labour spent in vain; their homes for centuries were in the silence of the sanctuary; their authors have mingled with the dust of the convent cemetery; over them have passed the rise and fall of the kingdoms of this world; but through them history has been transmitted with a continuity and fulness not to be found in any other form of art, or, it may be said in any form of literature."[22]

"Mid all the light a happier age has brought,
We work not yet as our forefathers wrought."

Shorthand in Church.

BY WILLIAM E. A. AXON, F.R.S.L.

When Job Everardt published in the year 1658, his "Epitome of Stenographie," he had certainly no intention of minimising the value of his art, but, on the contrary, was quite ready to magnify the office of the shorthand writer. The engraved title-page is ornamented by eleven emblematical pictures, and stenography is declared to be "Swifter than the swift of foot" (Amos ii. 15); "Swifter than a post" (Job ix. 25); "Swifter than a weaver's shuttle" (Job vii. 20); "Swifter than waters" (Job xxiv. 18); "Swifter than clouds" (Isaiah xix. 1); "Swifter than ships" (Job ix. 26); "Swifter than horses" (Jer. iv. 13); "Swifter than dromedaries" (Jer. ii. 23); "Swifter than roes" (1 Chron. xii. 8); "Swifter than leopards" (Heb. i. 8); "Swifter than eagles" (2 Sam. i. 23). It may be remarked in passing that the worthy Everardt consistently spells than _then_ in the text to each of these emblems. We have left to the last the picture which holds the place of honour. Here we see a worthy divine, robed in a black gown, set off with white collars and cuffs, and with his head covered by a furred skull cap. He stands in a low pulpit, his hands rest on the comfortable cushion, which is unencumbered either by book or MS. Opposite to him, and occupying the whole of a comfortable form or very wide chair, is a stenographer. He wears his hat, as was often customary in church during the seventeenth century; he has impressive white hands; he has not taken off his cloak, but on a fold of it allows a book to rest, in which, with an impossible pen, he is taking down the sermon, and stares with fixed gaze as the divine asserts "My tongue is as the pen of a swift writer," and seems almost inclined to dispute the assertion that any tongue could keep pace with his nimble stylus.

It must be confessed that the early stenographers--to confine our attention to them--were not at all in the habit of under-valuing their art. Here is what this same Everardt, "dropping into poetry" like Silas Wegg, has to say in a triple acrostic:--

Secret, short, swift this Writer iS, the Sun's course seemes but slow to hiS
The Teacher's nimble tongue comes shorT this Writer waits his nexT reporT
Eagles arE swift, his pen doth fleE his quill an Eagle's seems to bE
Noe clouds can flee, Nor waters ruN swifter theN his quick strokes have doN
One postin g Swiftly TO and frO his Oft-turn'd quill doth even SO
Galley or ship with Sailes and FlagG the Weavers shuttle, Leopard, StagG
Roe, Dromedary, Horse oR Ha'R: oR the swift swiming Dolphin ra'R
And the quick Scribes, As ShemajA Baruch, EzrA, E L I S H A M A
Paint forth, as Patterns in a maP this ARTS true Portrature and shaP
Haste Haste to learn what it doth teacH Swiftness and Shortness botH to reacH
Yea both in StenographyLY much more in this EPITOMY

After this ingenious torturing of the Queen's English, it is not surprising to find,

"In steed [sic] of Tenne command{ts.} Lords Pray'r, Creed:
Heer's Three and Thirty Languages to Reade,"

that is to say, the sentence "But the just shall live by his faith," in that number of tongues, first in his stenographic characters, and then transliterated into longhand. His dedication is written in the style of a sermon, and in an introductory verse he does not fail to claim that by his art are

"... Sermons writ even from the lip,
And sudden thoughts before they slip."

His good opinion of his own stenography, and powers of versification, sustains him to the end of his book, and he bids us adieu in this wise:--

"Herewith Farewell; If you can tell
What yet more fair, short, swift maybee,
Let the world know it, candedly [sic] show it
Or if not, Follow this with mee."

