The sun is bright, the fields are gay
With people in their best array,
Through the vale retired and lowly
Trooping to the summons holy.
And up among the woodlands see
What sparklings of blithe company!
Of lasses and of shepherd grooms
That down the steep hills force their way,
Like cattle through the budded brooms;
Path or no path, what care they?
WHITE DOE OF RYLSTONE.
“You recollect that in our interview with Robert Walker on the top of
WALNA, we were directed by him to assemble at his church on the following
Sunday, the children to commence their preparation for Confirmation, and
the parents to present their offspring and themselves to derive comfort
and instruction from the occasion. Never did a brighter sun shine on the
world than that which rose on that memorable morning! Why, sir, does the
sun shine brighter on a Sunday than on any other day in the week?”
“I cannot,” said I, sniffing, “give a reason for that which does not
exist; but I can see a reason why good men should sometimes _think_ so,
from their mistaking the warmth and light of gratitude springing up in
their own hearts on that holy day, for the rays of the sun above them!”
“It may be so,” said the old man, “but I shall live and die in the belief
that there was something warmer and brighter in the sun on that blessed
morning, than I ever felt either before or since. The early work of the
day, (and in a farm like ours there is always some labour which must
necessarily be attended to even on the Sunday,) was finished long before
the usual hour, and we were all dressed in our very best and on our way
for SEATHWAITE Chapel, soon after nine o’clock. The early rays of the
sun lighted up Coniston OLD MAN, {52} so that you might count every stone
in his body. As we descended the slope of the mountain side for the vale
of the Duddon, you might see a thousand white threads of water pouring
down from every height that surrounded the valley, (for there had been a
heavy shower of rain in the night,) and all rushing, with headlong
impetuosity, into the brawling stream below. Then you could trace that
stream, winding its beautiful way, now in sunshine, and now in shadow,
till it gradually widened into a broad estuary, and lost\ itself in the
bay of MORECAMBE, the dark mass of PEEL CASTLE standing calmly amidst the
waves, as if to mark the boundary between the broad river and the ocean.
This sight of itself prepared the mind for the religious impressions
which were to follow; even a child like me seeing in the picture before
him an emblem of the hasty bustle of time and the quiet repose of
eternity; and I could not resist putting up a silent prayer to GOD, that
the light of His _Grace_ might continue to shine upon the days of my
short and feverish life as the sun in heaven was then glittering upon the
mountain rills, now so bright and busy, and in a few hours doomed to
become silent and still, as though they had never been. But another
sight, still more impressive, broke on our view as we turned the crest of
the little hill from which we first looked down on the chapel to which we
were tending. Nothing, I believe, puzzles strangers so much, on visiting
our Lake country, as to find out where all the people live. The houses
of the district are placed in such odd nooks and corners, so buried under
little knolls or spreading trees, and so like the old grey rocks about
them in colour and shape, that an inexperienced traveller might roam
through half that mountainous region, and fancy that its only inhabitants
were sheep, rooks, and wanderers like himself. In the mining districts,
too, one half of the inhabitants live under ground during the week, and
it is only on a Sunday, when they come up to worship GOD with their
brethren, that they see the light of the blessed day. Hence it is on
Sundays only, that any man, native or stranger, can get a real sight of
the whole population. Now, at the moment I speak of, just as we got a
first view of the whole valley round Mr. Walker’s chapel, the whole
population of the district burst on our sight at once. They were seen
pouring over every height, and hurrying down the breast of every hill, of
all ages, and in dresses of almost every variety of hue. The matrons, in
their scarlet cloaks, which shone brightly among the green heather, were
walking carefully along in groups of two or three, talking over, no
doubt, the events of the week since they last met, the occasion that now
more especially brought them together, and, it must be confessed, perhaps
now and then mixing with more serious topics a little of the passing
scandal of the country-side. The old grey-coated farmers, with stout
sticks in their hands, said a few words on the subject of prices at the
last Broughton sheep and wool fair; while the young men and maidens,
laughing a little more loudly than the day justified, and walking a
little nearer each other than their elders always quite approved, seemed
to select, by way of preference, the most rugged and slippery paths they
could find. In front of all rushed on the children and dogs, the latter,
even at church, the better behaved if not the more intelligent party of
the two. I would rather take my chance in the next world with some of
the good dogs that I knew in Seathwaite, than some of the beasts in human
shape that I have met with since I left it! Well, sir, all these were
seen pouring at once down the hill sides, as lighthearted and cheerful as
the larks over their heads. There could be no mistake as to the point to
which, straggling as they seemed to be in their course, they were all
finally aiming; for the little chapel-bell of Seathwaite was sending
forth its sharp sound, not much louder than a mountain cuckoo, but still
distinctly enough to be heard throughout the whole region in that still
and silent air. What a picture had we then before us of the UNITY of the
Church of CHRIST! Though the paths of these men, in the world, might be
different, yet they all met together in harmony in the House of GOD—they
all aimed at one point—they all hoped to be saved by the same faith.
