Chapter VI: Part 6

"That is very much owing to your allowing no men to be there who are not communicants."

"That's a good rule, no doubt, and accounts, perhaps, more than any thing for their reverent behaviour. You well know, Mr. Mendles, there was little reverence enough once."

"The great difficulty," said Mr. Mendles, "is to persuade the choir that they should sing to God, _with_ the congregation, not _to_ the congregation. I strive both to learn myself, and to teach them, that our singing should be _worship_, not the mere exhibition of _talent_, and that we ought to rejoice when the congregation _join in_, not when they only _listen to_ our hymns and chants. I believe we have now learnt the lesson, and are the happier for it."

"And we all feel the benefit of that lesson too," said the Vicar, "for whereas formerly nothing but flashy tunes which enabled them to show off their own talent would please the choir, we have now, thank God, a solemn and devotional character in the music of our liturgical services, and a joyful gladness in the music of our hymns--equally far removed from levity and from mournfulness--which, with our praises and our prayers, seem to float up our very souls to heaven."

"I think we must attribute the success of our musical services in some measure to the new position of the organ, must we not, Mr. Mendles?" said the Squire.

"Most certainly. There can be no doubt that the most convenient position for the organ-chamber is either on the north or south side of the chancel; or, if the organ is divided, on both sides. It is a misfortune that, as organs were but little known when most of our old churches were erected[165], we find no fitting place provided for them in the original structure. There is, however, no excuse for our modern architects who are guilty of such an omission; and it is a matter of surprise to me that they do not make the organ-chamber a feature of more prominence and greater beauty, both externally and internally, than they are accustomed to do."

"True," said the Squire; "specially as in our days the organ is regarded as all but a necessity in every church. Certainly, there is no musical instrument so suitable for congregational worship, for whilst it represents all kinds of music, it exactly realizes the description given in the account of the dedication of the temple which Mr. Ambrose read this morning, and brings together the cymbals and the psalteries and the harps, and the trumpeters and the singers '_as one_.'

"It is a curious fact--is it not, sir?--that whereas the presence of organs in our churches used to be the source of great offence to Dissenters in this country, and has recently been the subject of much dispute among Presbyterian Dissenters, yet you can now hardly find a Dissenting meeting-house of any size but can boast of its organ, and often a very good one too. Let us hope, Mr. Vicar, that ere long they, may become reconciled also to other things in our Church which now they may regard with the same horror with which they once looked upon the church organ."

_CHAPTER XXVI_

THE VESTRY

"Let all things be done decently and in order."

1 Cor. xiv. 40.

"Avoid profaneness! Come not here.
Nothing but holy, pure, and clear,
Or that which groaneth to be so,
May at his peril farther go."

GEORGE HERBERT.

Illustration: Harpsden Church

THE VESTRY

To the close friendship which existed between the Squire and the Vicar, constantly cemented by such meetings as we have just described, was owing, in a considerable degree, the general harmony and goodwill which made St. Catherine's one of the most peaceful villages in England. When, many years ago, Mr. Ambrose first became Vicar there, he felt it his duty to make many changes in a parish which had been long neglected, and in a church which was almost a ruin. His labours were then regarded with much suspicion and disfavour; but he had now been long enough resident in the parish to live down all that hostile feeling. Nevertheless, it was not all peace at St. Catherine's. From time to time there would be an importation of cross-grained malcontents, who usually succeeded in stirring up some parochial strife.

Such had for some time past been the laudable occupation of William Strike and his too faithful companion, whom, by kind permission of Mr. Gallio, the registrar, he was allowed to call his wife. He had never promised to love her, and she had never promised to obey him, and on these little points each scrupulously maintained a right to act in perfect independence of the other: nevertheless, they heartily united in a common effort to instil into the minds of their neighbours a feeling of hostility to wards the church; and some discord in the parish was the natural consequence. An opportunity offered on the morning of Easter Monday for Strike to find a full vent for all his spleen.

It is a sad, sad thought, that at this season of the Christian year, when all should be peace, the bitterness of party strife should break up the harmony of so many parishes. But so it is; and so it was at St. Catherine's; and this one man was at the bottom of all the mischief.

"I am sorry to see you are going to the vestry this morning, William," said Mr. Dole, as they met in the village street.

"I've as much right there as you have, I suppose," he replied; "you're going to support the Vicar, and I'm going to oppose him thick and thin."

"Peace is better than war, William."

"Well, _you_ used to be on our side once, and I should like to know what's made you turn round?"

"It would take too long to answer that question fully, William. It will be enough if I tell you that where I thought I knew most, I found myself all wrong; and the more I thought and inquired, the more convinced I was that there could be only one true Church committed by Christ to His Apostles and their successors, and that to separate from that, and cause division and schism, must be a sin. After long and prayerful consideration, and many conversations with Mr. Ambrose on the subject, I was convinced that the sect to which I belonged--and you do still--was not the one true Church; and so I left it."

"Well, I don't mean to leave it; and I don't mean that the parson shall have it all his own way in this parish."