William Hopkins "Flying Penman" (1695), has the following commendation signed by one whose surname has since become famous in divinity:--

"Virgil, who largely wrot about the Gnat
That saveing Man's life his own ruine gat,
Might have emploi'd his pen about this Fly
With greater pleasure and Utility,
A Fly this is, but of more noble kind
Than in the winged crue you ere did find:
A Flying Man; the Flying-Pen-man 'tis
Whose wing the fleeing game doth never miss.
The Eagle strikes down and eats up his prey
Destroying all that he doth bear away,
But what this Pen-man takes he doth preserve,
And makes it better to all uses serve,
When fleeting words would vanish with their sound
He doth them stay, and them deliver bound,
By Lines of Characters wherein they rest
As in a dwelling that doth please them best.
The Art of Spelling at first was thought
Strange, and they deem'd immortal who it taught,
Spelling by Characters excelleth all
That under any other Art doth fall.
Some Charactors creep, some go, these do Fly
Showing their authors great agility,
And this ability he doth impart
By certain rules of a defusive Art."
EDWARD BEECHER.

Hopkins gives a long list of theological words, and of abbreviations of such phrases as "the blood of the saints," "the breath of the Almighty," "the candle of the Lord," etc. In reporting the words of preachers, he advises the use of a book, with a margin ruled off, in which to "set down the numbers and names of all the heads contained in the sermon. All these heads," he says, "with parts of the Inlargements used upon them may be taken by such who hardly ever wrote before." This statement must be received _cum grano salis_.

The system best known as that of Jeremiah Rich, who appears to have copied it from his uncle, William Cartwright, was one that seems to have been favoured by the divines of the seventeenth century. It was modified by Dr. Doddridge, and taught in his academy for the training of Nonconformist ministers, and then came into use in most of the older dissenting colleges, so that twenty years ago there were many who had thus been trained and conned the dumpty little bibles and psalm books that were engraved in Rich's system. That system has had many names attached to it. Let us take that which bears the impress of "Botley's learned hand." One of his eulogists tells us

"Sermons this art transfers, its oft known
The countrey reaps what's in the City sowne;
The sacred pulpit is not its confine
The general good is this art's main designe."

Botley's "Maximum in Minimo," which appeared in 1659, is avowedly Jeremiah Rich's "Pen's dexterity compleated." The theological uses of the system are further asserted by ingenious devices for indicating such phrases as "to be joyned in love to those that are not of the people of God," "to embrace the cross of Christ," etc. This character = [symbol] signifies "to be miserable as the world is miserable," whilst [symbol] meant "a saint is a 1000 times better than the world." So in Noah Bridge's "Stenographie," issued in the same year, there are phraseograms for "in the name of the Lord," "wherefore said the psalmist," etc.

The "New Method of Short and Swift Writing," which was given away to purchasers of Dr. Chamberlen's "anodyne necklace for children's teeth," is declared to be "necessary for all Ministers of State, Members of Parliament, Lawyers, Divines, Students, Tradesmen, Shopkeepers, Travellers, and in fine, all sorts of persons from the highest to the lowest quality, degree, rank, station, and condition whatsoever, and write down presently whatever they hear or see done." The theologian here is somewhat lost in an indiscriminate crowd.

That shorthand was used for the purpose of obtaining copies both of plays and of sermons in the seventeenth century is sufficiently well-known. There is a curious tract which professes to be a shorthand report of a discourse, by no less a person than our "Cromwell, chief of men," and although it is but a satire, its curious titlepage is nevertheless evidence of the common belief,--founded doubtless on the common practice,--that stenography could secure verbatim reports of the exhortations of preachers, whether clerical or lay. The tract professes to be,--

"A most Learned, Conscientious and Devout Exercise or Sermon of
Self-Denyal, (Preached or) Held forth the last Lords-day of April, in
the year of Freedom the 1st, 1649. At Sir P. T.'s House in
Lincolns-Inn-Fields. By Lieutenant General Oliver Cromwell,
Immediately before his going for Ireland, as it was then faithfully
taken in Characters, By Aaron Gueredo. And now published for the
Benefit of the New Polonian Association, and late Famed Ignoramus
furies of this city. Humbly Dedicated to the Worthy
Protestant-Hop-Merchants, and the rest of the Ignoramus-Brethren.
London: Printed in the Year of Freedom 43."

The sermons of Tobias Crisp, which gave rise to a long controversy, were printed from "shortwriting," in 1642-43, and also those of Stephen Crisp, the Quaker, in 1694.

