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STONES OF THE TEMPLE
R I V I N G T O N S
London _Waterloo Place_
Oxford _High Street_
Cambridge _Trinity Street_
Illustration: STONES OF THE TEMPLE
STONES OF THE TEMPLE or
Lessons from the fabric and furniture of the Church
By WALTER FIELD, M.A., F.S.A.
RIVINGTONS London, Oxford, and Cambridge 1871
"When it pleased God to raise up kings and emperors favouring sincerely
the Christian truth, that which the Church before either could not or
durst not do, was with all alacrity performed. Temples were in
all places erected, no cost was spared: nothing judged too
dear which that way should be spent. The whole world did
seem to exult, that it had occasion of pouring out gifts
to so blessed a purpose. That cheerful devotion which
David did this way exceedingly delight to behold,
and wish that the same in the Jewish people
might be perpetual, was then in Christian
people every where to be seen.
So far as our Churches and their
Temple have one end, what
should let but that they
may lawfully have one
form?"--Hooker's
"Ecclesiastical
Polity."
{~MALTESE CROSS~}
CONTENTS
PREFACE.
_Chap._ _Page_
I. THE LICH-GATE 1
II. LICH-STONES 11
III. GRAVE-STONES 19
IV. GRAVE-STONES 31
V. THE PORCH 43
VI. THE PORCH 51
VII. THE PAVEMENT 63
VIII. THE PAVEMENT 73
IX. THE PAVEMENT 81
X. THE PAVEMENT 91
XI. THE WALLS 103
XII. THE WALLS 111
XIII. THE WINDOWS 123
XIV. A LOOSE STONE IN THE BUILDING 145
XV. THE FONT 155
XVI. THE PULPIT 167
XVII. THE PULPIT 175
XVIII. THE NAVE 187
XIX. THE NAVE 197
XX. THE AISLES 209
XXI. THE TRANSEPTS 217
XXII. THE CHANCEL-SCREEN 225
XXIII. THE CHANCEL 235
XXIV. THE ALTAR 245
XXV. THE ORGAN-CHAMBER 255
XXVI. THE VESTRY 265
XXVII. THE PILLARS 275
XXVIII. THE ROOF 285
XXIX. THE TOWER 295
XXX. THE HOUSE NOT MADE WITH HANDS 311
INDEX OF ENGRAVINGS
_Page_
St. Mildred's Church and Lich-Gate, Whippingham 3
Lich-Gate at Yealmton 5
Lich-Gate at Birstal 7
Heywood Church, Manchester 13
Lich-Stone, Great Winnow, Cornwall 15
Lich-Stone at Lustleigh 18
Church of St. Nicholas, West Pennard 21
Grave-Stones in Streatham Churchyard 23
Grave-Stones in High-Week Churchyard 24
Easter Flowers 28
Stinchcombe Church 33
Grave-Stones 35, 39, 41
Llanfechan Church 42
Godmersham Church 45
Porch of Luebeck Cathedral 53
Porch and Parvise of St. Mary's Church, Finedon 55
Parvise, Westbury-on-Trim 60
Church of SS. Philip and James, Oxford 65
Brass of John Bloxham and John Whytton in Merton College, Oxford 67
Heywood Church 75
Brass of Henry Sever, at Merton College, Oxford 77
Chancel of Whippingham Church 83
Brass of Sir Roger de Trumpington 85
Church of St. John the Baptist, Kidmore End 93
Encaustic Tiles, Brooke Church 95, 97
St. Andrew's Church, Halstead 105
Ancient Wall Paintings in Kimpton Church 108, 109
St. Michael's Church, Gloucester 113
Ancient Wall Painting in Bedford Church 118
Wall Painting 121
Church of St. John, Brandenburg 125
Doorway, St. Stephen's Church, Tangermuende 127
Crowmarsh Church 131
Stained Glass Windows in Great Malvern Church 137, 139, 141
Rose Window, Cremona Cathedral 143
Amberley Church, in ruin, and restored 147
Ancient Font in West Rounton Church 157
Stone Pulpit in Dartmouth Church 169
Church of St. Mary, Henley-on-Thames 177
Stone Pulpit in North Kilworth Church 179
St. Mary's Church, Sherborne 189
All Saints' Church, Bradford 199
Castle Cary Church 211
Church of SS. Peter and Paul, Ringwood 219
Church of St. John, Walworth 227
Sutton Benger Church 237
Llanfaenor Church 243
St. Alban's Church, Holborn 247
Icklesham Church 257
Harpsden Church 267
Church of St. John, Highbridge 277
Keynsham Church 287
Clerestory Window 294
Meopham Church 297
Tower, Saragosa 303
Window, Church of St. Petronius, Bologna 309
"Who is able to build Him an house, seeing the heaven and heaven of
heavens cannot contain Him? who am I then, that I should build
Him an house, save only to burn sacrifice before Him?
"Send me now therefore a man cunning to work in gold, and
in silver, and in brass, and in iron, and in purple, and
crimson, and blue, and that can skill to grave with the
cunning men that are with me in Judah and in Jerusalem,
whom David my father did provide. Send
me also cedar-trees, fir-trees, and algum-trees,
out of Lebanon: for I know that thy servants
can skill to cut timber in Lebanon;
and, behold, my servants shall be
with thy servants, even to prepare
me timber in abundance:
for the house which
I am about to build
shall be great and
wonderful."--
2 Chron. ii.
6--9.
