LONDON--HAMPTON COURT--ROCHESTER--CHATHAM--CANTERBURY.
Saturday, this 15th day of June, back in London, we employ the day most
pleasantly in visiting the London Docks, Hyde Park, some of the public
gardens, and in taking general rambles about the city. One is seldom
at a loss in a great city like this, with thousands of facilities
everywhere for entertainment, how to employ time. Old but ever-new are
these thoroughfares, the river, museums, and galleries.
Sunday A. M. visited several of the old churches, and made
it a special business to take a look at as many as possible of those
erected by Sir Christopher Wren immediately after the great fire of
1666. They are found in great number in the vicinity of Bow Church and
St. Paul's, and some of these interiors are very elegant. St. Stephen's
Walbrook is, next after the cathedral, a work of much ingenuity and
merit. The building is small, and the exterior ordinary; but the
splendid interior is a marvel of beauty and elegance, though more than
200 years old.
Arriving at Westminster Abbey, we found the great church filled to
repletion, and hardly standing-room inside the door; but with the push
peculiar to Americans we got in, and saw, but could scarcely hear,
the distinguished Dean Stanley. Although we could not hear, yet we
had unbounded satisfaction in the thought that even in the land of
cathedrals, and where a deal of dull and prosy preaching is done, the
Dean with his broad views, was here preaching Sunday after Sunday, and
being listened to by so vast an assembly. Next we took a walk over
Westminster Bridge to Southwark, and into a church there, and listened
to a twenty-minute sermon from a young man of good talent and preaching
abilities. The discourse took the negative form, the subject being,
What we have _not_ done for the Lord. It was a labored statement,
enumerating sins of omission in great detail, was very evangelical, and
perhaps did a good work.
Dined at a restaurant in Southwark, and at 2 P. M. took
steam-cars for
HAMPTON COURT,
and our notebook says, "We were not only delighted, but astonished
at the place." As we have said something of the place before, we
now simply add that we found hundreds of people in the palace, and
thousands in the fine grounds. The establishment is open Sundays
as well as week-days, and it is a great place of resort. 1,100
oil-paintings are in the picture-galleries; and they are of all
subjects, and most of them from the Masters. Another part of the palace
of note and interest is the grand Hall of Henry VIII. The ceiling is of
oak, very rich and heavy in design and ornamentation.
Tradition has it that Shakespeare's plays were first acted in this old
hall. Portraits of Cardinal Wolsey, and of Henry VIII. and each of his
six wives are on the walls. It is said, and is probably a fact, that in
this room James I. held that memorable conference with the disputants
of the Established Church and the Puritans, when he made the celebrated
remark, "No bishop, no king." History has it that he afterwards wrote
to a friend:--
I kept up such a revel with the Puritans these two days as was never
heard the like; where I have peppered them as roundly as ye have done
the Papists. They fled me from argument to argument, without ever
answering me directly, as I was forced to say to them.
Remained here in this Eden till night, and back to London. Monday
A. M. began our last day of tramping over this old metropolis,
here and there attending to little matters till now neglected, now
and then happening in, just for a few moments, to look at some grand
old church,--as St. Bride's, and that marvel of good taste and
construction, St. Martin-in-the-Fields, London; and so with visits
and letter-writing the day was filled up, and all preparations made
to leave London for France, but to stop by the way at Rochester,
Canterbury, and finally at that "jumping-off place," Dover.
