the tower. Now, I grieve for this; for to my mind there's no music so
delightful as that of the church bells, provided there is nothing in the
occasion of their being rung which grates upon one's feelings. I often
think of the story of a savage people who had never seen a church bell
before, when for the first time they heard it ringing, they believed
that it was _talking_ to them[198]. There is certainly no music that
_speaks_ to us like that of the church bells. What call is there more
eloquent than the chimes 'going for church'? What voice more reproachful
than theirs to one who disobeys their summons? What sound so solemn as
the deep-toned knell? What so happy as the marriage peal? Ah, my dear
friend, you and I know full well what joys and sorrows, what hopes and
fears, the dear old church bells can tell of. How the old memories of
half-forgotten home-scenes come back to us when we listen to their merry
Christmas ringing! Nothing like them to fill the arm-chairs that have so
long stood empty, to tenant the old places with the once familiar forms
which have long gone from us! Nothing like them to bring back the dear
old voices and the dear old faces; nothing like them to put back the old
furniture in its old places again; nothing like them to revive the
bright and happy hours that are past! Then, somehow, the bells always
seem to adapt their voices to each particular season. What joyful hope
there was in their music at Easter! a still gladder song they sing
to-day. They seem to me to have their own peculiar utterance for Sunday
and for saints' day, for fast and for festival. What a joyful song of
thanksgiving they sang at our harvest festival last year! I shall never
forget what the bells said to me on that day.
"You must forgive me, my dear Vicar, for intruding this long rhapsody
into our conversation, my fondness for the music of church bells is so
intense, that I fear you will consider the expression of my admiration
to be quite childish. I don't mean to say they always make me feel
cheerful and happy. Oh, no, they don't do that; but most commonly they
induce a sort of pleasant melancholy--harmless, and even good in
moderation, but morbid in excess. These simple lines exactly express
what I often feel when the bells are ringing:--
"When twilight steals along the ground,
And all the bells are ringing round,
One, two, three, four, and five;
I at my study window sit,
And, wrapt in many a musing fit,
To bliss am all alive.
"But though impressions calm and sweet
Thrill round my heart a holy heat,
And I am inly glad,
A tear-drop stands in either eye,
And yet, I cannot tell thee why,
_I'm pleased, and yet I'm sad_[199]."
Illustration: Tower, Saragosa
"I know the feeling well," said Mr. Ambrose; "we love the _silent
eloquence_ of each feature of the church's fabric as we love the vivid
expression of each feature of a dear friend, and we love--as we love his
familiar voice--the well-known _uttered language_ of the old church
tower."
"Yes; and not more discordant would be the merry voice of a friend, with
a heart bowed down with sorrow, than seems to me a merry peal of the
church bells, with the penitential seasons of the Christian year. I
greatly admire your custom of only ringing three bells during Lent and
Advent, and tolling a single bell on Good Friday. The contrast to the
usual joyful chimes cannot fail to strike every one."
"I am most thankful that in our parish we have a set of bellringers who
really feel a proper interest in the work, and regard theirs as a
_religious_ office. I have only allowed men of well-known steady habits
and good moral character to be among them. From the time I came here, as
you know, I have been their president, and have always attended their
annual dinners. Then their _rules_[200] are good. No drinking is allowed
in the belfry, no one is allowed to wear his hat there, and no loud and
boisterous language is permitted: any one using offensive words or
swearing is at once expelled. In fact, I think we do all that can be
done to teach the ringers that they are engaged in a religious duty, in
a part of _God's house_. I am fully sensible that much of our success is
due to your influence among them, and I very much wish that more Church
laymen in your position would follow your example, and take part in the
_actual ringing_ of the church bells[201]. On one occasion, long ago, I
had some difficulty with our ringers. You remember old Sir Perrygal
Biber? a greater profligate or drunkard perhaps never lived. He had wit
enough, however, to secure his election for the county, and money enough
to reward those who voted for him. I am sorry to say that in many
parishes the church bells, which had once been solemnly dedicated to
God's service, were impressed to do honour to that man, whose immorality
was patent to the whole county. Our ringers naturally thought that what
was not wrong elsewhere would not be wrong here, and so begged
permission to follow the example of their neighbours. However, they were
good fellows, and open to reason. I explained to them first that our
church bells had nothing whatever to do with mere secular matters, such
as the election of a member of Parliament; and then I showed them that
their neighbours were specially wrong in this instance, because they
were employing what was intended for God's service in doing honour to an
impious man. I believe they were all of them, at heart, glad to get out
of it; and, in fact, would never have thought of ringing at all had not
William Strike put it into their heads. Since then they have not caused
me a moment's trouble.