{~MALTESE CROSS~}
PREFACE
The following chapters are an attempt to explain in very simple language
the history and use of those parts of the Church's fabric with which
most persons are familiar.
They are not written with a view to assist the student of Ecclesiastical
Art and Architecture--for which purpose the works of many learned
writers are available--but simply to inform those who, from having paid
little attention to such pursuits, or from early prejudice, may have
misconceived the origin and design of much that is beautiful and
instructive in God's House.
The spiritual and the material fabric are placed side by side, and the
several offices and ceremonies of the Church as they are specially
connected with the different parts of the building are briefly noticed.
Some of the subjects referred to may appear trifling and unimportant;
those, however, among them which seem to be the most trivial have in
some parishes given rise to long and serious disputations.
The unpretending narrative, which serves to embody the several subjects
treated of, has the single merit of being composed of little incidents
taken from real life.
The first sixteen chapters were printed some years since in the _Church
Builder_.
The writer is greatly indebted to the Committee of the Incorporated
Church Building Society for the use of most of the woodcuts which
illustrate the volume.
W. F.
GODMERSHAM VICARAGE,
_Michaelmas_, 1871.
_CHAPTER I_
THE LICH-GATE
"These words which I command thee; thou shalt write them on thy gates."
Deut. vi. 6, 9.
"Who says the Widow's heart must break,
The Childless Mother sink?--
A kinder, truer Voice I hear,
Which even beside that mournful bier
Whence Parent's eyes would hopeless shrink,
"Bids weep no more--O heart bereft,
How strange, to thee, that sound!
A Widow o'er her only Son,
Feeling more bitterly alone
For friends that press officious round.
"Yet is the Voice of comfort heard,
For Christ hath touch'd the bier--
The bearers wait with wondering eye,
The swelling bosom dares not sigh,
But all is still, 'twixt hope and fear.
"Even such an awful soothing calm
We sometimes see alight
On Christian mourners, while they wait
In silence, by some Churchyard gate,
Their summons to the holy rite."
_Christian Year._
Illustration: St. Mildred's Church and Lich-Gate, Whippingham
THE LICH-GATE
Illustration: Lich-Gate at Yealmton
"Any port in a storm, Mr. Ambrose," said old Matthew
Hutchison, as with tired feet, and scant breath, he hastened to share
the shelter which Mr. Ambrose, the Vicar of the Parish, had found under
the ancient and time-worn Lich-gate of St. Catherine's Churchyard. For a
few big drops of rain that fell pattering on the leaves around, had
warned them both to seek protection from a coming shower. "Ah, yes, my
old friend," the Vicar replied, "and here we are pretty near the port to
which we must all come, when the storm of life itself is past."
"I've known this place,--man and boy,--Mr. Ambrose, for near eighty
years; and on yonder bit of a hill, under that broken thorn, I sit for
hours every day watching my sheep; but my eye often wanders across here,
and then the thought takes me just as you've said it, sir. Ah! it can't
be long before Old Matthew will need some younger limbs than these to
bring him through the churchyard gate;--that's what the old walls always
seem to say to me;--but God's will be done." And as the old Shepherd
reverently lifted his broad hat, his few white hairs, stirred by the
rising gale, seemed to confirm the truth of his words.
"Well, Matthew, I am glad you have learnt, what many are slow to learn,
that there are 'Sermons in stones,' as well as in books. Every stone in
God's House, and in God's Acre--as our Churchyards used to be
called,--may teach us some useful lesson, if we will but stop to read
it."
"Please, sir, I should like to know why they call the gate at the new
churchyard over the hill, a _lich_-gate;--these new names puzzle a poor
man like me[1]."
"The name is better known in some parts of the country than it is here;
but it is no new name, I assure you, for in the time of the Saxons, more
than thirteen hundred years ago, it was in common use; but I will tell
you all about this, and some other matters connected with the place
where we now stand."
"I shall take it very kind if you will, sir, for you know we poor people
don't know much about these things."
"Very often quite as much as many who are richer, Matthew,--but here
comes our young squire, anxious like ourselves to keep a dry coat on his
back; so I shall now be telling my story to rich and poor together, and
I hope make it plain to both." After a few words of friendly greeting
between Mr. Acres and himself, the three sat down on the stone seats of
the Lich-Gate, and he at once proceeded to answer the old Shepherd's
question. "The word _Lich_[2]," he said, "means a _Corpse_, and so
_Lich-Gate_ means a Corpse-gate, or gate through which the dead body is
borne; and that path up which you came just now, Matthew, used formerly
to be called the _Lich-path_[3], because all the funerals came along
that way. In some parts of Scotland is still kept up the custom of
_Lyke-wake_ (_Lich-wake_), or watching beside the dead body before its
burial[4]. The pale sickly-looking moss, which lives best where all else
is dead or dying, we call _lichen_. Then you know the _Lich-owl_ is so
called because some people are silly enough to think that its screech
foretells death. And I must just say something about this word _lich_ in
the name of a certain city; it is _Lichfield_. Now _lich-field_ plainly
means the field of the dead: and where that city now stands is said to
have been the burial-place of many Christian Martyrs, who were slain
there about the year 290. You will remember, Mr. Acres, that the Arms of
the City exhibit this field of the dead, on which lie three slaughtered
men, each having on his head, as is supposed, a martyr's crown. Now,
Matthew, I think I have fully replied to your question; but I should
like to say something more about the use and the history of these
Lich-Gates."