Mr. Dole had in vain tried to bring his companion to a better mind when they reached the vestry[166]. It was a small chamber on the opposite side of the chancel to the organ[167], and there was a sombreness about it that harmonized with the solemn use for which it was intended. On the eastern side were two small windows filled with stained glass, and over them, in large letters, was the sentence, "Let thy priests be clothed with righteousness, and let thy saints sing with joyfulness." Between these two windows stood an oaken table, on which was a small desk or lectern; and on this, written in beautifully illuminated characters, were the prayers used by Mr. Ambrose and the choir before and after the Church services. Before the table was a small embroidered kneeling cushion for the priest at these times. The parish chest[168], and two ancient chairs, all of oak and richly carved, completed the furniture of the vestry; whilst on its walls were hung the surplices of the choir and the vestments of the priest[169].

The meeting was called together for the double purpose of electing churchwardens and making a church-rate, and it was soon evident to the Vicar that Strike and his friends had come determined on a stormy meeting. But few angry words, however, had been spoken, when Mr. Ambrose rose and said, "My friends, I had hoped that this meeting would have been conducted in that spirit of Christian charity and peacefulness which has been our custom; but as I find this is not to be the case, I will not allow any part of God's House to be desecrated by the exhibition of party animosity and angry strife[170]. This vestry is known to those of you who are associated with me in conducting our religious services, as the place of holy meditation and solemn prayer; nor are its associations less sacred to those among you who have come here, with unquiet consciences or troubled minds, to seek my counsel and advice. All around us here, my friends, reminds us of the service of a God of love; so if the Demon of Discord must come into our little parish, let this place, at least, not be the scene of his unhallowed presence."

It was then proposed to adjourn the meeting to the house of Mr. Walton; and he, having both a good heart under his waistcoat, and a large room in his house, readily agreed to the proposal. He was, moreover, one of the churchwardens, and, though the village blacksmith, was a man in good circumstances, and exercised considerable influence for good in the parish.

Nothing can be less profitable than to read the "foolish talking" which commonly characterizes a discordant vestry meeting; we will, therefore, pass that over. The churchwardens were re-elected, and the church-rate was carried. The Vicar then endeavoured to pour oil upon the troubled waters by delivering a kind and friendly address, which he ended in these words: "Mr. Strike tells you that he will always oppose the Church so long as it is in any way supported by the State. But let me remind him that the Church did not receive from the State the possessions with which she is endowed for the maintenance of true religion in this land. Those were, for the most part, given to our Church by pious men and women, many hundreds of years ago; and the State, in securing these to us, is only acting with common honesty, and doing no more for the Church than it does for every other society--indeed, for every person--in the country. But Mr. Strike tells you, too, he will not give a penny for keeping up the fabric of the Church, because he is a Dissenter. Now, my friends, to take the _very lowest_ view of the Church, and regarding her temples only as places in which a high standard of _morality_ is set up, it is surely for the advantage of the _State_, and for the _community_, that they should be maintained; and, therefore, _all_ should help to maintain them. 'Yes,' you say, 'but we teach morality, too, in our little Salem Chapel at Droneworth: why should not our meeting-house be supported as much as your Church?' My answer is, that your Salem Chapel may any day share the fate of the Little Bethel Meeting-House that used to be in our parish. Besides, on your own principles, you cannot accept State aid to keep it up. Of course I have myself higher reasons for considering it the duty of the State to secure the proper reparation of the fabric of our churches; but I have only taken the lowest ground; I think, however, that even that is firm enough to bear the weight of the whole argument. But now, my friends, let us part in peace, and let all angry feeling die away."

"The church-rates will soon be done away with altogether, depend upon it, sir," shouted Mr. Strike, in a tone which was an evident protestation against that spirit of peace which Mr. Ambrose was so anxious should pervade his parish.

"It may be so," said the Vicar; "and if so, I believe and pray that God will overrule even that for the benefit of His Church."

And so the St. Catherine's vestry ended.

"I am heartily glad," said Mr. Acres to the Vicar, "that we did not have all that row in the church to-day. Sorry as I am to make Mr. Walton's house the scene of such discord, yet I am sure he would far rather have it here than in the church vestry."

"Any where's better than the church," said Mr. Walton, "for such quarrels as these."

"By the bye," said Mr. Acres, as they both rose to depart, "do you remember the time when the churchwardens used to retire to the vestry before the conclusion of the service to count up the alms? We could, you know, hear the jingling of the money during all the later prayers of the service, and a most indecent interruption it was. How far more seemly is your custom of reverently presenting the alms at the altar, where it remains till the close of the service. And I am so grateful to you for abandoning that objectionable and most ridiculous custom of holding the _plates_ at the church door. The custom seemed so completely to do away with the idea of almsgiving as an _act of worship_. How many a wickedly grotesque scene has occurred at the door of our own church, plainly showing that many who contributed their alms simply gave them to Mr. Walton or Mr. Acres, and least of all thought of giving them _to God_. Nay, so anxious was dear old Lady Angelina Hilltower and her daughter to confer upon _us_ equal honour, and to avoid any just cause of jealousy between us, that they used to create quite a pantomime at the door whenever there was a collection, by crossing over to put half-a-crown in each plate, making at the same time a profound obeisance to each of us."