"The church bells have, alas! often been sadly ill-used; sometimes
broken up and employed for secular purposes[202]; sometimes sold to pay
the cost of repairing the building: but this, to my mind, is not half so
bad as their desecration when rung on improper occasions."
"No doubt, Mr. Vicar, you have often read with interest the very quaint
legends which are to be found on many church bells. I very much like the
terse Latin sentences, and the oft-repeated '_Jesu, miserere mei_,' we
meet with on the oldest of them. Not a few, too, of the more modern
bells have simple pious inscriptions[203]. But there are some, both
ancient and modern, that have foolish or otherwise objectionable
sentences upon them[204]. In some cases they are merely laudatory of
the donor; in others of the founder, or of the churchwardens of the
parish. I should think, however, that there is scarcely a peal of bells
in the country, except, perhaps, a few very recently cast, but possesses
some both interesting and instructive inscriptions. Of course, many
volumes would be filled with them, could they be all collected. I once
copied one of these legends which much pleased me, but I cannot now call
to mind where I found it. Let me repeat it to you.
'Men's death I tell by doleful knell,
Lightning and thunder I break asunder,
On Sabbath all to church I call,
The sleepy head I raise from bed,
The winds so fierce I do disperse,
Men's cruel rage I do assuage.'"
"It was a curious conceit, which I suppose every body once accepted,
that the ringing of the church bells cleared the air of all evil and
discordant spirits, and caused the storm and the tempest to cease. But
the Church had another and a better reason for ordering the bells to be
rung at such times; and that was, 'that the faithful might be admonished
to be urgent in prayer for the instant danger[205].' I like the idea of
the Church bell inviting to _private prayer_ as well as public worship,
but we have almost lost it. The _passing bell_ used to ask the private
prayers of the faithful in behalf of the spirit passing from earth. This
was truly a Christian custom; nevertheless, I see difficulties in the
way of its general revival."
"_You_ have not, however, lost sight, my dear friend, of the invitation
to _private_ devotion as associated with church bells; for it is in this
light I regard the ringing of the little sancte bell just before the
consecration of the elements at the celebration of Holy Communion. I
was very glad when you restored the old bell to its little turret over
the chancel arch; and I know that when it is rung, many who cannot come
to church bend their knees and join heartily with us in our prayers and
adoration."
"Yes, that is a good old practice of the early Church, and I am very
glad to know that its revival has been a blessing and a comfort to many
by awakening solemn thought and earnest prayer."
Illustration: Window, Church of St. Petronius, Bologna
_CHAPTER XXX_
THE HOUSE NOT MADE WITH HANDS
"Ye also, as lively stones, are built up a spiritual house."
1 Pet. ii. 5.
"One sweetly solemn thought
Comes to me o'er and o'er,--
I'm nearer home to-day
Than I have been before;
"Nearer my Father's House,
Where the many mansions be,
Nearer the great white Throne,
Nearer the jasper sea;
"Nearer the bound of life,
Where we lay our burdens down,
Nearer leaving the Cross,
Nearer gaining the Crown."
CAREY
THE HOUSE NOT MADE WITH HANDS
"I must just go up for a minute to see poor Matthew. I hear he is not
quite so well," said the Vicar, as he parted from his companion, and
entered the little door that led up to the old sexton's chamber.
"My dear friend," said the Vicar, taking the old man's trembling hand,
"I see you are still very weak; but I trust you are not suffering much?"
"Weak, very, sir; but, thank God, no pain. I feel, however, that the end
can't be very far off. You must look out for another sexton, sir, for
old Matthew's work is nearly over."
"_His_ will be done," said the Vicar; and the old man breathed a solemn
"Amen," which seemed spoken for no earthly ears.
"I've been thinking," at length said Matthew, "that it's ten years since
you and I, sir, and Mr. Acres, met at the old lych gate in that terrible
storm. I remember I said then that it wouldn't be long before some
younger ones would have to carry me through the gate, but God has spared
me these ten years more, and now I shall need none to bear me through
the gate; for here I am--thanks to your kindness, sir--already within
the gate, and even within the House of God itself."