Here there was indeed ‘one house appointed for all living’—to pray in
during life, to rest in after death. They all took Seathwaite chapel on
their road to heaven! The bell which called them together to prayer was
not much larger than a sheep bell, but it was obeyed by all the flock
with a readiness which shewed how anxious they all were to be included
within the fold of the GOOD SHEPHERD of their souls. Doubtless He was
present in spirit. His minister on earth, as far as that little flock
was concerned, was there in person; ready, as he always was, to see his
flock, and administer to their spiritual comforts. There he stood, at
the door of his humble parsonage, in his stuff gown and cassock, and his
silver locks streaming in the wind, greeting every one as he passed by
his door on the way to the chapel, and listening kindly to any little
intelligence, either of joy or of sorrow, which the events of the last
week might have brought forth. What a crowd there was assembled within
and around that humble chapel, on that Sunday morning! There was not
sitting or rather kneeling room for one half of the congregation. For
though probably the number of candidates for Confirmation did not much
exceed a dozen, yet Mr. Walker’s expressed wish, (and his wish was law,)
had brought together all the parents, god-fathers and god-mothers, and
elder brothers and sisters of every candidate, that they might be, on
that occasion, reminded of their own Christian duties. These, together
with a number of strangers attracted by the unusual circumstances,
swelled the congregation to an amount far exceeding what the little
chapel could contain; and so they stood about the door, or sat upon the
walls and grave-stones of the church-yard, which, to a mountain-race on a
fine autumn morning, formed quite as agreeable a temple of worship as the
close-packed and somewhat mouldy space within. We, as being somewhat
visitors and I a candidate, were civilly accommodated with seats by one
to whom we were well known, and so heard and saw every thing that passed.
There was no distinction of seats, or rather _forms_, in that little
house of prayer. The forms all looked to the east, being entered from
one small aisle which ran up from the west door to the altar. The people
sat in families, but without distinction as to rank, all going to the
place where their fathers had worshipped before, from time immemorial.
The only difference was, that as each by degrees grew old and deaf, they
advanced a step nearer the altar, that they might be able better to hear
and see the clergyman. Thus the more sacred part of the building was
surrounded by those who from age and spiritual experience deserved to be
exalted in the Church of CHRIST—they were, as it were, the Elders round
about the throne—they were a connecting link between minister and
people—they were looked up to by those who sat behind, as their parents
and examples; and no doubt it was an ambitious wish in the hearts of many
of the younger, that as _they_ advanced in years they might be thought
worthy to fill that honoured circle, and receive the respect which they
were then paying to their elders. Surely, sir, this is a more becoming
way of encircling the altar of our GOD, than by crowding its steps with
idle and ill-mannered boys, as is too often the case in town churches,
putting those at the head who ought to be but at the entrance of the
Church of CHRIST, and filling our minds, as we think of that sacred
portion of the House of GOD, with the image of a school-master with his
ferula instead of a priest in his holy vestments!”
“I am nearly of your mind,” said I, smiling at the quaintness of his
notion, “but you must recollect that necessity has no law.”
“True,” said he, “most true. Well, sir, there we were, waiting in
anxious expectation for the stopping of the little tinkling bell, and the
arrival of the clergyman, for no one thought of sitting down till he
appeared. At length he advanced, with a grave face, and placid
countenance, bowing slightly to all as he passed, but with his eyes fixed
right before him till he reached the little altar, over the rails of
which hung the surplice. This was reverently placed on his shoulders by
a man almost as old and grey-headed as himself, and evidently dressed in
some of the minister’s old raiment. The effect of this robing in the
sight of the congregation was very impressive. You saw as it were with
your eyes the putting off of the man and the putting on of the minister.
The world was lost for a time, and shrouded by the clean white robe of
the messenger of GOD. I have often thought that vestries, in and out of
which the minister of a large town church pops as in a play, destroy the
effect which was certainly produced on my mind by this robing of Robert
Walker in the sight of the people. The service began with a psalm,
selected and given out by Walker himself. His voice was rather thin from
age, but clear and distinct, for he had lost none of his teeth, and his
reading of the lines was like the sound of an instrument of music. He
read each verse separately, and separately they were sung. The lines
which he chose were the following from the Old Version of the Psalms,
which he always used not only as being more near the original and more
devotional in their spirit than the new, but as consisting mainly of
words of one syllable, and expressly adapted to the plain-song of
congregational singing. When shall I forget the musical cadences with
which he gave out the following simple lines from the 34th psalm?
