Among the numerous sermons lately preached in pursuance of the King's
letter for the enlargement and building of churches and chapels, we
notice one by the vicar of Dorking, in Surrey, from which we extract the
following:--"In many places of this country it is lamentable to behold
the ruinous state of churches. If a man's dwelling-house be decayed, he
will never cease till it be restored; if his barn, where he bestows all
his fruits and his goods, be out of repair, what diligence doth he use
to make it perfect? If the stable for his horse, or the sty for his
swine, be not able to exclude the severity of weather, when the rains
fall, and the winds blow, how careful is he to incur the necessary cost?
Shall we then be so mindful of our common houses, deputed to such low
occupations, and be forgetful toward that house of God, in which are
expounded the words of our eternal salvation--in which are administered
the sacraments and mysteries of our redemption?"--The persuasiveness of
this argument is admirable, and its amiable tone and temper are
infinitely more suitable than the florid appeal.
We also learn that Parliament has already voted a million and a half of
money to the sole use of building churches, and that in the diocese in
which Dorking is situated, thirty-two cases have been aided by the sum
of 6,230_l_.
But the _church of Dorking_ is in a dilapidated state, and is capable of
containing only one-fifth of the inhabitants. It was "probably erected
about the commencement of the twelfth century; and the crumbling walls
may almost be said to totter under the massive roof." This calls forth
the following pious exhortation: "Our lot is cast in a pleasant place.
Let us manifest our thankfulness to the Giver of every good gift by a
structure dedicated to his service, corresponding with the magnificence
of private mansions, and the natural beauties of local scenery." We can
only wonder that, in a neighbourhood abounding with men of rank and
opulence, such an appeal is necessary.
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