"Yes," said Mr. Acres, "I certainly am glad all that's done away with; but I'm more glad that at last we have been able to get rid altogether of the plates for collecting the offertory, and to substitute _Bags_. There has been some opposition, as you are aware; some pleaded long custom as a reason for retaining the plates, and some, who were rather proud of their stereotyped shilling, did not wish their benevolence to be hidden. In fact all those who _did their alms before men, to be seen of them_, were of course hostile to the change."

"I know," said the Squire, "that some were at first offended, but none knew why. I never heard the faintest approach to a reasonable objection to this plainly scriptural manner of _secret_ almsgiving; nor did I ever hear an argument of any weight in favour of the plate system, except that it sometimes forces money from unwilling contributors, and that argument is too contemptible to notice.

_CHAPTER XXVII_

THE PILLARS

"The church of the living God, the pillar and ground of the truth."

1 Tim. iii. 15.

"See, the Church her head once more hath lifted;
Seemly order dwells within her gate;
God-sent art adorns her holy precincts,
And no more she lieth desolate.

"What is it that she is saying, brothers?
All the subtle skill of graver's hand,
All the heavenward shafts, and bended arches,
Utter speech to those that understand.

"You can hear them telling some things loudly,
Telling of ungrudging love and care;
But I catch an inner voice that pleadeth
Soft and sweet, like music in the air.

"And it saith,--from every wreathed column,
Every leafy carving, breathing low,--
'Take our message, O ye _living_ temples,
Fold it in your breasts, before ye go.

"'Purge the shrine of your own souls within you
From all stain of pride and sloth and sin,
Grace it with all saintly decoration:
Then your God shall come and dwell within.'"

W. W. H.

Illustration: Church of St. John, Highbridge

THE PILLARS

It was the day before the Festival of the Ascension, and Ascension Day being not only one of the greatest festivals of the Christian year, but being, moreover, the day on which the people of St. Catherine's were used to commemorate with great rejoicing the restoration of their now beautiful temple, old Matthew and the Vicar were busily engaged assisting those of the parishioners, old and young, who had the time to spare and were sufficiently skilful, in decorating the church with flowers and evergreens.

"I remember, sir, when I was a boy, we used to call those twelve pillars that the ladies are putting the flowers on, the _twelve Apostles_," said old Matthew.

"It's a common number in large churches," replied the Vicar, "and the name for them which you remember is not an unusual one. I remember one church where there are eleven pillars, and the old sexton told me they stood for eleven of the Apostles, and that there would have been twelve, but Judas was omitted. The pillars of the church, as the chief supports of the fabric, are said to represent the Apostles, Prophets, and Martyrs[171]. As I have often told you, there is hardly a part of the church without its special meaning: 'even the smallest details should have a meaning, or serve a purpose[172],' and whatever has a meaning serves a purpose, and whatever serves a purpose, has a meaning, and a very important one too. The four main walls of the building have a similar meaning to the pillars. They are supposed to represent the four Evangelists[173]. The stones of which they are composed represent Christians--the living stones of the spiritual building[174]; the cement which joins them together is charity, 'the bond of perfectness[175]' which binds together the members of the Christian Church. The door[176] represents the means of entrance to the invisible kingdom; the windows remind us of that sacred presence which keeps out the storm of angry and sinful life, and admits the light of Christ and His Word. You see, Matthew, the old church builders were themselves _Churchmen_; sometimes even bishops were famous architects, like Gundulph, Bishop of Rochester, and William of Wykeham, Bishop of Winchester; and then they made themselves felt in all their works--I mean, they gave a religious character and meaning to all parts of the structure they reared. And so there were always a hundred preachers in the Church, though not a tongue uttered a single word."

"I understand what you mean, sir--the stones were the preachers."

"Just so, Matthew; and then the churches were always open, and people used to go and meditate and pray there at all hours; for in church they found themselves surrounded by so much that reminded them of Heaven and God's presence, and sacred things, and so little to remind them of the world and of sin, that they could think and pray there better than any where else. But in after times the old churches became neglected and dilapidated, and the new churches were so mean and cold and bare, that there was every thing to chill and nothing to warm devotion, and so people gave up the good old custom of going to hear the stones preach, and to say their daily prayers to God in His sanctuary. But the time is coming back again, I am thankful to say, and church builders are again good Churchmen, and regard the building of churches as a sacred art and a religious work; and the people are less contented to be ignorant about these things; and the churches are no longer closed from Sunday night to the next Sunday morning, as they used to be."

"I haven't read my Bible right, Mr. Ambrose, if it isn't a very wicked thing to allow God's House to go to decay. In our old church people seemed to have forgotten all about the '_beauty_ of holiness,' both in their manner of worship and in the house where they worshipped. They had their own houses 'ceiled with cedar and painted with vermilion,' and this house was 'laid waste[177].' I have been told how grand Queen Victoria's Palace is, and how beautiful the Parliament House is, and I have often thought that surely, sir, the house of the great King of kings, and the great Ruler of all our rulers should be grand and beautiful too. But our churchwardens not only didn't try to make the old church beautiful, sir, but hid as much as possible of whatever beauty they found."