The quarrel between the preacher and the reporter was not long in breaking out. Here is the indignant complaint of Dr. Calamy in the preface of one of his discourses.--

"The iniquity of the times hath necessitated the printing of the
ensuing Sermon. There is a Fellow, (who he is I know not) who hath for
his own private advantage, published it very imperfectly and
corruptly. And herein hath not only sinned against the 8th Commandment
in taking away another man's goods without his leave, but also against
the 9th Commandment, in bearing false witness against his neighbour.
For he makes me to say not only such things which I never said, but
which are very absurd and irrational. As for example: That the Body is
the worse part of the Soul. That the party deceased had not only dona
sanaia, but selutifera. That I should tell a story of one good Pell, a
Minister, born without doubt in Utopia, for of such a man I never
either read or heard. To make some satisfaction to the living and the
dead, here you have the same sermon in a truer edition with some few
additions then omitted for want of time. If this unhappy necessity may
contribute anything to thy good, or to the perpetuating of the Memory
of the Reverend, Learned, and godly Minister (at whose Funeral it was
preached), I shall not much repent for what I have done, though I am
assured, that he that brought me into this necessity, hath cause to
repent of this, his irregular and unwarrantable practice. ("The
Saint's Transfiguration," a Sermon preached at the Funeral of Dr.
Samuel Bolton, by Edmund Calamy, B.D., October 19, 1654. London,
1655)."

The preacher had of course alluded to Conradus Pellicanus, the German theologian, whose name the stenographer had but partially caught, and set down as "Pell!" _Hinc illae lachrymae_--of angry indignation.

The stenographers of the last century followed closely in the footsteps of their predecessors. James Weston's "Stenography" of which various editions appeared between 1727 and 1740, has an engraving showing a cathedral, in which a bewigged divine is preaching to a crowd of fashionably dressed ladies and gentlemen, many of whom are busy with pen and notebook. Underneath the picture is the motto,--

"Be perfect in this useful art, and then
No word from pulpit can escape your pen."

This idea was conveyed by Aulay Macaulay, whose "Polygraphy" has for a frontispiece a pretty engraving, in which two gentlemen and a lady are seen taking down the words which, from the preacher's gestures, we may suppose to be both impressive and profitable.

In the nineteenth century, as in the seventeenth, the church is much frequented by stenographers, but more it is to be feared for practice in shorthand than for perfection in piety. The first ambition of the boy who is learning shorthand is to "report" a sermon by the preacher whose ministry he attends. Mr. Thomas Allen Reed has given an amusing account of his first exploit in this direction, when he was still struggling with the early difficulties of the system he soon after abandoned for phonography. He says, "I did not, however, relinquish my practice, and in a few weeks I resolved on making a grand attempt to take down the Sunday sermon. I rose early in the morning with the sense of a weighty responsibility resting upon me. I sharpened my pencil with the gravity of a senator, and folded several sheets of paper together, in the profound conviction that I was undertaking a serious, if not a formidable, duty. I did my best to conceal my emotions, but my heart was beating all the way to the church. As to the preliminary service, I understood as little of it as if it had been read in Cherokee. I stood when I ought to have knelt, and knelt when I should have sat or stood, and demeaned myself like a youth whose religious education had been sadly neglected. At length the clergyman entered the pulpit, and I took my sheets of paper from the Bible in which I had concealed them, and my pencil from my pocket. If I did not feel like Bonaparte's soldiers, that the eyes of posterity were upon me, I devoutly believed that every eye in the church was directed to my note book. The colour mounted my cheeks (as it very often did at that period of my life,) and my whole frame trembled. I had a strong impulse to abandon my project, but I summoned all my energy to the task, and awaited the commencement of the sermon. 'The 12th chapter of Isaiah and the 3rd verse,' said the minister in solemn tones. This presented no great difficulty. I am sorry to say that, stenographically speaking, I burked Isaiah, and contented myself with the long-hand abbreviation, Is., and as to the text itself, I thought the first three words would suffice. And now for the sermon. 'The remarkable words, my brethren, of this important prophecy.' Laboriously I followed the deliberate utterances of the speaker, but when I reached the prophecy I floundered about in a maze of dire confusion. I thought it began with ph, and I accordingly started as I had been instructed, with the stenographic equivalent, f, but, finding that this would not do, I crossed it out. Then I tried p, r, and getting a good deal confused, plunged madly into the alphabet, the result being a combination of characters altogether beyond description. But where was the preacher? Away in the distance, almost out of sight and hearing. I was fairly beaten, but not quite disheartened. When another sentence was begun I made a fresh start, this time I was pulled up by the word 'synonymous,' I knew there were some n's and m's in it, but not how many. I must have written three or four of each, and while I was jerking out these segments of circles (their forms were the same as in Phonography,) the clergyman was remorselessly pursuing the intricacies of a long sentence, which I was compelled wholly to abandon. I made several other efforts with the like result. At length I secured an entire sentence of about twenty words, and felt very proud of the achievement. Some half-dozen such sentences rewarded my labour during the sermon. How I racked my brain in the afternoon in poring over these fragments! My memory (not then a bad one) was utterly useless. I had not the slightest conception of the drift of the sermon, but I was determined to make some kind of a transcript, and it was made. I presented it to my mother as my first attempt, and I believe she kept it carefully locked up in a drawer among her treasures. It was fortunate for my reputation that it never afterwards saw the light." (Leaves from the Notebook of Thomas Allen Reed, vol. 1, p. 12; vol. 2, p. 24).