"Yes; and so when God calls you to Himself, He will but take you from
one temple to another--from the courts of His House here, to live for
ever in His heavenly mansions. 'Those that be planted in the House of
the Lord shall flourish in the courts of our God[206].'"
"If you please, sir, I should like to be buried beside little Lizzie
Daniels. 'Tis long ago now since I made that little grave, and I fear
the flower-bed is a good deal overgrown with grass, for I have been too
poorly to look after it as I used to; but I think you'll know it, sir.
She helped in her own quiet, simple way to teach an old man the way to
Heaven; and I have never forgotten her lessons. How often she used to
talk about this day--Ascension Day! She once said to me, sir, that you
had told her we ought to remember this day throughout the year, and to
try and lead an _Ascension_ life, and let our thoughts and desires dwell
as much as possible where our Saviour has gone before. I have tried to
do so--God forgive me, for I have often failed!"
He then drew the Vicar nearer to him, and whispered in his ear, "Be good
to dear little Harry, sir, when I'm gone. He loves me so, I fear 'twill
break his heart."
The "parson's bell," as it was called, was now ringing, so the Vicar,
having promised that his wishes should be fully carried out, was
compelled to hasten into the church. He first laid his hand on the noble
brow of the good old man, and pronounced the blessing of Heaven upon
him, and then bade him farewell, adding, "I hope, my dear friend, we may
be permitted to meet again in this earthly house of God; but if not, my
heart-deep hope and prayer is, that we may meet in His house not made
with hands, eternal in the heavens[207]."
The little window that looked into the church from the sexton's chamber
was opened, and none listened more earnestly to the festive service, and
to the Vicar's sermon, on that Ascension Day than did old Matthew
Hutchinson.
Although it was a common practice with the Vicar on festivals not to
preach from any particular passage of Holy Scripture, but simply to make
the festival itself the subject of his discourse, yet on this occasion
he selected these words as his text: "The patterns of things in the
heavens[208]." He showed how that all this world of ours, in which so
much that is beautiful and lovely has survived the fall, is full of
patterns, or symbols, or types of things in that Heaven to which Christ
has ascended; how that the whole Bible abounds with the most vivid
symbolism and the most graphic imagery representative of the glories of
that Heavenly kingdom; and then, looking round the beautiful church, now
so richly adorned with its festive decorations, he explained how the
earthly building, in its several parts, possessed a thousand patterns of
those heavenly things which make up the spiritual fabric of the Church
of Christ. "When we regard the material fabric of the Christian Church,"
he said, "as a type of the spiritual house, ever rising higher and
higher in honour of its Divine Founder, of which the saints on earth and
the saints in Heaven are the living stones, we are arraying the noblest
work of man with its grandest and most exalted dignity. 'Ye are built
upon the _foundations_ of the Apostles and Prophets,' writes St. Paul to
the Church of Ephesus, 'Jesus Christ Himself being the chief _corner
stone_; in whom all the building fitly framed together groweth unto an
holy _temple_ in the Lord: in whom ye also are builded together for an
habitation of God through the Spirit[209].' Here, in the symbol of the
_foundation stones_ of the material structure, we have represented to
us, as it were, at one view, all those heavenly graces and blessings
which from the day of Pentecost down to this time have flowed to God's
people through the visible ministry and appointed ordinances of the
Christian Church. Then, under the figure of the _corner stone_--the key
stone of the edifice--we have gathered up all those old prophecies and
types which pointed on forward, through the sufferings and death of the
Saviour, up to the time when, having established His Church in the
world, He should be Himself the heavenly life of its living members.
Long had it been 'contained in the Scriptures: Behold, I lay in Zion a
chief _corner stone_, elect, precious; and he that believeth on Him
shall not be confounded[210],' and in the fulness of time 'the stone
which the builders refused became the _head stone of the corner_[211].'
"And next see, my friends, how the figure is carried out by the two
Apostles, St. Paul and St. Peter, so as to embrace all the faithful
members of Christ's Church. They are represented by St. Paul as 'the
whole _building fitly framed together_[212],' and by St. Peter, as the
living stones which compose this living temple--'Ye also as _lively
stones_ are built up a _spiritual house_[213].' And this figure of a
living temple is thus constantly employed by the sacred writers: 'Know
ye not that your bodies are the _Temple of God_?' writes St. Paul to the
Corinthian Church; and, again, 'Ye are the _Temple of the living
God_[214].' St. Jude is following out the same idea when he exhorts
Christians to _build up themselves in their most holy faith_."