"Too true, my friend," said the Vicar: "these old pillars had become so coated over with whitewash that their rich carved work could hardly be seen at all. Whitewash was the cheapest thing they could use to hide the green damp and the plaster patches, and for that reason I suppose they used it."

The work of decoration went on rapidly; the many busy hands soon effected a wonderful change in the appearance of the church, which gave it a very festive character. The choicest flowers were placed at the back of the altar, others were used in various ecclesiastical designs, or woven into wreaths of evergreens. The texts of Holy Scripture painted above the arches from pillar to pillar were neatly framed in borders of evergreens, and wreaths of the same were already twined around many of the columns[178].

The capitals of all the pillars were carved in imitation of the many wild flowers and ferns which grew in the neighbourhood[179]. Although these had been carved not less than five hundred years ago, the same wild flowers were still to be found in the parish; and every year on Ascension Day it was the custom at St. Catherine's to decorate each of these pillars with the same natural flowers that had been imitated in stone. It was a pretty custom, for as the natural leaves and flowers faded or were removed, their more enduring likenesses were disclosed, and remained throughout the year the faithful representatives of their bright and gay originals.

"Well, my dear," said the Vicar, addressing Ellen Walton, his churchwarden's little daughter, "you have really shown great taste in arranging those ferns; they look beautiful indeed."

"I deserve but little credit, sir, for any taste of my own," she replied, "for I have but copied the stone carving as near as I could."

"Yes, but you _do_ deserve great credit, as every body does who copies exactly that which is worth copying. The workman who so cleverly imitated in stone these beautiful works of God, in order to adorn God's House throughout the year with memorials of His goodness in making our summer fields so lovely, deserved much praise; and now, though yours is a lighter task, that you have given life, as it were, to his work, by your nice arrangement of leaf to leaf, and flower to flower, I must give you some praise too. But I see you are anxious to ask me a question."

"Yes, sir. I was talking to Sally Strike this morning about the decorations, and she says they are all nonsense and unmeaning; she says, too, it's very wicked to put flowers about the church, for it's nothing but a heathen and idolatrous custom. Of course, I don't much notice what she says about it, but I don't very well know what to answer her, and I was going to ask you, sir, to be kind enough to tell me."

"Sally Strike doesn't often say any thing very wise, my dear, and this is no exception to the rule. You had better answer her out of her own mouth. Ask her, when she gathered all the flowers her own garden could produce to decorate the little 'Rehoboth'--as they call that meeting-house on Wanderer's Heath--when they held their last 'love feast,' and had tea and cake in their chapel, did she put the flowers there to make the place look gloomy, or to make it look festive and gay? Or, why did she do the same thing a little while ago, when they gave a children's treat in their meeting-house? Was it because it was a time of sadness or of rejoicing? No doubt, she will tell you it was the latter. Well, we decorate our churches for a similar reason. We regard all the Christian festivals as seasons for great gladness and rejoicing, and whilst at other times we are obliged, for the most part, to content ourselves with such ornamentation of God's House as our own poor imitations of the forms and colours of Nature can supply, on these high days we press into the service of the temple the lovely originals of all those forms and colours, fresh and pure as when they first left the hand of their Divine Maker.

"'Tis true that the heathen used flowers in decorating their temples and altars, and also their victims prepared for sacrifice[180]. But they used them just as Sally Strike uses them at her meeting-house, for the _sole_ purpose of _decoration_. Now, though we use flowers to give a festive appearance to our churches, our use of them has, too, always a meaning beyond that: how they remind us of the _love of God_ in arraying this earth with so much beauty for our enjoyment; how they remind us of the pure and lovely delights of the Paradise that is lost; and of our future resurrection[181] to a Paradise of yet greater beauty. And it is from our Bibles that we learn to give, too, an _emblematic_ meaning to particular flowers, so that, whether carved by man, or moulded by the hand of Nature, each one teaches its own useful lesson. There we find the lily mentioned as the emblem of God's providence; the rose as the type of youthful beauty; the cedar, of manly strength. Nay, my dear Ellen, we may even find in Holy Scripture itself our authority for decorating our churches with these pure and unsinning works of God. You remember, no doubt, the verse to which I allude: 'The glory of Lebanon shall come unto thee: the fir-tree, the pine-tree, and the box together, to beautify the place of My sanctuary[182]'."

"Thank you, sir, I quite understand your explanation. But Sally Strike said she didn't object to the way the church used to be decorated thirty years ago, when plain twigs of evergreen were put at the corners of the pews, and some large branches fixed here and there on the walls; but she does not like the triangles and circles and crosses, and the other designs we now use."

"And yet nothing could be more silly than the dislike, though I fear it is one in which many--for mere want of thought--share. Surely, the twigs themselves must be at least as harmless when bound together as when used singly; and certainly it is better that they should be formed into beautiful and religiously _suggestive_ designs, than scattered unmeaningly about the church. The cross, often repeated, reminds us, you know, of the one grand pervading truth of our religion; the circle, of eternity; the triangle, of the Holy Trinity. We almost even forget the beauty of the design itself in the beauty of its symbol."

_CHAPTER XXVIII_

THE ROOF

"Thou shalt overlay it with pure gold, the roof thereof."