The professional reporting of sermons is now an important department of the stenographer's work. The late Mr. Spurgeon's sermons were thus reported by Mr. Reed. Dr. Cumming had his own reporter, as had Beecher, and as Talmage and others have. Dr. Joseph Parker's discourses were "specially reported" by his wife. It is to the phonographic skill of a lady that we owe the preservation of many of the lectures, sermons, and prayers of the late George Dawson. The sermons of the Rev. Thomas T. Lynch were also reported by Mr. Reed. Yet the preacher had a strong dislike to his discourses being reported and printed, "especially without his revision." There, no doubt, is the rub. Dr. Morley Punshon had a strong dislike to be reported, and some letters that passed between him and Mr. Reed are given in the _Phonetic Journal_, July 30th, 1881. His objections were that the reporter was sometimes inaccurate, and that the preacher alone had a right to decide whether he would or would not address the larger congregation to be reached by the press. And he urged very strongly that the arguments used by Macaulay as to the unauthorised publication of his speeches were equally applicable to the case of sermons. It is still a rather doubtful point whether sermons are covered by the law of copyright, and many single sermons and even volumes have been published without the sanction, and sometimes against the wishes, of the preachers. But as it has been held by the law courts that a professor's lectures cannot be legally published without his consent, it is possible that some day a preacher may arise who will test the question and ask the judges to say if the pulpit is as much protected as the teacher's desk. The late Bishop Fraser is said to have jocularly declared that there was no heresy that had not been attributed to him by the slips of note-takers and condensers.

Shorthand has been extensively used for the MS. of preachers, as by Dr. Chalmers, Job Orton, and a host of other preachers,--so many, indeed, that to deal with stenography in the pulpit would need a larger space than is here available.

Perhaps the most original use of shorthand in church was that due to the conscientiousness and business instincts of the late Rt. Hon. W. H. Smith. Ecclesiastical patronage he felt to be a great responsibility. When there was a minister to be appointed he sought the best information as to those who were recommended to him as suitable. Sometimes he corresponded with friends likely to know; "at other times he used to send his confidential shorthand writer to attend the services of clergymen who might be suitable for the vacancy, and bring him verbatim reports of the sermons, with confidential memoranda of their appearance, views, abilities, and other details. It was only after carefully examining this information that he would proceed to make the appointment."

Those clergymen who owed their promotion to the testimonials thus obtained might say with Job Orton's pious fervour, "Blessed be God for shorthand."

Reminiscences of our Village Church.

BY THE REV. CANON BENHAM, B.D., F.S.A.

I propose in the following notes to write my recollections of a village church. They extend over nearly sixty years, and will, no doubt, describe a growth and change which might have been observed in a thousand English churches.

But first, let me say a few words of this church before my recollection of it; not long before, for I am indebted to my mother's reminiscences for the few trifles with which I open. It was a heavy looking edifice, not attractive to the eye as compared with the "storied windows, richly dight," which mark the churches of the beautiful Gothic revival of our own times. This was a plain building, flint, with queer old stone facings, a heavy tower, "churchwarden" windows with diamond panes, with not an atom of beautiful tracery from one end to the other.