The Vicar ended his sermon with an earnest, practical application of the
subject. "Let me entreat you, my dear friends, often to suffer the
solemn thoughts which this sacred symbol suggests to dwell on your
minds: '_The temple of the Lord_ is holy, which temple _ye are_.' Holy
Prophets and Holy Apostles, and confessors, and martyrs, are the
foundation of the sacred building; the Holy Jesus is the corner stone,
in whom ye--the living stones--must be _fitly framed together_. Mark, my
friends, there must be _no schism, no division, no rent or fissure_,
that ye may be a spiritual house perfect in all its parts, and pure in
all its adornments. Oh, then, cherish that heavenly life within you,
which alone can keep the building compact and firm! Be fruitful in good
works. Remember faith without works is not living, but _dead_[215]. 'Put
on charity, which is the _bond of perfectness_[216],' and will be the
best evidence to God and man, and to your own souls, that you possess a
living faith; that you are, indeed, _living stones in a living temple_.
Be sure the cement that must unite the living stones of the spiritual
house is brotherly love and fervent charity. Without these, the house
will be divided against itself; its walls will be 'daubed with
untempered mortar[217],' and, instead of living stones, there will be
but the dead, outlying blocks of a ruined house. 'Except the Lord build
the house, their labour is but lost that build it[218].'
"Be it yours, then, 'by patient continuance in _well doing_, to seek for
glory and immortality[219]' in that 'house eternal in the heavens, whose
Builder and Maker is God.' Learn to see in the whole earth, and air, and
sky--with their countless beauties and wondrous harmonies--reflections
of the glories of Heaven, and promises of the coming bliss of eternity.
Learn to read lessons of wisdom and religion from the many instructive
patterns, and symbols, and emblems in nature, and in art, with which you
are ever surrounded. Thus go on, day by day, advancing nearer to your
mansion in Heaven. Thus, in these earthly temples of Jehovah, be ever
purifying your hearts, and attuning your voices to share in that
glorious song of the Lamb when the sweet music of angels' harps shall
vibrate on this regenerate earth, when her ten thousand choirs shall
join with theirs in joyful harmony--and melt their united praises in one
never-ending rapture, singing, 'Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty,
which was, and is, and is to come;' 'Blessing and honour, and glory and
power be unto Him that sitteth upon the Throne, and unto the Lamb for
ever and ever[220].'"
In the prayer for the Church militant, which followed the sermon, the
Vicar paused longer than usual when he prayed God to _succour and
comfort those who were in sickness_. All knew that he was inviting a
special prayer for the old man whom all the village loved; and had they
been offered for the proudest potentate, the most learned philosopher,
or even the greatest philanthropist that ever lived, the prayers that
went up to Heaven amid that solemn silence for him "for whom the prayers
of the Church were desired," could not have been more fervid and
sincere. When Mr. Ambrose proceeded with the prayer, a slight stir in
the porch chamber was heard by those near at hand, but it was little
noticed.
At the conclusion of the service Mr. Acres met the Vicar in the vestry.
"I should like," said he, "to go with you to see our poor old friend
once more."
"It will probably be the last time," replied the Vicar, "for he was
evidently sinking when I saw him before service. I told little Harry to
go up to him as soon as we had sung the last hymn."
Both went up together. The Vicar was not mistaken. Calm and peaceful,
without a line of care or pain, there lay the placid face, and the eyes
were closed in the last, long sleep. One hand lay motionless upon the
bed, grasped by his little grandson, who was kneeling beside him, still
robed in the snow-white surplice with which he had recently left the
choir.
"Poor little fellow!" said the Vicar; "I will keep my promise to the old
man. He shall not be left without a friend, though his best is gone."
But Mr. Acres saw that the little hands were white as the aged hand they
clasped.
"He's with a better Friend now, my dear Vicar," said he, "than this
earth can give him. We shall hear his sweet voice no more in our choir
here; he has gone to join the choir of angels in a nobler temple than
ours."
Old Matthew's words were true; the loving little heart was broken. The
old oak had fallen, and crushed the tender sapling as it fell[221]. On
the morning of Trinity Sunday, there stood under the old yew-tree of St.
Catherine's churchyard, three little stone crosses side-by-side, where
but one had been before.