Exod. xxx. 3.

"Give all thou canst; high heaven rejects the lore
Of nicely calculated less or more:
So deem'd the man who fashion'd for the sense
These lofty pillars,--spread that branching roof,
Self-poised, and scoped into ten thousand cells,
Where light and shade repose, where music dwells
Ling'ring and wand'ring on, as loth to die,
Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof
That they were born for immortality."

WORDSWORTH.

Illustration: Keynsham Church

THE ROOF

"I'm glad to see you both among the helpers to-day," said the Vicar, as he shook hands with William Hardy and Richard Atkinson, "though I know this must cost you at least the value of a day's work."

The village carpenter and mason were always accustomed on these occasions to give their services gratuitously.

"Very glad indeed to come and do the best we can, sir," replied William Hardy, "though we couldn't quite agree about it at home, my wife and me, till we'd talked it over a bit."

Now Hardy's wife, though not generally unamiable, was like many other wives in this respect; namely, she had acquired a habit of always questioning the wisdom or sincerity of her husband's actions, which she could now no more shake off than she could her own identity.

"I'm sorry to hear that," said the Vicar; "but how was it?"

"Well, you see, sir, my wife says to me, 'William, you might turn your time to better account than going up to the church with Richard Atkinson to-day. You'd be able to earn five shillings, and that would just pay for the new ribbon for my bonnet, which indeed I do want very much.' 'I really believe you do, my dear,' says I, 'and so I must just alter my plans a little. I thought I wanted a new Sunday hat very much indeed, and I was just going to buy one at Master Dole's the other day, when thinks I to myself--no, I mustn't buy it, because I shall lose a day's earnings at church next week, so I'll give the new hat to the church, and have one for myself six months hence. But that's no reason why you should lose your ribbons, so I'll over-work for a few days, and earn the ribbons that way.' You see, Mr. Ambrose, I was thinking of that text, 'God forbid that I should offer to the Lord my God of that which doth cost me nothing.' Well, sir, them words softened her a good deal; but then she says to me, 'William, what's the _use_ of all them ornaments at the church? I really do call it waste of time and money.' 'My dear,' says I, 'there's something better than _use_, I mean as you and I talk of use, there is such a thing as doing things out of love and reverence for God, and for nothing else, and that's what I should like to do if I can. There wasn't no more _use_ in the precious ointment which the good woman poured on our Saviour's head, than in these ornaments we put up in His church. And you know who it was that called that a _waste_, and you know who it was too that praised her for what she did[183].' 'I think you're right,' says she; and so I came away."

"And so you were, my friend. But it's hard to persuade people that there is such a thing as _a worship of adoration_, prompted simply by a sense of love, gratitude, veneration, entirely apart from all idea of benefit, advantage, or use to ourselves in _any way_. As you rightly say, however, _there is_.--But I see the children have finished the frames for the clerestory[184] windows, so you had better put them up."

"You mean the windows just under the roof, sir?"

"Yes; it is not safe for them to climb so high."

"I suppose you won't attempt to carry your decorations higher than that, Mr. Vicar?" said the Squire, as he approached to see how the work was going on.

"No, that must satisfy us. Indeed, this roof is so rich in colour and carving that we could hardly make it look more festive than it does."

"It is, indeed, a grand old roof; but I rather prefer the high-pitched roof of the chancel to this flatter one of the nave, though certainly nothing can be more beautiful than its carving. The figures of angels on the corbels[185] supporting the principal timbers are exceedingly well done. What do you imagine to be the dates of these two roofs?"

"I should say that that in the chancel was built about A.D. 1350, and this in the nave about A.D. 1500. These flatter roofs of our perpendicular period do not any of them date much farther back than A.D. 1500[186]."

"I quite agree with you in preferring the older high-pitch for our timber roofs. By-the-bye, it is a curious conception that this particular kind of roof has a likeness to the inverted keel of the ark[187]--itself an emblem of the Christian Church. But I prefer to regard it, as I do the windows, and doors, and arches of _pointed_ architecture, as an emblem of the _incompleteness_ of our worship here. As I look up through the intricate multitude of timbers, and my gaze becomes lost amid the dark top beams of the roof, my thoughts are insensibly led higher still[188]. There is something in these lofty open roofs that always seems to invite one's thoughts _above them_--so different from the flat ceilings of most dissenting meeting-houses, and some of our churches built a hundred years ago. To me these flat ceilings are very depressing."

"Yes; and not a little irritating too, when you consider what splendid timber roofs in old churches, they often conceal. Ugly, however, and objectionable as they are, they have the one merit of being _unpretending_; and give me any thing rather than a _sham_--a lath-and-plaster roof with papier-mache or stucco bosses, and all sorts of painting and shading in perspective, in imitation of wood or stone, making the poor roof guilty of a perpetual _lie_. I do own that tries my temper immensely!"

"There can be no doubt, too, that the high-pitch better suits our variable climate than any other. I fear, however, that many of those which were built but a few years since are not very enduring. Young, or badly-seasoned wood, thin, poor timbers, which cannot last long, have too often been put into the roof. Sometimes this has been the dishonest act of the builder; but we have been too much in the habit of building for _ourselves only_--not like our forefathers, who put up those big masses of timber over our heads. They built for themselves and for _posterity too_.