And yet that church, if you had been taught how to look for it, contained features of the deepest interest to an antiquary. Within, were heavy Norman pillars between nave and aisles, and a round-headed flattened chancel arch, unmistakably Saxon. For that church was built by S. Wilfred of York in the 8th century, and built so substantially, that there it was in the 19th century, sturdy and strong, though successive generations had bepewed it and begalleried it, and put in square ugly windows, and a three-decker, in fact, had used their utmost endeavours to disfigure it. They could not destroy the simple Norman capitals, but they had whitewashed them, and had written up, with the best intentions, texts on the walls, in which my youthful eyes discovered two or three blunders in spelling. It is no wonder that the old Rector, who liked to see everything graceful and artistic, but who had never learned the principles of Architecture scientifically, failed to appreciate S. Wilfred's ancient work, and yearned to see something more graceful in its place. But of that presently. Let me go back for eighty years. The incumbent in those days was an old foxhunter, very fat and of enormous appetite. One day he came in from a long run across country. "Wilthon," said he (he used to lisp) "What ith there for my dinner?" "A goose, sir," said Wilson. "Bring him up, Wilthon, I'll goothe him." And he finished the goose and picked every bone clean. A well-known politician, who died only recently, was born in the village, and the old rector was called on to baptize him. "Name thith child," said he, and the answer was duly given, "James Edwin Thorold." The rector stared, for such exuberance of nomenclature was very uncommon in those days. "What?" he said in amazement. The name was repeated. "Bleth my thoul, what a lot of nameth," said he, "thay it onthe more." The name was said a third time, and the baby was duly christened. A lady who witnessed this, and who still lives, told me of this. She was twelve years old. My grandfather, in those days, was leader of the choir. They sat in a gallery, and had a fiddler and a trombone to accompany them. The trial of Queen Caroline, in 1820, raised the passions of the whole country to fever heat, and the rustics, for the most part, took the queen's side. When the news came down, that Government had abandoned the "bill of pains and penalties" for depriving her of the title of queen, there were processions through the street, and every window that did not display a candle, by way of illumination, got a stone through it. On the following Sunday my grandfather gave out the Psalm, which of course was Tate and Brady's, "35th Psalm, 11th and three following verses, _False witnesses with forged complaints_." It was sung with tremendous energy, and the old rector was furious, not unreasonably, and sent the whole choir to Coventry for some time. He used to put on his surplice in the chancel, before the people, and exchange it in the reading desk for the black gown, and used to preach one sermon on Sundays. He died about 1826, and was succeeded by one who was a brilliant scholar, a canon of a northern Cathedral, and a man who according to his lights was zealous for the decencies of worship. Thus he built a vestry, put the clerk into a black gown, and started a verger with a long coat and red collar, knee breeches, and a long staff of office, who always preceded him to the reading desk. I am now come within the sphere of my own recollections. This old rector lived until 1844, and my early ideas of the proprieties of the church service were all drawn from him. For he had a reason for everything, and expressed it pleasantly, and he was very kind to me personally. Is it any wonder that for many a year I tried all questions of ritual--I am not sure that I have ceased even now--with "What would Doctor B. have thought about this?" He never preached one sermon in the church during his whole incumbency. I understood that it was the danger of a sudden failure of voice, to which he was subject, that prevented him. Anyhow that was the fact. But he established afternoon sermons, and his curate always preached them. He himself used regularly to say the Prayers, and never since his day have I ever heard anybody read the lessons so well as he did. I never hear the first chapter of the Hebrews without recalling the magnificent roll of his voice, as he brought out of it the points of the opening argument. He was keen upon chanting, and vocal music, and we always sang the Canticles, and the metrical Psalms--as I think very well--and a few Sanctuses. The only case of chanting the Prayer Book Psalms was certainly curious. He had heard in Westminster Abbey, the 137th Psalm, "By the waters of Babylon," sung to a chant which much delighted him, and on the 28th day of the month, when that Psalm occurs, we chanted it to the music referred to. All the other Psalms were read.