Tuesday, at 9 A. M., we took train for good old
ROCHESTER,
where we arrived at 11 o'clock, after a fine journey of two hours in
this extreme southern part of England. This is a cathedral town, and
quite old in look, but clean to a fault and very interesting. It has
a population of 18,352, and is situated on the River Medway, crossed
by a long, ancient, stone bridge of 11 arches, erected in the reign
of King John, who died 1216. On an abrupt eminence near the river,
and on the edge of the place, are the remains of old fortifications,
and at a short distance from these is the grand old castle with its
monstrous square tower, and a beautiful mantling of ivy. The castle was
quite large, and is a most pleasing structure. These grounds are some
acres in extent. They are laid out in grand taste as pleasure-grounds
or parks, with avenues, lawns, fine trees, retreats, flower-beds; and
every element required for the pleasure-seeker is here. The high ground
gave elegant views of the surrounding country, and the pure, free,
and invigorating air was most charming. The place has no manufactures
of importance, but considerable trade, for it supports a large number
of shops and small stores; one of the very best specimens of an old
English market-town is Rochester. There is some commerce, as it is a
port of entry, and considerable shipbuilding is carried on. On the
other side of the river, and connected by the bridge, is Chatham,
concerning which we will give a few facts later. The long, narrow,
winding main street of Rochester contains many antique buildings, which
well remind one of old Shrewsbury. For a visit of a few hours, this one
to Rochester amply repays.
What is of most interest here is the cathedral. It has no close, or
grounds, but is strangely jammed in among buildings, in behind those
on the main street, and fronts on a street which is hardly better
than a lane; and many of the buildings on this lane, and in fact up
against as it were the cathedral itself, are houses of great antiquity.
Everything here is England as it _was_, but is very clean and tidy.
Nowhere on an equal territory have we seen more antique charms than in
the door-neighborhood of this cathedral. The edifice was originally a
priory, founded in 604, and rebuilt about 1076. It has recently been
restored, and is in good condition. It is in two very distinct parts;
one is Norman, and is a fine example, and the remainder is Early
English. It was originally built by Gundulph, its first bishop, soon
after the Norman Conquest. Its length is 383 feet and it has a low
tower but no spire.
There are many old and antique monuments, and but for an act of Dean
Stanley of Westminster Abbey, and a few others, it would have been the
last resting-place of the remains of Charles Dickens. In speaking of
the monuments, the verger pointed to a stone in the pavement,--about
three feet wide and five feet or so long, as now remembered,--which
was up some few inches from its resting-place, and so left. "There,"
said he, "is the spot in which Dickens would have been buried. The
stone was pried up and an excavation being made for building the brick
grave, when information came that personal friends of Mr. Dickens
had received notice of the desire of Dean Stanley, and other eminent
men, that he should be buried in Westminster Abbey." The work of
tomb-making ceased, and so Rochester was deprived of the honor of being
custodian of his remains. Mr. Dickens's place of residence was at Gad's
Hill, about three miles from Rochester, and he attended worship in
this cathedral. His death occurred at that place, June 9, 1870. The
cathedral is small compared to others, but it is very interesting and
has an antiquity of look not found in any other cathedral.
The bishopric here is, next after Canterbury, which is not far away,
the most ancient in England. There is connected with the institution
a cathedral grammar school, founded by Henry VIII. in 1542; also what
is called the Poor Traveller's House, founded by Richard Watts, in the
reign of Queen Elizabeth, "for the nightly entertainment of six poor
travellers." The old church of St. Nicholas is a grand old structure,
built in 1420, and put in good repair and restoration in 1624. There
are also several ancient walls, gateways, and ruins of monastic
institutions.
CHATHAM,
as before spoken of, is on the east bank of the River Medway, at its
confluence with the Thames, and is a large place, having a population
of 44,135, including 8,000 dockyard men and soldiers. It includes the
village of Brompton, just below it. It is a rather dirty and poorly
built town, and, for a thing unusual, it has many old wooden buildings.
On one side all the works are shut in by strong fortifications. Forts
Pitt and Clarence are on the Brompton side, and on the Rochester side
are Fort Gillingham and Upnor Castle, which is now used as a menagerie.
The walk on the Rochester side and along the river, and used as an
approach to the park at the base of the rock, is a very fine one, and
has on it an ancient stone balustrade, perhaps once used as a parapet
for the bridge. At 1.40 P. M. took train for
CANTERBURY.