Illustration: Lich-Gate at Birstal
"Will you kindly tell us," said Mr. Acres, "how it is that there are so
few remaining, and that of these there are probably very few indeed so
much as four centuries old[5]."
"I think the reason is, that at first they were almost entirely made of
wood, and therefore were subject to early decay--certainly they must at
one time have been far more general than at present. The rubrical
direction at the beginning of the Burial Office in our Prayer Book seems
to imply some such provision at the churchyard entrance. It is there
said 'the Priest and Clerks' are to 'meet the Corpse _at the entrance of
the Churchyard_.' But in this old Prayer Book of mine, printed in the
year 1549, you see the Priest is directed to meet the corpse at the
'Church-stile,' or Lich-Gate. Now as in olden times the corpse was
always borne to its burial by the friends or neighbours of the deceased,
and they had often far to travel, their time of reaching the Churchyard
must have been very uncertain, and this uncertainty no doubt frequently
caused delay when they had arrived, therefore it was desirable both to
have a place of shelter on a rainy day, and of rest when the way was
long. Hence I suppose it is, that the older Lich-Gates are to be found,
for the most part, in widespread parishes and mountainous districts;
they are most common in the Counties of Devon and Cornwall, and in
Wales[6]. But even where the necessity of the case no longer exists, the
Lich-Gate, adorned, as it ever should be, with some holy text or pious
precept, is most appropriate as an ornament, and expressive as a symbol.
Its presence should always be associated in our minds with thoughts of
death, and life beyond it. It should remind us that though we must ere
long 'go to the gates of the grave,' yet that it is 'through the grave
and gate of death' that we must 'pass to our joyful resurrection.' It
is here the Comforter of Bethany so often speaks, through the voice of
His Church, to His sorrowing brethren in the world:--'I am the
resurrection and the life: he that believeth in Me, though he were dead,
yet shall he live[7]."
"Ah! sir," said the shepherd, "many's the poor heart-bowed mourner
that's been comforted here with those words! They always remind me of
Jesus saying to the widow of Nain, 'Weep not,' when he stopped the bier
on which was her only son, and the bearers, and all the mourners, at the
gate of the city."
"Yes! and all this makes us look on the old Lich-Gate as no gloomy
object, but rather as a 'Beautiful Gate of the Temple' which is
eternal,--a glorious arch of hope and triumph, hung all round with
trophies of Christian victory. But I see the rain is over, and the sun
is shining! so good-bye, Mr. Acres, we two shepherds must not stay
longer from our respective flocks:--old Matthew's is spread over the
mountains, mine is folded in the village below." The old shepherd soon
took his accustomed seat under the weather-beaten thorn, the Vicar was
soon deep in the troubles of a poor parishioner, and the young Squire
went to the village by another way.
_CHAPTER II_
LICH-STONES
"Man goeth to his long home, and the mourners go about the streets."
Eccles. xii. 5.
"Say, was it to my spirit's gain or loss,
One bright and balmy morning, as I went
From Liege's lovely environs to Ghent,
If hard by the wayside I found a cross,
That made me breathe a prayer upon the spot--
While Nature of herself, as if to trace
The emblem's use, had trail'd around its base
The blue significant Forget-me-not?
Methought, the claims of Charity to urge
More forcibly, along with Faith and Hope,
The pious choice had pitch'd upon the verge
Of a delicious slope,
Giving the eye much variegated scope;--
'Look round,' it whisper'd, 'on that prospect rare,
Those vales so verdant, and those hills so blue;
Enjoy the sunny world, so fresh and fair,
But'--(how the simple legend pierced me thro'!)
'Priez pour les Malheureux.'"
_T. Hood._
Illustration: Heywood Church, Manchester
LICH-STONES
Illustration: Lich-Stone, Great Winnow, Cornwall
"Good morning, Mr. Acres, and a happy Easter-Tide to you. This is indeed
a bright Easter sun to shine on our beautiful Lich-Gate at its
re-opening. I little thought on what good errand you were bent when last
we parted at this spot. Hardly however had I reached my door when
William Hardy came with great glee to tell me you had engaged his
services for the work. May God reward you, sir, for the honour you have
shown for His Church."
"And an old man's blessing be upon you, sir, if you will let Old Matthew
say so; for the Church-gate is dearer to me than my own, seeing it has
closed upon my beloved partner, and the dear child God gave us, and my
own poor wicket shuts on no one else but me now."