"'They dreamt not of a perishable home,
Who thus could build[189].'"

"Ah, yes! and that is, of course, especially true of those who erected the noble _stone_ roofs of our cathedrals, and many parish churches too. Nothing, of course, can equal the stone roof with its beautiful carvings and mouldings, richly gilt and coloured. Nothing like stone for colour! How very beautiful is the deep blue, with its golden stars, over the altar in our own cathedral! They look well in our own church, but the colours are richer there, not so much faded. That representation of Heaven's canopy mantling over the most holy part of our church always seems to me so very appropriate and suggestive."

"It is a matter of surprise to me," said the Squire, "that more care has not generally been taken to beautify the _external_ part of our church roofs. What relief is given to the long line of a nave roof by a good patterned row of ridge tiles, or by some ornamental ironwork on the ridge! The gable cross considerably relieves the chancel roof. And where the roof is of stone, why don't we have richly-carved _external_, as well as internal, stone-work? That, to my mind, is the perfection of a stone roof[190]."

At this point, the attention of both was directed to little Harry, old Matthew's grandson, who, with a fixed expression of deep thoughtfulness, was looking up to wards the roof of the church.

"Why so very serious just now, my dear boy? What may your thoughts be about, Harry?" said the Vicar.

"Please, sir, I was wondering what they used to do with the roof-gallery, where we've been putting the evergreens?"

"What does he mean by the roof-gallery?" said Mr. Acres.

"Oh, he means the triforium[191]."

"I must confess that is still more unintelligible to me. Please explain it to me, as well as to Harry, for we are evidently equally ignorant about it."

"The triforium is the gallery you see just above the arches of the nave--between them and the clerestory. It is not commonly found in parish churches, but I believe all cathedrals have it. It generally extends nearly all round the building. There are different opinions as to its original purpose. Some suppose that it was reserved for the use of women. On the Continent, it has been set apart for young men, or for strangers. It is the opinion of some that it was merely built for affording ready access to the various parts of the roof. As an architectural feature, it is very effective, and occupies a space which would otherwise be a blank wall. In this country, however, we know that it was often used for a similar purpose to that for which we have now been using it--the ornamentation of the church on special festivals, when banners and tapestry and other ornaments were suspended from the several arches[192]."

"I have often, like little Harry, looked up at those arches and wondered what they were built for; and, not knowing, I came to the conclusion that the passage must have been used for religious processions."

"It is not at all improbable that occasionally they were so used. And I can hardly imagine any thing more solemn than a torch-light procession of chanting choristers threading their way round the sacred building, the sound of their voices undulating in solemn cadence as they would pass the arches of the triforium, and then dying away amid the groined or timber roof above them."

Illustration: Clerestory Window

_CHAPTER XXIX_

THE TOWER

"The house that is to be builded for the Lord must be exceeding magnifical."

1 Chron. xxii. 5.

"Lift it gently to the steeple,
Let our bell be set on high;
There fulfil its daily mission,
Midway 'twixt the earth and sky.

"As the birds sing early matins
To the God of nature's praise,
This its nobler daily music
To the God of grace shall raise.

"And when evening shadows soften
Chancel-cross, and tower, and aisle,
It shall blend its vesper summons
With the day's departing smile.

"Year by year the steeple-music
O'er the tended graves shall pour
Where the dust of saints is garner'd,
Till the Master comes once more."

J. M. NEALE.

Illustration: Meopham Church

THE TOWER

When the Vicar and the Squire met on their way to church the following day, the conversation of the previous evening was thus resumed:--

"You will, I am sure, agree with me," said Mr. Ambrose, "in regarding the church spire as ever teaching _outside_ the building the same lesson that the open timber roof, as you so truly said yesterday, is teaching _inside_. It is always pointing the thoughts of thoughtful men up above the earthly temple."

"Quite so; and, as is the case with many other great teachers, the earthly fabric has, I believe, in both these cases, a very humble origin; for as the grandest cathedral roof is but a development of the simple _tent_ which formed the early habitation of the once rude inhabitants of this and other countries, so has its lofty and elegant spire gradually raised itself from the low and unpretending roof which covered in the towers of our earliest parish churches.

"I am inclined myself to think that, as a matter of taste and beauty, no church tower is complete without a spire in some form[193], and it is a question whether, in every case, the tower was not at first built with a view to such an ornament. The termination with a flat or only embattled cornice does not harmonize well with pointed architecture; the spiral form seems to me the only appropriate termination; and, as you say, the symbolic teaching of this part of the building depends upon it. And yet, though it may almost seem a contradiction to what I have said, the spire always needs some object for the eye to rest upon at its summit. The time-honoured _weather-cock_ which every body knows to be the emblem of _watchfulness_, seems by far the most convenient and suitable, though I am aware that other forms--such as a dragon, and a boat--are fixed to the summits of some spires."