We have remarked one thing especially in relation to the cultivation of
land, and the agricultural habits of the people; and it is that as we
approach the seabord from any part of England, and now particularly in
the southern part, more attention is paid to the cultivation of garden
vegetables and fruit, than is the case in the interior. Soon after
leaving London and going southerly, as we did towards Rochester, we
began to meet with fine gardens and fruit-raising, strongly reminding
us of the eastern shore of Massachusetts. Cherries are raised in
great quantities for London market, and now, June 18, while they are
not ripe, are at that state of maturity at which they are in Boston
forced upon the market. Black Tartarian and the common Ox Heart, and
perhaps the Eltons, seem to prevail. We have seen some strawberries
in the London markets, but none that were ripe, or, at all events,
high-colored. They had a whitish look; and at the time of writing,
after the experience in other countries, occupying the entire fruit
season, we are sure that in fruit-raising of all kinds, New England is
never excelled, unless we possibly except some portions of the Rhine
Valley, where plums abound; but even there, no advantage is had over
many places in New York State, as for instance on Seneca Lake. Roses
are just now at their best. So far as date or time in the season is
concerned, they have no advantage over the neighborhood of Boston, or
any part of southern New England. Some green peas are in the market,
but are really now only just at their best time of blossom. At times,
as we pass on the railroad, we see acres of them; also other vegetables
for the supply of markets. It has quite an Arlington or North Cambridge
look, and we are much at home in the neighborhood of this fine
agricultural district; and we cannot but be delighted with the industry
of the people here, and the manner in which they manage their farms.
We are at a loss to know why the idea is not more contagious than it
appears to be. "Alas for poor Ireland," we feel and say,--that garden
of the kingdom, as it might and should be. New-Englandize it, and the
Irish millennium would come.
After our pleasant ride of about two hours, at 3.30 P. M. we
arrive at the famed seat of all the Church of England, the great See of
the Archbishop of Canterbury, and our first impression is a delight on
landing in this quiet, ancient, neat, grandpaved, and in all respects
well-cared-for, aristocratic town. How quaint are many of these
venerable houses, Chester-like, with projecting stories,--all in fine
repair and good preservation!
The place is pleasantly situated on the River Stow, 56 miles from
London, and has a population of 16,508. It has no commercial
importance, but is one of the principal markets of a rich agricultural
district; and its pretty and inviting location has made it a favorite
place of residence, as is evident from the many fine villas and
mansion-seats in the vicinity. It has an ancient guildhall, a corn and
hop exchange, and a Philosophical Museum. The town existed in the time
of the Romans, and many of their coins and remains have been found in
and near the city. It was the capital of the Saxon Kingdom of Kent;
and it was here that Augustine baptized Ethelbert and 10,000 Saxons in
597, or nearly 1,300 years ago. Augustine was the first Archbishop of
England, and died here sometime between 604 and 614.
Aside from the cathedral there are several grand old churches in
the city. One of the most interesting is St. Martin's, very old and
antique, and full of interest. In St. Dunstan's the head of Sir
Thomas More--who was executed July 6, 1535, and buried here by his
daughter--was found in 1835, or just 300 years after. He was disloyal
to the throne and refused to acknowledge the royal supremacy. On the
1st of July he was brought to the bar of the Court of High Commission,
charged with traitorously attempting to deprive the king of his title
as Supreme Head of the Church. He was condemned and returned to the
Tower. On the morning of his execution he was dressed in his most
elaborate costume, preserved his composure to the last, and, as the
fatal stroke was about to fall, signed for a moment's delay while he
moved aside his beard, murmuring: "Pity that should be cut; that has
not committed treason."
There are in Canterbury various relics of past ages. One of the most
interesting of these is the great St. Augustine Monastery, once
long used as a brewery, but which was at length redeemed from its
ignominious use by the munificence of Mr. Beresford Hope, who purchased
it, and presented it to the Church as a missionary college, himself
also defraying all expenses of the restorations and enlargements.