"Thank you heartily, honest Matthew, and you too, sir," replied the
squire, giving to each the hand of friendship; "I am rejoiced that what
has been done pleases you so well. The restored Gate is in every respect
like the original one, even to the simple little cross on the top of
it. I have added nothing but the sentence from our Burial Office,
'Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord,' which you see over the
arch, and which I hope will bring comfort to some, and hope to all who
read it. But the work would never have been done by me, Mr. Vicar, had
you not so interested Matthew and myself in these Lich-Gates when last
we met. And so, as you see, your good words have not been altogether
lost, I hope you will kindly to-day continue the subject of our last
conversation."
"Most gladly will I do so; and as I have already spoken of the general
purpose and utility of these Lich-Gates, I will now say a little about
their construction and arrangement.
"Their most common form, as you know, is a simple shed composed of a
roof with two gable ends, covered either with tiles or thatch, and
supported on strong timbers well braced together. But they are
frequently built of stone, and in the manner of their construction they
greatly vary. At Burnsall there is a curious arrangement for opening and
closing the gate. The stone pier on the north side has a well-hole, in
which the weight that closes the gate works up and down. An upright
swivel post or 'heart-tree,' (as the people there call it,) stands in
the centre, and through this pass the three rails of the gate; an iron
bent lever is fixed to the top of this post, which is connected by a
chain and guide-pulley to the weight, so that when any one passes
through, both ends of the gate open in opposite directions. The Gate at
Rostherne churchyard, in Cheshire, is on a similar plan. At
Berry-harbour is a Lich-Gate in the form of a cross. At only one place,
I believe,--Troutbeck, in Westmoreland,--are there to be found three
stone Lich-Gates in one churchyard. Some of these gates have chambers
over them, as at Bray[8], in Berkshire, and Barking[9], in Essex. At
Tawstock there is a small room on either side of the gate, having seats
on three sides and a table in the centre. It seems that in this, as in
some other cases, provision is made either for the distribution of
alms, or for the rest and refreshment of funeral attendants. It was
once a common custom at funerals in some parts, especially in
Scotland[10], to hold a feast at the Church-gate and these feasts
sometimes led to great excesses: happily they are now discontinued, but
the custom may help to point out the purpose for which these Lich-Gate
rooms were sometimes erected. In Cornwall it is not customary to bear
the corpse on the shoulders, but to carry the coffin, under-handed, by
white cloths passed beneath and through the handles[11] and this partly
explains the peculiar arrangement for resting the corpse at the entrance
to the churchyard, common, even now, in that county, and which is called
the _Lich-Stone_. The Lich-Stone is often found without any building
attached to it, and frequently without even a gate. The Stone is either
oblong with the ends of equal width, or it is the shape of the ancient
coffins, narrower at one end than the other, but without any bend at the
shoulder. It is placed in the centre, having stone seats on either side,
on which the bearers rest whilst the coffin remains on the Lich-Stone.
When there is no gate, the churchyard is protected from the intrusion of
cattle by this simple contrivance:--long pieces of moor-stone, or
granite, are laid across, with a space of about three inches between
each, and being rounded on the top any animal has the greatest
difficulty in walking over them, indeed a quadruped seldom attempts to
cross them.
"Lich-Stones are,--though very rarely,--to be found at a distance from
the churchyard; in this case, doubtless, they are intended as rests for
the coffin on its way to burial.
"At Lustleigh, in Devonshire, is an octagonal Lich-Stone called Bishop's
Stone, having engraved upon it the arms of Bishop Cotton[12]. It seems
not unlikely that the several beautiful crosses erected by King Edward
I. at the different stages where the corpse of his queen, Eleanor[13],
rested on its way from Herdeby in Lincolnshire to Westminster, were
built over the Lich-Stone on which her coffin was placed. And now, my
kind listeners, I think I have told you all I know about Lich-Stones."
Illustration: Lich-Stone at Lustleigh
"These simple memorials of Church architecture are very touching,"
replied Mr. Acres, as he rose to depart; "and the Lich-Stone deserves a
record before modern habits and improvements sweep them away. They have
a direct meaning, and surely might be more generally adopted in
connexion with the Lich-Gate, now gradually re-appearing in many of our
rural parishes, as the fitting entrance to the churchyard."
_CHAPTER III_
GRAVE-STONES
"When I am dead, then bury me in the sepulchre wherein the man of God is
buried; lay my bones beside his bones."
1 Kings xiii. 31.
"I've seen
The labourer returning from his toil,
Here stay his steps, and call the children round,
And slowly spell the rudely sculptured rhymes,
And in his rustic manner, moralize.
We mark'd with what a silent awe he'd spoken,
With head uncover'd, his respectful manner,
And all the honours which he paid the grave."
_H. Kirke White._
"I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls
The burial-ground God's acre! It is just;
It consecrates each grave within its walls,
And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust.
"Into its furrows shall we all be cast,
In the sure faith that we shall rise again
At the great harvest, when the archangel's blast
Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain.
"With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod,
And spread the furrow for the seed we sow;
This is the field and acre of our God:
This is the place where human harvests grow."