"We do not generally succeed well," said Mr. Ambrose, "in our imitations of the Norman style of architecture. Its extreme massiveness, on which so much of its beauty depends, renders it very costly; and if this is abandoned, as it often is, for the sake of saving expense, and only the details of the style are copied, whilst the walls are thin and unsubstantial, the building has always a mean and cardboard appearance. But where the style is faithfully carried out, it is a matter of surprise to me that the _round_ tower is not more often adopted. It harmonizes so well with the semi-circular arches and the apsidal termination of the chancel. We have, you know, many splendid examples of such towers[194]. It is true, indeed, that the architects may in some cases have adopted this form, in places where there was difficulty in obtaining the stone required for the corners of a square tower, as being the most convenient for a building composed of flint only; but that they did not always choose this form as a mere matter of convenience, and not for its own peculiar beauty, is evident from the fact that in the construction of some round towers not only flint, but also stone, is largely employed. The objection to these towers, founded on the supposition that they are not adapted for the use of bells, may, I think, be easily met by a little constructional arrangement of the interior of the belfry."

"The erection of towers _detached_ from the church has not, I am glad to say, gained much favour in this country[195]. They certainly lose much of their beauty when separated from the main building. The custom, however, greatly prevails in Italy. The appropriation of a portion of the tower as a priest's chamber is, I believe, far more common with us than it is abroad[196]."

At this moment the bells of St. Catherine's commenced a cheerful peal.

"After all," said the Vicar, "_that sound_ indicates the real purpose of the tower."

"True enough," answered Mr. Acres; "no doubt our towers were built to hold the _bells_[197]; and so, if the tower is good and sound, and the bells are there, we must not complain if the spire is wanting."

"Yes; but I wish the bells were under better control than they commonly are."

"Ah, so indeed do I. There's no part of the church so much desecrated as the tower. Now, I grieve for this; for to my mind there's no music so delightful as that of the church bells, provided there is nothing in the occasion of their being rung which grates upon one's feelings. I often think of the story of a savage people who had never seen a church bell before, when for the first time they heard it ringing, they believed that it was _talking_ to them[198]. There is certainly no music that _speaks_ to us like that of the church bells. What call is there more eloquent than the chimes 'going for church'? What voice more reproachful than theirs to one who disobeys their summons? What sound so solemn as the deep-toned knell? What so happy as the marriage peal? Ah, my dear friend, you and I know full well what joys and sorrows, what hopes and fears, the dear old church bells can tell of. How the old memories of half-forgotten home-scenes come back to us when we listen to their merry Christmas ringing! Nothing like them to fill the arm-chairs that have so long stood empty, to tenant the old places with the once familiar forms which have long gone from us! Nothing like them to bring back the dear old voices and the dear old faces; nothing like them to put back the old furniture in its old places again; nothing like them to revive the bright and happy hours that are past! Then, somehow, the bells always seem to adapt their voices to each particular season. What joyful hope there was in their music at Easter! a still gladder song they sing to-day. They seem to me to have their own peculiar utterance for Sunday and for saints' day, for fast and for festival. What a joyful song of thanksgiving they sang at our harvest festival last year! I shall never forget what the bells said to me on that day.

"You must forgive me, my dear Vicar, for intruding this long rhapsody into our conversation, my fondness for the music of church bells is so intense, that I fear you will consider the expression of my admiration to be quite childish. I don't mean to say they always make me feel cheerful and happy. Oh, no, they don't do that; but most commonly they induce a sort of pleasant melancholy--harmless, and even good in moderation, but morbid in excess. These simple lines exactly express what I often feel when the bells are ringing:--

"When twilight steals along the ground,
And all the bells are ringing round,
One, two, three, four, and five;
I at my study window sit,
And, wrapt in many a musing fit,
To bliss am all alive.

"But though impressions calm and sweet
Thrill round my heart a holy heat,
And I am inly glad,
A tear-drop stands in either eye,
And yet, I cannot tell thee why,
_I'm pleased, and yet I'm sad_[199]."

Illustration: Tower, Saragosa

"I know the feeling well," said Mr. Ambrose; "we love the _silent eloquence_ of each feature of the church's fabric as we love the vivid expression of each feature of a dear friend, and we love--as we love his familiar voice--the well-known _uttered language_ of the old church tower."

"Yes; and not more discordant would be the merry voice of a friend, with a heart bowed down with sorrow, than seems to me a merry peal of the church bells, with the penitential seasons of the Christian year. I greatly admire your custom of only ringing three bells during Lent and Advent, and tolling a single bell on Good Friday. The contrast to the usual joyful chimes cannot fail to strike every one."