By the liberality of Alderman Simonds a field called Dane John,
containing a high conical mound, was laid out as a public park, and
pleasant promenades have been built for the public. On the top of
this fine hill has been built a rural structure, of an observatory
nature, and from it most commanding and splendid views are had of the
surrounding country.
What of course attracts the attention of visitors most, and holds it,
is the famed cathedral,--at once the most interesting, all things
considered, of any like structure in the kingdom; for it boasts of not
only a vast antiquity, but of having been at an early day a church of
so much wealth and importance, as to make it _the_ seat of the Church,
and of her Archbishop, "the primate of all England." The chapter
consists of the archbishop, a dean, six canons, two archdeacons, six
preachers, and five minor canons, besides the twelve choristers. The
annual income of the archbishop is $75,000.
The foundation of the institution goes back far into antiquity; and we
leave the minor items relating to its early history, and simply say
that the cathedral had so far advanced, as to be ready for consecration
in 1130. It, as all other cathedrals did, met with reverses and
ill-conditions innumerable. Indeed, so varied is its history, and
so full of great events, that we are discouraged at the thought of
attempting the task of making a selection. It has been wonderful in its
power and influence, and has in turn had in its embrace men of master
minds, whose power has been of most decided character for good or ill;
and we are sorry to have to say, that often the latter has transcended
the former. A bishop of especial ability and power, if but loyal to the
Church and its doctrines, as for the time understood and interpreted,
was sure to be sooner or later installed here. "Translated to the See
of Canterbury" is a familiar expression, and has been for centuries.
How have the fortunes and condition of the entire kingdom, and the
whole English-speaking world, been influenced by things said and done
here! No spot beneath the broad canopy of the sky is so marked as this.
Here Puritanism found its great foes and untiring enemies; and when we
speak of this fact, or name the word _Puritan_, how much is involved!
Non-conformist, Pilgrim New England, what she at first was and now
is,--all that is involved and comprehended! _Archbishop of Canterbury!_
Name but the three words, and what echoes are awakened, and wander
through the corridors of time!
No place is really more intimately connected with Plymouth and
Massachusetts Bay than is this. The invisible telegraph of momentous
events--a continuous unbroken line--exists, and is as real as the
material cable that reposes on the floor of the sea; and when all of
them shall have become extinct, this, forever revivified and renewed,
will increase in power and be an instrument for good, "till the angel,
standing with one foot on the land and the other on the sea, shall
declare that time shall be no more."
Not long before the accession of Queen Victoria to the throne in 1838,
a most thorough repair of the cathedral was made, and it is now one of
the most perfect in England.
In our examinations of these great structures, admiring each of
them, we have at times tried to decide which one of all we would, if
the thing were possible, transport to America. At times the elegant
interior of Winchester, with its fine long nave, is in the front rank.
Then appears the great Lincoln, splendid within and without. Next,
these are crowded aside by imperial York Minster. Then comes antique
but sublime old Durham; how can we part companionship with that? or
Salisbury, with its commanding spire, 404 feet high, and its rich
transept end? Next, rich gem-bedecked Ely comes well up in front.
Finally we make one herculean move, and, as the waking giant shakes his
locks and spreads his arms, we make an effort to be unsympathetic; and
ignoring these grand old friends, all of whom with charms peculiar to
themselves have wooed and captivated us,--leaving them, a noble army of
martyrs,--we say _Canterbury_. The effort has cost us much sacrifice.
"Not that we love Cæsar less, but that we love Rome more." The grounds
about the structure are very fine and inviting, though they do not
possess those charms that exist at Salisbury and Peterboro.
The cathedral was founded by Archbishop Lanfranc, and enlarged and
consecrated by Archbishop Corbel in 1130, in presence of Henry I. of
England, David, king of Scotland, and all the bishops of England. The
roof, or exterior covering, of the stone vaulting is of wood, and was
seriously troubled by fire in 1174, when the choir and other portions
of the interior were greatly damaged; and as late as Sept. 3, 1872, a
portion of the roof, 150 feet in length, was badly damaged by fire and
water, but all is now in perfect condition of repair. The cathedral
is in extreme length 514 feet, and is 159 feet wide at the transepts.