_Longfellow._
Illustration: Church of St. Nicholas, West Pennard
GRAVE-STONES
Illustration: Grave-Stones in Streatham Churchyard
"And so, Matthew, the old sexton's little daughter is to
be buried to-day. What a calm peaceful day it is for her funeral! The
day itself seems to have put on the same quiet happy smile that Lizzie
Daniels always carried about with her, before she had that painful
lingering sickness, which she bore with a meekness and patience I hardly
ever saw equalled. And then it is Easter Day too, the very day one would
choose for the burial of a good Christian child. All our services to-day
will tell us that this little maid, and all those who lie around us here
so still beneath their green mounds, are not dead but sleeping, and as
our Saviour rose from the grave on Easter Day, so will they all awake
and rise up again when God shall call them. I see the little grave is
dug under the old yew-tree, near to that of your own dear ones. Lizzie
was a great favourite of yours, was she not, Matthew?"
"Ah, she was the brightest little star in my sky, I can tell you, sir;
and I shall miss her sadly. She brought me my dinner, every day for near
two years, up to the old thorn there, and then she would sit down on the
grass before me, and read from her Prayer Book some of the Psalms for
the day; and when she had done, and I had kissed and thanked her, she
used to go trotting home again, with, I believe, the brightest little
face and the lightest little heart in England. Well, sir, it's sorry
work, you know, for a man to dig the grave for his own child, and so I
asked John Daniels to let me dig Lizzie's grave: but it has been indeed
hard work for me, for I think I've shed more tears in that grave than I
ever shed out of it. But the grave is all ready now, and little Lizzie
will soon be there; and then, sir, I should like to put up a stone, for
I shall often come here to think about the dear child. Poor little
Lizzie! she seemed like a sort of good angel to me,--children do seem
like that sometimes, don't they, sir? Perhaps, Mr. Ambrose, you would be
so good as to tell Robert Atkinson what sort of stone you would like him
to put up."
"Certainly I will; and I think nothing would be so suitable as a simple
little stone cross, with Lizzie's name on the base of it. And as she is
to be buried on Easter Day, I should like to add the words, 'In Christ
shall all be made alive.'"
"Thank you, sir; that will do very nicely. I'm only thinking, may be,
that wicked boy of Mr. Dole's, at the shop, will come some night and
break the cross, as he did the one Mr. Hunter put up over his little
boy. But I think that was more the sin of the father than of the son,
for I'm told the old gentleman's very angry with you, sir, 'cause he
couldn't put what he call's a 'handsome monument' over his father's
grave; and he says, too, he's going to law about it."
Illustration: Grave-Stones in High-Week Churchyard
"Ah, he'll be wiser not to do that, Matthew. The churchyard is the
parson's freehold, and he has the power to prevent the erection of any
stone there of which he disapproves; and I, for one, don't mean to give
up this power. 'Tis true that every one of my parishioners has a right
to be buried in this churchyard, nor could I refuse this if I would; but
then, if I am to protect this right of my parishioners, as it is my duty
to do, and to preserve my churchyard from disfigurement and desecration,
I must take care that the ground is not occupied by such great ugly
monuments as Mr. Dole wishes to build[14]. Why I hear he bought that
large urn[15] which was taken down from Mr. Acres' park gates, to put on
the top of the tomb. And then I suppose he would like to have the sides
covered with skulls and crossbones, and shovels and mattocks, and fat
crying cherubs, besides the usual heathen devices, such as inverted
torches and spent hour-glasses; all which fitly enough mark an infidel's
burial-place, but not a Christian's. For you see, my friend, that _none
of these things represent any Christian truth_; the best are but emblems
of mortality; some are the symbols of oblivion and despair, and others
but mimic a heathen custom long gone by. The stones of the churchyard
ought themselves to tell the sanctity of the place, and that it is a
Christian's rest[16]. The letters we carve on them will hardly be read
by our children's children. The lines on that stone there tell no more
than is true of all the Epitaphs around us:
'The record some fond hand hath traced,
To mark thy burial spot,
The lichen will have soon effaced,
To write thy doom--Forgot.'
But even then, if the symbol of our redemption is there, 'the very
stones will cry out,' and though time-worn and moss-grown, will declare
that it is a _Christian's_ burial-place. If, then, as Christian men and
women 'we sorrow not as others without hope,' let us not cover our
monuments with every symbol of despair, or with heathen devices, but as
we are not ashamed of the doctrine, so neither let us be ashamed of the
symbol of the cross of Christ. Besides, if we wish to preserve our
graves from desecration, this form of stone is the most likely to do so;
for in spite of outrages like young Dole's, which have been sometimes
committed, we continually find that such memorials have been respected
and preserved when others have been removed and employed for common
uses. Why, Matthew, I've seen hundreds of grave-stones converted into
fire-hearths, door-steps, pavements, and such like, but I never saw a
monument on which was graven the Christian symbol so desecrated; and I
believe such a thing has hardly ever been seen by any one."
"Well, Mr. Ambrose, I should like there to be no doubt about little
Lizzie's being a Christian's grave. I was thinking, too, to have a neat
iron railing round the stone, sir."
"I would advise you not to have it, Matthew; for the grave will be
prettier without it. Besides, it gives an idea of separateness, which
one does not like in a place where all distinctions are done away with;
and, moreover, the iron would soon rust, and then the railing would
become very untidy."
"Yes, to be sure it would; I was forgetting that I shan't be here to
keep it nicely painted:--but see, sir, here come the children from the
village with their Easter flowers. I dare say little Mary Acres will
give me some for Lizzie's grave."