‘Come neare to me my children deare,
And to my words give eare:
I shall ye teach the perfect way
How ye the LORD shall feare.
‘Who is the man that would live long,
And lead a blessed life?
See thou refraine thy tongue and lips
From all deceit and strife.
‘Turn back thy face from doing ill,
And do the godly deed:
Inquire for peace and quietnesse,
And follow it with speed.
‘For why? the eyes of GOD above
Upon the just are bent:
His eares likewise do heare the plaint
Of the poor innocent.’
“I wish, sir, you had heard the way in which the giving out of the first
verse of this psalm was responded to by the congregation! There was no
praising GOD by deputy—no leaving this delightful part of the service to
a few women in pink bonnets, and men in well-curled locks, stuck up in a
gallery in front of a conceited organist, mincing GOD’s praise in softly
warbled tones, and ready to sing to-morrow with just the same zeal and
devotion in a Roman Catholic Chapel or an Italian Concert Hall, if they
are equally well paid for their professional services. No, sir! every
man, woman, and child sung for themselves, lustily, and with a right good
will. They sung the air in a minor key, as is always the case among the
inhabitants of mountain districts, perhaps because they learn to pitch
their notes to the echoes of their native valleys; but it had from that
circumstance a more solemn and devotional effect. It was taken up by
those without the doors with the same zeal as by those within, for all
knew the air as familiarly as their own names. Here was a strict
compliance with David’s precept, ‘Young men and maidens, old men and
children, praise ye the name of the LORD.’ The mighty sound rushed down
the vale of ULPHA like the bursting of a mountain cataract; nor, for
aught I can tell, was it checked in its onward course till it had scaled
the heights of the surrounding mountains, and died away at last, in a
gentle whisper, on the lonely summit of BLACK COMB! _Died away_, did I
say? Forgive me, sir, the lowly thought! Far higher than the cliffs of
HELVELLYN did that holy psalm ascend; nor stayed it in its upward flight
till it approached, as a memorial of sweet incense, the throne of
GOD—there to be heard again when earthly sound shall be no more!”
There was a single tear on the old man’s withered cheek as he said this,
and a twitching about the rigid muscles of his mouth, which showed that
his iron frame could still vibrate to the gentle recollections of his
youth. He paused in his narrative; and there was a solemn silence
between us of some minutes’ duration. At length he resumed—
“The saying of the Church Service followed with the same calm solemnity
and devotion with which it began. It was clear that the object of the
priest was to forget himself, and lead the worshippers to forget him, in
the high service in which both were engaged; and in this he fully
succeeded. It was not till the worship prescribed by the Church was
ended, and the last Amen had died on the ear, that a sensation of
curiosity seemed to run through the assembly, and those without began to
crowd nearer the door, as though something unusual was about to take
place, and they were anxious to catch words less familiar to their ears
than the well-known language of the Prayer Book. There was little
preparation necessary for the sermon. The preacher did not leave his
place to change his sacred vestments for a black gown, as is now the
general fashion. His place of prayer was also his place of preaching. I
should explain that what we call the reading-desk was placed in the
north-east corner of the little chapel, having two ledges for his books,
one looking to the south, and the other (which also formed the door) to
the west. On the former rested the Prayer Book, and on the latter the
Bible; so that when he prayed, he naturally turned to the altar,—when he
read the Scriptures, towards the people. When he began to preach,
therefore, he simply turned to the people as when he had read the
lessons, resting his sermon on the Bible—no bad foundation, you will
say,” added the old man with a smile, “for a scriptural discourse! His
text was a very short and simple one but had he sought the whole Bible
through, he could not have found one better adapted to my state of mind
than the one he chose—my disposition being at that time, as I before
observed, to take a somewhat gloomy and severe view of the Gospel; it was
‘GOD is love.’ All my dark fears vanished at the sound; and I waited not
to hear the reasons to be convinced that the essence of the Gospel is
indeed ‘glad tidings’ to mankind. There was an unwonted appearance of
excitement about the preacher as he gave forth his text, and turned over
the leaves of the manuscript which lay before him, looking first at it,
and then at the crowd of upturned and expecting faces before him with an
expression which I did not at first comprehend. He paused before he
commenced his sermon, as if he could hardly read his own hand-writing,
and yet nothing could be plainer or more distinct than his penmanship,
even to the end of his days. At last he seemed to have made up his mind.
He closed his sermon with a force which seemed to shew that he had come
to a final determination, and deliberately put it into the pocket of his
cassock; he then cleared his voice, paused for an instant, and commenced
as follows. You will not expect me to remember every word of the
discourse; indeed, perhaps you will be surprised that I should remember
it at all; but the substance of it, and often the very words and looks of
the preacher still cling to my memory, with a firmness of which nothing
can deprive them but the coming grave!”