It has a magnificent central tower, of elaborate decorations, which
is 285 feet high; also two very beautiful western towers terminating
in embattlements and lofty turrets. The stone is of a dark-gray tint,
and the structure has a sublime and imposing appearance. The interior
is indescribably grand, and has one especial peculiarity, which is
that the choir, or head of the cross,--which is the plan of the
cathedral,--is elevated some seven feet or so above the floor of the
nave, and is reached by a flight of marble steps. The arrangement, if
anything, adds to the grand effect.
Beneath is the crypt, or basement, which is common to but few
cathedrals. Here are very ancient columns, and a solid stone, groined
ceiling; all is but dimly lighted, and was once a chapel in which monks
worshipped. A painful silence now reigns throughout; and all is still
and solemn, save as the footfalls on its pavements, or our voice,--or
it may be sounds from the great cathedral floor coming down through
the stone vaulting, subdued and subduing,--break the spell. Except for
these, a silence of the tomb prevails. More than half a thousand years
are gone since here the fumes of incense and the sound of papal prayers
and the repetition of the Mass were begun. Centuries now are passed
since all ceased. Dust of many pious ones has been here laid in its
last resting-place, and "after life's fitful fever they sleep well."
Nations have risen since then, and kingdoms have been transformed. The
great realm of thought has been enlarged and extended, and humanity
has become enlightened and advanced. Then, monk and nun were the rule,
but they are not now even the exception. All are forever gone, and a
hard theology, one anticipating an everlasting triumph of evil over
good; penance, tormenting the body for the good of the soul,--or, later
advanced tenet, that of tormenting the mind for the soul's good,--are
discounted. Personal accountability, divine sovereignty, the Golden
Rule, progress never ending for the individual and the race, are in the
ascendant; and so crypt and dark room are deserted, and only tell of
human life and endeavor as they were.
This cathedral has many monuments, and well it may have. How long is
her line of bishops and illustrious men! A history of 700 and more
years of active work, must have made conditions of note and renown;
but we leave these monuments as we must, and say a few things of two
or three of the noted ones who here kept holy time. Every reader of
history has anticipated the name we speak of first, Thomas à Becket.
At the north cross-aisle, or transept, is a small alcove, or chapel,
on the right side of which is a table-altar. On the 29th of December,
1170, but forty years after the cathedral's consecration, and more than
700 years ago, as he was kneeling at this altar, he was assassinated,
killed on the spot; and now a small place, six inches square, is shown
in the floor, where some of his blood fell. The stone was long ago cut
out and sent to Rome.
Few mortals have had a history as eventful as his. Born in London,
in the olden time of 1117, he was educated, and finally appointed
Archdeacon of Canterbury; and, in turn, prebend of Lincoln, and of
St. Paul's at London. Nothing short of distinguished abilities and
intellect could have brought such honored conditions as these.
When at the age of forty-one, in 1158, Henry II. made him Chancellor
of England. So powerful was he in influence over the King, that in
1162, on the death of Theobold the Bishop of Canterbury, the King
pressed his election to this See. He was appointed, and so was the
first native Englishman who held the archbishopric of Canterbury. He
was first ordained a priest, and then made Primate of all England. He
resigned his office of Chancellor against the desires of the king, and
in retaliation was deprived of his archdeaconship which he wished to
retain along with his archbishopric. He at once began to exercise great
authority. He became reserved and austere, and soon acquired great
renown for his sturdy defence of the prerogatives of the Church against
the threatened encroachments of the crown and the nobility.
In 1164 he strongly opposed the famous constitutions presented by
Clarendon, and bitter feuds arose between him and the King. The
hostility of the King to him was great, and his persecutions increased.