"Ah, I like that good old custom of placing flowers and wreaths on
Christian graves at Easter, and other special seasons[17]. It is the
simple way in which these little ones both show their respect for
departed friends, and express their belief in the resurrection of the
dead. I would say of it, as Wordsworth wrote of the Funeral Chant:--
'Many precious rites
And customs of our rural ancestry
Are gone, or stealing from us; this, I hope,
Will last for ever.'
But you remember the time, Matthew, when there were very different
scenes from this, at Easter, in St. Catherine's churchyard. If I mistake
not, you will recollect when the Easter fair used to be kept here."
Illustration: Easter Flowers
"That I do, sir, too well. There was always a Sunday fight in the
churchyard, and the people used to come from Walesborough and for miles
round to see it. It's just forty years ago to-day poor Bill Thirlsby was
killed in a fight, as it might be, just where I'm now standing[18].
But, thank God, that day's gone by."
"And, I trust, never to come back again. But have you heard, Matthew,
that some great enemies of the Church are trying to spoil the peace and
sacredness of our churchyards in another way? They want to bring in all
kinds of preachers to perform all sorts of funeral services in them; and
if they gain their ends, our long-hallowed churchyards, where as yet
there has only been heard the solemn beautiful Burial Service of our own
Church, may be desecrated by the clamour of ignorant fanaticism, the
continual janglings of religious discord, or perhaps, the open blasphemy
of godless men."
"What! then I suppose we should have first a service from Master Scoff,
the bill-sticker and Mormon preacher, and next from Master Scole, the
Baptist preacher, then from Father La Trappe, the Roman Catholic
minister, and then, perhaps, sir, it might be your turn. Why, sir,
'twould be almost like going back to the Easter fair."
"Well, my friend, in one respect it would be worse; for it would be
discord all the year round. But I trust God will frustrate these wicked
designs of our Church's foes. Long, long may it be ere the sanctity of
our churchyards is thus invaded."
"Amen, say I to that, sir, with all my heart."
"And, thanks be to God, Matthew, that Amen of yours is now re-echoing
loudly throughout the length and breadth of England."
_CHAPTER IV_
GRAVE-STONES
"And he said, What title is that that I see? and the men of the city
told him, It is the sepulchre of the man of God."
2 Kings xiii. 17.
"I never can see a Churchyard old,
With its mossy stones and mounds,
And green trees weeping the unforgot
That rest in its hallow'd bounds;
I never can see the old churchyard,
But I breathe to God a prayer,
That, sleep as I may in this fever'd life,
I may rest, when I slumber, there.
"Our Mother the Church hath never a child
To honour before the rest,
But she singeth the same for mighty kings,
And the veriest babe on her breast;
And the bishop goes down to his narrow bed
As the ploughman's child is laid,
And alike she blesseth the dark brow'd serf,
And the chief in his robe array'd.
"And ever the bells in the green churchyard
Are tolling to tell you this:--
Go pray in the church, while pray ye can,
That so ye may sleep in bliss."
_Christian Ballads._
"It is an awful thing to stand
With either world on either hand,
Upon the intermediate ground
Which doth the sense and spirit bound.
Woe worth the man who doth not fear
When spirits of the dead are near."
_The Baptistery._
Illustration: Stinchcombe Church
GRAVE-STONES
A golden haze in the eastern sky told that the sun which had set in all
his glory an hour before was now giving a bright Easter Day to
Christians in other lands. The evening service was ended, and a joyful
peal had just rung out from the tower of St. Catherine's,--for such was
the custom there on all the great festivals of the Church,--the low hum
of voices which lately rose from a group of villagers gathered near the
churchyard gate was hushed; there was a pause of perfect stillness; and
then the old tenor began its deep, solemn tolling for the burial of a
little child. The Vicar and his friend Mr. Acres, who had been walking
slowly to and fro on the churchyard path, stopped suddenly on hearing
the first single beat of the burial knell, and at the same instant they
saw, far down the village lane, the flickering light of the two torches
borne by those who headed the little procession of Lizzie's funeral.
They, too, seemed to have caught the spell, and stood mutely
contemplating the scene before them. At length Mr. Acres broke silence
by saying, "I know of but few Parishes where, like our own, the funerals
of the poor take place by torch-light; it is, to say the least, a very
picturesque custom."