"I am most thankful that in our parish we have a set of bellringers who really feel a proper interest in the work, and regard theirs as a _religious_ office. I have only allowed men of well-known steady habits and good moral character to be among them. From the time I came here, as you know, I have been their president, and have always attended their annual dinners. Then their _rules_[200] are good. No drinking is allowed in the belfry, no one is allowed to wear his hat there, and no loud and boisterous language is permitted: any one using offensive words or swearing is at once expelled. In fact, I think we do all that can be done to teach the ringers that they are engaged in a religious duty, in a part of _God's house_. I am fully sensible that much of our success is due to your influence among them, and I very much wish that more Church laymen in your position would follow your example, and take part in the _actual ringing_ of the church bells[201]. On one occasion, long ago, I had some difficulty with our ringers. You remember old Sir Perrygal Biber? a greater profligate or drunkard perhaps never lived. He had wit enough, however, to secure his election for the county, and money enough to reward those who voted for him. I am sorry to say that in many parishes the church bells, which had once been solemnly dedicated to God's service, were impressed to do honour to that man, whose immorality was patent to the whole county. Our ringers naturally thought that what was not wrong elsewhere would not be wrong here, and so begged permission to follow the example of their neighbours. However, they were good fellows, and open to reason. I explained to them first that our church bells had nothing whatever to do with mere secular matters, such as the election of a member of Parliament; and then I showed them that their neighbours were specially wrong in this instance, because they were employing what was intended for God's service in doing honour to an impious man. I believe they were all of them, at heart, glad to get out of it; and, in fact, would never have thought of ringing at all had not William Strike put it into their heads. Since then they have not caused me a moment's trouble.

"The church bells have, alas! often been sadly ill-used; sometimes broken up and employed for secular purposes[202]; sometimes sold to pay the cost of repairing the building: but this, to my mind, is not half so bad as their desecration when rung on improper occasions."

"No doubt, Mr. Vicar, you have often read with interest the very quaint legends which are to be found on many church bells. I very much like the terse Latin sentences, and the oft-repeated '_Jesu, miserere mei_,' we meet with on the oldest of them. Not a few, too, of the more modern bells have simple pious inscriptions[203]. But there are some, both ancient and modern, that have foolish or otherwise objectionable sentences upon them[204]. In some cases they are merely laudatory of the donor; in others of the founder, or of the churchwardens of the parish. I should think, however, that there is scarcely a peal of bells in the country, except, perhaps, a few very recently cast, but possesses some both interesting and instructive inscriptions. Of course, many volumes would be filled with them, could they be all collected. I once copied one of these legends which much pleased me, but I cannot now call to mind where I found it. Let me repeat it to you.

'Men's death I tell by doleful knell,
Lightning and thunder I break asunder,
On Sabbath all to church I call,
The sleepy head I raise from bed,
The winds so fierce I do disperse,
Men's cruel rage I do assuage.'"

"It was a curious conceit, which I suppose every body once accepted, that the ringing of the church bells cleared the air of all evil and discordant spirits, and caused the storm and the tempest to cease. But the Church had another and a better reason for ordering the bells to be rung at such times; and that was, 'that the faithful might be admonished to be urgent in prayer for the instant danger[205].' I like the idea of the Church bell inviting to _private prayer_ as well as public worship, but we have almost lost it. The _passing bell_ used to ask the private prayers of the faithful in behalf of the spirit passing from earth. This was truly a Christian custom; nevertheless, I see difficulties in the way of its general revival."

"_You_ have not, however, lost sight, my dear friend, of the invitation to _private_ devotion as associated with church bells; for it is in this light I regard the ringing of the little sancte bell just before the consecration of the elements at the celebration of Holy Communion. I was very glad when you restored the old bell to its little turret over the chancel arch; and I know that when it is rung, many who cannot come to church bend their knees and join heartily with us in our prayers and adoration."

"Yes, that is a good old practice of the early Church, and I am very glad to know that its revival has been a blessing and a comfort to many by awakening solemn thought and earnest prayer."

Illustration: Window, Church of St. Petronius, Bologna

_CHAPTER XXX_

THE HOUSE NOT MADE WITH HANDS

"Ye also, as lively stones, are built up a spiritual house."

1 Pet. ii. 5.

"One sweetly solemn thought
Comes to me o'er and o'er,--
I'm nearer home to-day
Than I have been before;

"Nearer my Father's House,
Where the many mansions be,
Nearer the great white Throne,
Nearer the jasper sea;

"Nearer the bound of life,
Where we lay our burdens down,
Nearer leaving the Cross,
Nearer gaining the Crown."

CAREY

THE HOUSE NOT MADE WITH HANDS

"I must just go up for a minute to see poor Matthew. I hear he is not quite so well," said the Vicar, as he parted from his companion, and entered the little door that led up to the old sexton's chamber.

"My dear friend," said the Vicar, taking the old man's trembling hand, "I see you are still very weak; but I trust you are not suffering much?"

"Weak, very, sir; but, thank God, no pain. I feel, however, that the end can't be very far off. You must look out for another sexton, sir, for old Matthew's work is nearly over."

"_His_ will be done," said the Vicar; and the old man breathed a solemn "Amen," which seemed spoken for no earthly ears.

"I've been thinking," at length said Matthew, "that it's ten years since you and I, sir, and Mr. Acres, met at the old lych gate in that terrible storm. I remember I said then that it wouldn't be long before some younger ones would have to carry me through the gate, but God has spared me these ten years more, and now I shall need none to bear me through the gate; for here I am--thanks to your kindness, sir--already within the gate, and even within the House of God itself."

"Yes; and so when God calls you to Himself, He will but take you from one temple to another--from the courts of His House here, to live for ever in His heavenly mansions. 'Those that be planted in the House of the Lord shall flourish in the courts of our God[206].'"