He became exceedingly unpopular with the nobility, and at length fled
from England. He spent nearly two years in an abbey in Burgundy, and
was encouraged by the Pope, who, refusing to accept his resignation
of the See of Canterbury, reconfirmed him as Primate of all England,
except the See of York.
The strife between King Henry and Becket increased, but after a long
continuance of the quarrel, in 1170 a reconciliation took place,
and on his return to England the people gave him an enthusiastic
reception; but he soon revived his old troubles by publishing the
suspension of the Archbishop of York, and the King taunted his
attendants for remissness in revenging the overbearing prelate. This
excited four barons of the court, Reginald Fitzurse, William de Tracy,
Hugh de Moreville and Richard Brito, who undertook the work of his
assassination. Dec. 28, 1170, they met at the castle of Ranulth de
Broc, near Canterbury, accompanied by a body of armed men. The next day
they went to the Archbishop's palace and there had a stormy interview,
and on the same evening invaded the cathedral at vesper service. Becket
prevented all opposition to their ingress by declining, as he said, "to
convert a church into a castle," and implored the assailants to spare
everybody but himself. They attempted to drag him from the church, so
as not to desecrate it by bloodshed; but while manfully wrestling with
De Tracy, Becket received a blow, inflicting a slight wound, which,
falling obliquely, broke the arm of his cross-bearer, Edward Grimes.
The Archbishop then kneeled at the altar, when the three other barons
gave him the death blow, and his brains were scattered on the floor.
The cathedral was then ordered by the Pope to be closed for one year.
In 1172 Alexander III. canonized Becket as St. Thomas of Canterbury. In
1221 his remains were deposited by Henry III. in a rich shrine, which
became a great resort for pilgrims.
After the Reformation, Henry VIII. despoiled the shrine of its
treasures of silver and gold, which were of incredible value; and he
had the saint's name stricken from the calendar, and his bones burnt to
ashes and scattered. The shrine was in the cathedral, back of the high
altar, and now its only traces are in the marble floor where it rested,
and in the worn and sunken line encircling it, made by the feet and
knees of pilgrims who for three centuries had there paid tribute.
As we stood there we could in imagination see the incessant train
coming in with demure look, and with a pious reverence kneel and
offer their humble petition for the repose of his soul and for the
prosperity of the religion he defended. Fearfully in earnest were
these honest but superstitious ones, and so was Henry VIII. when he
said to the enslaving service, "Thus far shalt thou go and no farther,
and here shall thy proud waves be stayed." What determination, what
intrepidity, were requisite for the inauguration of reform like this!
What master-work to do! Becket and his adherents meant well, but
they were superstitious and blind to truth and fact. Henry VIII. did
a great work, but when he did it he also did unchristian things. So
of Queen Mary, when to the stake must go Rogers and Hooper, Cranmer,
Latimer, and Ridley. We cannot well stop there. Puritanism established,
somebody was responsible for the persecutions of Roger Williams, of
Marmaduke Stevenson, and others. Persecution for opinion's sake is
not yet done, but "out of the bitter comes forth the sweet." Becket
and his coadjutors, the kings and queens of England, Boston ministers
and judges of old, form one long connected chain of defenders of the
faith,--not always of clear vision, but outside of themselves governed
and overruled; and so, by the work done, humanity steps up higher, and
walks on towards the perfection attainable, and in the end sure to be
attained.
That work, done in the time of Becket, was the transition period
from the Papal Church to the Protestant. Our next man of renown was
the noted Archbishop Laud; and his administration was the transition
period, from intense formality and ritualism, into a somewhat similar
form of Christian worship and work, out of which has come our New
England's existence and element and life,--and so, indirectly, our
Great West, which in its early days New England people and customs did
so much to mould and establish.