Illustration: Grave Stones
"It is, indeed," replied Mr. Ambrose, "I believe, however, the poor in
this place first adopted it from no such sentiment, but simply as being
more convenient both to themselves and to their employers. Their
employers often cannot spare them earlier in the day, and they
themselves can but ill afford to lose a day's wages. But these evening
funerals have other advantages. They enable many more of the friends of
the departed to show this last tribute of respect to their memory than
could otherwise do so; and were this practice more general, we should
have fewer of those melancholy funerals where the hired bearers are the
sole attendants. Then, if properly conducted, they save the poor much
expense at a time when they are little able to afford it. I find that
their poor neighbours will, at evening, give their services as bearers,
free of cost, which they cannot afford to do earlier in the day. The
family of the deceased, too, are freed from the necessity of taxing
their scanty means in order to supply a day's hospitality to their
visitors, who now do not assemble till after their day's labour, and
immediately after the funeral retire to their own homes, and to rest. I
am sorry to say, however, this was not always so. When I first came to
the Parish, the evening was too often followed by a night of
dissipation. But since I have induced the people to do away with hired
bearers, and enter into an engagement to do this service one for
another, free of charge, and simply as a _Christian duty_, those evils
have never recurred. I once preached a sermon to them from the text,
'Devout men carried Stephen to his burial' (Acts viii. 2), in which I
endeavoured to show them that none but men of good and honest report
should be selected for this solemn office; and I am thankful to say,
from that time all has been decent and orderly. When it is the funeral
of one of our own school-children, the coffin is always carried by some
of the school-teachers; I need hardly say this is simply an act of
Christian charity. Moreover, this custom greatly diminishes the number
of our Sunday burials, which are otherwise almost a necessity among the
poor[19]. The Sunday, as a great Christian Festival, is not appropriate
for a public ceremony of so mournful a character as that of the burial
of the dead; there is, too, this additional objection to Sunday burials:
that they create _Sunday labour_. But, considering the subject
generally, I confess a preference for these evening funerals. To me they
seem less gloomy, though more solemn, than those which take place in the
broad light of day. When the house has been closed, and the chamber of
death darkened for several days (to omit which simple acts would be like
an insult to the departed), it seems both consonant with this custom
which we have universally adopted, and following the course of our
natural feelings, to avoid--in performing the last solemn rite--the full
blaze of midday light. There is something in the noiseless going away of
daylight suggestive of the still departure of human life; and in the
gathering shades of evening, in harmony with one's thoughts of the grave
as the place of the _sleeping_, and not of the _dead_. The hour itself
invites serious thought. When a little boy, I once attended a midnight
funeral; and the event left an impression on my mind which I believe
will never be altogether effaced. I would not, however, recommend
midnight funerals, except on very special occasions; and I must freely
admit that under many circumstances evening funerals would not be
practicable."
"I see," said Mr. Acres, "that the system here adopted obviates many
evils which exist in the prevailing mode of Christian burial, but it
hardly meets the case of large towns, especially when the burial must
take place in a distant cemetery. Don't you think we want reform there,
even more, perhaps, than in these rural parishes?"
"Yes, certainly, my friend, I do; and I regret to say I see, moreover,
many difficulties that beset our efforts to accomplish it. Still
something should be done. We all agree, it is much to be deplored that,
owing to the necessity for extramural burial, the connexion between the
parishioner and his parish church is, with very rare exceptions,
entirely severed in the last office which the Clergy and his friends can
render him, and the solemn Service of the Burial of the Dead is said in
a strange place, by a stranger's voice. Now this we can at least partly
remedy. I would always have the bodies of the departed brought to the
parish church previous to their removal to the cemetery; and the funeral
knell should be tolled, as formerly, to invite their friends and
neighbours to be present, and take part in so much of the service as
need not be said at the grave. It would then be no longer true, as now
it is, that in many of our churches this touching and beautiful Service
has never been said, and by many of the parishioners has never been
heard. Then let the bearers be men of good and sober character. How
revolting to one's sense of decency is the spectacle, so common in
London, of hired attendants, wearing funeral robes and hat-bands[20],
drinking at gin-palaces, whilst the hearse and mourning coaches are
drawn up outside! Then I would have the furniture of the funeral less
suggestive of _sorrow without hope_; and specially I would have the
coffin less gloomy,--I might in many cases say, less _hideous_: let it
be of plain wood, or, if covered, let its covering be of less gloomy
character, and without the trashy and unmeaning ornaments with which
undertakers are used to bestud it. As regards our cemeteries, I suppose
in most of them the Burial Service is said in all its integrity, but in
some it is sadly mutilated. 'No fittings, sir, and a third-class grave,'
said the attendant of a large cemetery the other day to a friend of
mine, who had gone there to bury a poor parishioner; which in simple
English was this:--'The man was too poor to have any other than a
_common grave_, so you must not read all the Service; and his friends
are too poor to give a hat-band, so you must not wear a hood and stole.'
My friend did not of course comply with the intimation."
Illustration: Grave-Stones
"Well, Mr. Vicar, I hope we may see the improvements you have suggested
carried out, and then such an abuse as that will not recur. Much indeed
has already been done in this direction, and for this we must be
thankful."
"Yes, and side by side with that, I rejoice to see an increasing
improvement in the character of our tombstones and epitaphs."
"Ah, sir, there was need enough, I am sure, for that. How shocking are
many of the inscriptions we find on even modern tombstones! To 'lie like
an epitaph' has long been a proverb, and I fear a just one. What a host
of false witnesses we have even here around us in this burial-ground!
There lies John Wilk, who was--I suppose--as free from care and sickness
to his dying hour as any man that ever lived; yet his grave-stone tells
the old story:--
'Afflictions sore long time I bore,
Physicians was in vain.'
And beyond his stands the stone of that old scold Margery Torbeck, who,
you know, sir, was the terror of the whole village; and of her we are
told:--
'A tender wife, a mother dear,
A faithful friend, lies buried here.'