We used to be told at school that on Sundays we got a taste of Heaven, for we went to church and sang God's praises. I do not quarrel with the teaching even now, I think there is something in it. But I used to think, in those tender pinafore years, that in Heaven there would be one improvement, namely, that we should not stand on cold damp stones and feel half perished. There were forms running up the centre of the church, the whole length of it, on the cold bricks, no arrangement at all for kneeling, and on these forms we sat during lessons, prayers, sermon; and many a cold in the head did I catch. The best singers among the boys, of whom I was not one, went into the gallery. The old Rector established a school in the village, and we learned the Tonic Sol-Fah, and the singing was said to be the best for miles round. I think it was in 1842, two years before his death, that the fiddles and clarionettes were disestablished, and the music was entirely vocal.

There was one feature of his incumbency which I must not forget, I mean his church catechising. It had always been a favourite doctrine of his, that catechising in church should be a feature of church work, and every Sunday afternoon in Lent, the boys were marshalled round the reading desk and catechised. Perhaps rather unfortunately, he had a keen sense of fun, and occasionally a bit of humour in his questions, or his comments, set the congregation in a titter. But there was no question that those who listened picked up a great amount of Biblical and ecclesiastical knowledge.

One mistake as I know now, the dear old rector made. He did not know of the archaeological interest of the church, disfigured as it had been by country carpenters and painters and white-washers, and he built a new one, designed by Sir G. Gilbert Scott, then a very young man. And so S. Wilfred's Church was pulled down, and a modern building, handsome enough, has taken its place. But before it was finished the old rector died. So now my recollections pass on to another building and another idea of service.

The new church was certainly more comfortable for the schoolboys, and the singing still continued good. But the new rector made some alterations in matters on which his predecessors had been strong. He was a very pronounced Puritan, and forbade the school children to turn eastward for the Creeds. He forbade such simple anthems as "Lord of all power and might," and Cecil's "I will arise." But he had his very good points. He was young and active, and visited his people assiduously, established a monthly Communion, and worked up a regular branch of the Church Missionary Society, which nobody in the village had ever heard of before. I grew up to manhood during his incumbency, and though I regarded his Puritan practices, and listened to his Calvinistic sermons and tirades against Popery with extreme dislike, I see now that he was a man who was most faithful to his convictions, and no man could be more earnest for the spiritual welfare of his people. He was no scholar, I doubt whether he could have read a page of the Greek Testament in his later days. But he was the kind friend of the sick and the aged, and looked after the young people of his flock, and when they went forth into the world gave them loving and sensible counsels. His wife was as sweet and saintly a character as ever I knew, and their large family have all proved the wisdom of their training. One son has earned himself a name as respected as it is widely known.

His successor was a man of like views, better read, and a kindly-hearted man. But he was less in his parish. Though he kept no curate, he was constantly absent as a "missionary deputation," and his congregation, who had never been instructed in church principles, fell away. He died, and his successor, who was only there for a year or two, was, I am told, a failure, greatly owing to weak health; and so we come down to present times. An organ has been given to the church, thanks to a generous layman; the choir march in procession to their places in the chancel, they do a respectable choral service, and of course turn eastward for their Creed. The parson looks thoroughly well after them, and loves them. There are regular week-day services, and a fair attendance on holy days, and the Sunday congregation is steadily increasing. It had gone down terribly.

Such is an impartial review of the church life in an out-of-the-way country village. My own special old Rector (for I owe more to him than I could ever tell), the builder of the church, was one of the original movers in the celebrated movement of 1833, was in fact one of the persons present at the meeting at Hadleigh Rectory, under the presidency of Hugh James Rose, which led to the starting of the _Tracts for the Times_.

His name appears both in Palmer's Narrative, and in Newman's Correspondence. He was a great friend of John Keble. But as the Tract Movement declined visibly towards Rome he regarded it with increasing dislike, and in his last years expressed that dislike with emphasis. I have sometimes wondered what position he would take up if he lived in our own day, and am inclined to think that the present Archbishop of Canterbury would be regarded by him as best expressing his own views. Peace to them every one, everlasting Light and Rest.

Ye Ende

Index

Abbatial staff, 196

Abbots Bromley, horns at, 13

Advent ringing, 46

Agnus Bell, 43

Ale, baptized in, 80

Ales, Church, 19, 151-152

Altars in churches, 161-166