William Laud was born at Reading in England, Oct. 7, 1573, but eighteen
years after the death of the martyrs at Oxford. He nursed from his
mother's breast the spirit of the time, or, like Laurence Sterne's
_Tristram Shandy_, was able to date his nature and inclinations to
acting and influencing elements at a day the very earliest in his
history. He was educated at St. John's College, Oxford; obtained
his fellowship in 1593, clerical orders in 1601; and in 1605 became
chaplain to Charles, Lord Mountjoy, Earl of Devonshire; and here, he
showed pliability of conscience which was ever a distinguishing feature
of his life, for he was willing to perform the marriage ceremony
between the Earl and Lady Rich, whose first husband was still living.
In 1608 he was made bishop of Nene, being then but thirty-five years of
age. In 1611 he was president of the college at which he was educated.
In 1616 he was Dean of Gloucester; was a prebendary of Westminster
in 1620, and Bishop of St. David's in 1621. In 1624 he was member of
the Court of High Commission; in 1626, Bishop of Bath and Wells, and
in 1628 Bishop of London; and now begins his great life-work, for he
became confidential adviser of Charles I. in ecclesiastical affairs.
Succeeding Buckingham in the royal favor he began to play important
parts in politics, and his first object and step was to force Puritans,
and all Dissenters from the Established Church, into conformity.
Macaulay says:--
Under this direction every corner of the realm was subjected to a
constant minute inspection. Every little congregation of Separatists
was tracked out and broken up. Even the devotion of private families
could not escape the vigilance of his spies. Such fear did his rigor
inspire, that the deadly hatred of the Church, which festered in
innumerable bosoms, was generally disguised under an outward show of
conformity.
In 1628 Robert Leighton, a Scottish prelate, published a book, "Sion's
Plea against the Prelacy." At the instigation of Laud he was in 1630
brought before the Star Chamber, condemned to pay a fine of £10,000;
and he was twice publicly whipped and pilloried in Cheapside, London,
had his ears cut off, his nostrils split open, and his cheeks branded
with S. S. (Sower of Sedition), and he was incarcerated ten years in
the Fleet Prison.
Flattered with success, Laud, being present at the coronation of
Charles in Scotland, urged the _forced_ establishment of Episcopacy and
uniformity in that country, which resulted in revolt; and, contrary to
the ambitious and narrow-minded Bishop's anticipation, ended in the
adoption of the National Covenant, and so Presbyterianism triumphed. On
his return from the ceremonies of coronation, and doubtless in aid of
their enterprise to "kill out Puritanism" and to "harry the Puritans
out of the land," he was appointed to the See of Canterbury. He became
a politician in the more odious sense of that word, and so worked
himself in as one of the committee of the king's revenue, and in 1634
he became a commissioner of the treasury; and soon after, and finally,
was made Censor of the Press under decree of the Star Chamber in 1637.
He was powerful, overbearing, and injudicious, and the public odium
soon manifested itself largely against him. The Long Parliament in
1640, impeached him for high treason, and he was committed to the
Tower. After an imprisonment of more than three years he was tried and
condemned,--and, as now thought, according to the letter of the law,
illegally,--and was executed in the Tower, Jan. 10, 1645, at the age of
seventy-two.
Of the many other noted and eminent men of Canterbury's almost
interminable list, we take but one, and that was the second Protestant
bishop, Matthew Parker. He was eminent as a churchman, as much so as
Laud, but was a man of good judgment, and more than any other person
gave the character of worship which the Established Church of England
now has. He was born at Norwich, Aug. 6, 1504, and entered Corpus
Christi College at Cambridge in 1520; in 1533 was licensed to preach,
and soon was made Chaplain to Anne Boleyn. He was Dean of Clare College
in 1535; chaplain to Henry VIII. in 1537; Master of Corpus Christi
College in 1544; and Dean of Lincoln Cathedral in 1552. Having married
in 1547, on the accession of Queen Mary he was deprived of his office,
and obliged to remain in obscurity. He then translated the Psalms into
English verse, and wrote a treatise entitled "A Defense of Priests'
Marriages."