I often think, Mr. Ambrose, when walking through a churchyard, if people
were only half as good when living, as when dead they are said to have
been, what a happy world this would be; so full of 'the best of
husbands,' 'the most devoted of wives,' 'the most dutiful of sons,' and
'the most amiable of daughters.' One is often reminded of the little
child's inquiry--'Mamma, where are all the _wicked_ people buried?' But
did you ever notice that vain and foolish inscription under the north
wall to the 'perpetual' memory of 'Isaac Donman, Esq.'? Poor man! I
wonder whether his friends thought the 'Esq.' would _perpetuate_ his
memory. I wish it could be obliterated."
"I have told John Daniels to plant some ivy at the base of the stone,
and I hope the words will be hidden by it before the summer is over. I
find this the most convenient mode of concealing objectionable epitaphs.
But is it not an instance of strange perversity, that where all earthly
distinctions are swept away, and men of all degrees are brought to one
common level, people will delight to inscribe these boastful and
exaggerated praises of the departed, and so often claim for them virtues
which in reality they never possessed? What can be more out of place
here than pride? As regards the frail body on which is often bestowed so
much vain eulogy, what truer words are there than these?--
'How loved, how valued once, avails thee not;
To whom related, or by whom begot:
A heap of dust alone remains of thee,
'Tis all thou art, 'tis all the proud shall be.'
These kind of epitaphs, too, are so very unfair to the deceased. We who
knew old Mrs. Ainstie, who lies under that grand tombstone, knew her to
be a good, kind neighbour; but posterity will not believe that, when
posterity reads in her epitaph that 'she was a spotless woman.' It is
better to say too little than too much; since our Bibles tell us that,
even _when we have done all, we are unprofitable servants_. There are
other foolish epitaphs which are the result of ignorance, not of pride.
For instance, poor old Mrs. Beck, whose son is buried in yonder corner
(it is too dark now to see the stone), sent me these lines for her son's
grave-stone:--
'Here lies John Beck, aged 19 years,
Father and mother, wipe away your tears.'
I persuaded her instead to have this sentence from the Creed:--'I
believe in the communion of Saints.' When I explained to her the meaning
of the words, she was grateful that I had suggested them.
Illustration: Grave-Stones
The two things specially to be avoided in these memorials are flattery
and falsehood; and, moreover, we should always remember that neither
grave-stone nor epitaph can benefit the _dead_, but that both may
benefit the _living_. Therefore a short sentence from the Bible or
Prayer Book, expressive of hope beyond the grave, is always appropriate;
such as:--'I look for the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the
world to come;' or words which either may represent the dying prayer of
the deceased, or express a suitable petition for ourselves when thus
reminded of our own approaching departure, such as: 'Jesus, mercy,' or
'God be merciful to me a sinner,' or 'In the hour of death, good Lord,
deliver us.' How much better is some simple sentence like these than a
fulsome epitaph! But the funeral is nearly at the gate; so I must hasten
to meet it."
"And I will say good evening," said Mr. Acres, "as I may not see you
after the service; and I thank you for drawing my attention to a subject
on which I had before thought too little."
Mr. Ambrose met the funeral at the lich-gate. First came the two
torch-bearers, then the coffin, borne by six school-teachers; then John
and Mary Daniels, followed by their two surviving children; then came
old Matthew, and after him several of little Lizzie's old friends and
neighbours. Each attendant carried a small sprig of evergreen[21], or
some spring flowers, and, as the coffin was being lowered, placed them
on it. Many tears of sadness fell down into that narrow grave, but none
told deeper love than those of the old Shepherd, who lingered
sorrowfully behind to close in the grave of his little friend.
Illustration: Llanfechan Church
_CHAPTER V_
THE PORCH
"Keep thy foot when thou goest to the house of God."
Eccles. v. 1.
"When once thy foot enters the church, be bare.
God is more there than thou: for thou art there
Only by His permission. Then beware
And make thyself all reverence and fear.
Kneeling ne'er spoilt silk stockings: quit thy state,
All equal are within the Church's gate.
"Let vain or busy thoughts have there no part:
Bring not thy plough, thy plots, thy pleasures thither.
Christ purged His temple; so must thou thy heart.
All worldly thoughts are but thieves met together
To cozen thee. Look to thy actions well;
For churches either are our heaven or hell."
_George Herbert._
"One place there is--beneath the burial sod,
Where all mankind are equalized by death:
Another place there is--the Fane of God,
Where all are equal who draw living breath."
_Thomas Hood._
Illustration: Godmersham Church
THE PORCH
Mr. Ambrose only remained in the churchyard a few moments after little
Lizzie's funeral, just to say some kind words to the bereaved parents
and the attendant mourners, and then hastened to comply with the urgent
request of a messenger, that he would without delay accompany him to the
house of a parishioner living in a distant part of the Parish.
It was more than an hour ere the Vicar began to retrace his steps. His
nearest way to the village lay through the churchyard, along the path he
had lately traversed in earnest conversation with Mr. Acres. He paused a
moment at the gate, to listen for the sound of Matthew's spade; but the
old man had completed his task, and all was still. He then entered, and
turned aside to look at the quiet little grave. A grassy mound now
marked the spot, and it was evident that no little care had been
bestowed to make it so neat and tidy.