His fortune at length turned, for on the accession of Queen Elizabeth,
and a reform in the religion, he was chosen Archbishop of Canterbury,
and Dec. 17, 1559, was consecrated in the chapel at Lambeth. He was
successful in dispelling the Queen's lingering affection for images,
and he filled all the vacant Sees with decided Protestants, and did
all in his power to render the rites and ceremonies of the church
uniform. He founded schools, made valuable presents to the colleges at
Cambridge, was one of the first chosen to review the Book of Common
Prayer; and was employed in the revision of the Bishop's Bible, which
passed under his inspection, and was published at his own expense in
1568. He was the author of several other standard works, and at last,
after a life of remarkable activity and usefulness, he died at London,
May 17, 1575, at the age of seventy-one, deeply lamented.
1575! 200 years before the declaration of our American Independence,
and almost half a century before the Pilgrims set sail for America!
He did much towards establishing Protestantism, and making Puritanism
possible; and so he was the John the Baptist to prepare for the bad
work of Laud and his coadjutors,--which caused the persecution of the
non-conformists, and, indirectly, the emigration to the New World, and
the great good which is its outcome. Laud, thunder-storm-like, induced
a clearer theologic atmosphere.
There is a thing yet untouched we would speak of, but must forbear a
long recital. In speaking of the crypt, we strangely forgot to mention
that, in the time of Queen Elizabeth, there were a company of French
silk-weavers, who were driven from their native land, and sought refuge
in England. They were called Walloons, and the crypt of the cathedral
was granted them by the Queen as a place of worship. In the time of
Charles II., who died in 1688, they were the most noted silk-weavers in
England. The blood was strong; and, strange to tell, to this day the
humble remnant, after the lapse of centuries, still claim and use this
room as their place of worship. There is a tinge of melancholy that
comes over one as he thinks of their devotion and humble sanctuary, but
it is Sabbath home to them, and so is at once cathedral and gate of
heaven.
At the Altar of Martyrdom, where Becket died, in 1170 was that
appalling scene of riot, distress, and death. 129 years gone, and how
changed! Then was gathered another crowd, and all was peace, happiness,
and life, for Edward I. and Margaret were there to be married in 1299.
On the 8th of June, 1376, great commotion was in the Episcopal Palace
near by, for there lay in the agonies of death their great-grandson,
Edward the Black Prince, who was so called from the color of his armor.
Two days after he was buried in the cathedral; and now, after 500
years, we look upon his effigy in bronze, old and black, but highly
wrought, and once and for years of rich gilt. Above his tomb are
suspended the helm, surcoat, shield, and gauntlet he wore on the field
of Cressy. In this cathedral is the ancient chair in which all the old
kings of Kent were crowned.
And so we might go on; and when many pages had been written, the
door would but be opened, and an inexhaustible store of things of
inexpressible interest present themselves, and be in waiting for
consideration.
We must now begin to think of parting companionship with these
cathedral towns, for we are to move on yet more southerly till Dover
is reached; and so for a time is to end our good stay in historic Old
England, the mother country of us all. We confess to a feeling of
dislike, and at the same time to a consciousness of grand satisfaction
of what we have enjoyed, and so that feeling, if permitted to prevail,
would neutralize the anticipation of good to come.
We now, at 6 P. M., take cars for Dover. The ride is like that
before it, very much like one over lands in New England, on the South
Shore Road, towards Hingham and Cohasset. There are rocks, and even
ledges, increasing as we advance. There are grand fields of hops, an
incredible number of them, and gardens with the new vegetables of all
kinds, as in our Old Colony at that time of the year.
Now at 7.30, after a ride of an hour and a half, we come in sight of
the bluffs and chalk-cliffs and abrupt hills--a wonder to us indeed.
"How extensive, how white!" we say.
And now comes the well-known odor of the heavily charged salt air of
the sea. Cohasset, Nantasket, or Nahant, even at their best, could do
no better. We are as it were in a new world of observation, feeling,
and thought; and on landing there is opened to us a vast panorama of
sea view, of high life and animation, a new paradise,--not an old one
regained, for we never at home nor abroad had one like this to lose.