THE END
GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, PRINTERS, ST. JOHN'S SQUARE, LONDON.
Footnotes
1: In some parts of Devonshire and Cornwall, Lich-Gates are called
"Trim-Trams." The origin of this word is not easy to determine; it is
probably only a nickname.
2: Anglo-Saxon, _lic_,--a dead body. In Germany the word _leiche_ has
doubtless the same original; it is still used to signify a corpse or
funeral. The German _leichengang_ has precisely the same meaning as our
_Lich-Gate_.
3: It is stated in _Britton's Antiquities_ that there was formerly a
Lych-Gate in a lane called Lych-lane in Gloucester, where the body of
Edward II. rested on its way to burial in the Cathedral.
4: A Lyke-wake dirge:--
"This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
Every nighte and alle;
Fire and sleete, and candle lighte,
And Christe receive theye saule."
(Scott's "_Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_.")
5: On the Lich-Gate at Bray, Berks, is the date 1448; but there are very
few examples so early.
6: The following are among the most interesting of the ancient
Lich-Gates still remaining:-- Beckenham, Lincolnshire; Berry-Harbor,
Devonshire; Birstal, York; Bromsgrove, Worcestershire; Burnside,
Westmoreland; Compton, Berkshire; Garsington, Oxon; Tawstock,
Devonshire; West Wickham, Kent; and Worth, Sussex. The construction of
the gate at Burnside is very curious, and Tawstock Lich-Gate possesses
peculiar features of interest, which are noticed in the next Chapter.
One of the finest Lich-Gates was at Arundel, in Surrey, but it has been
removed, and is now the Church Porch.
7: St. John xi. 25. The first words of the Burial Office, said by the
Priest at the entrance to the Churchyard.
8: A very interesting paper on Lich-Gates, in the "Clerical Journal,"
affords much information on this subject. Over the gate at Bray are "two
chambers, connected with an ancient charitable bequest."
9: This chamber was formerly called the Chapel of the Holy Rood.
10: The custom of distributing "cakes and ale" at the churchyard on the
occasion of funerals in Scotland, has been but very recently given up.
Dean Ramsey, in his interesting "anecdotes," has informed us that at the
burial of the Chief of a clan, many thousands would sometimes assemble,
and not unfrequently the funeral would end in a disgraceful riot.
11: In Cornwall the now common practice of placing a wreath of white
flowers on the coffin is a very ancient and still prevailing usage.
12: Consecrated Bishop of Exeter A.D. 1598.
13: These crosses were erected at the following places:--Lincoln,
Northampton, Dunstable, St. Alban's, Waltham, Stratford, Cheapside,
Blackfriars, and Charing; those at Waltham and Northampton alone remain.
The statue of King Charles now stands where the Charing ("Chere Reine")
Cross formerly stood.
14: In a churchyard in Oxfordshire, a large altar-tomb, surrounded by
iron railings, occupying a space of ground in which at least thirty
persons might be buried, covers the grave of an infant of three months.
The erection of these masses of stone without restraint would make our
churchyards only the burial-places of the rich, and would soon entirely
exclude the poor from a place in them; whereas the poor have an equal
claim with the rich to be buried there, and when buried, the same title
to respect and protection.
15: The urns which are placed upon so many tombs in our cemeteries and
churchyards, unless they have reference to the heathen custom of burning
the dead, and placing the ashes in funeral urns, can have no meaning at
all. We moreover not unfrequently see a gilded flame issuing from these
urns, and here of course the reference is most clearly marked. The
Christian custom of burying the dead, which we practise in imitation of
the entombment of Christ, dates from the earliest history of man; and as
well from the Old as the New Testament we learn that it has ever been
followed by those who professed to obey the Divine will. The first grave
of which we have any account was the grave of Sarah, Abraham's wife
(Gen. xxiii. 19), and the first grave-stone was that over the
burial-place of Rachel, Jacob's wife (Gen. xlix. 31).
16: There are comparatively but few churchyard grave-stones more
than 250 years old, and probably there are very few of an earlier
date but have engraved upon them the sign of the Cross. There are
two very ancient grave-stones of this character, having also heads
carved upon them, in the churchyard of Silchester. It is likely that
the old churchyard crosses were often mortuary memorials. Probably
there is hardly an old churchyard but has, at some time, been
adorned with its churchyard cross; in most cases, some remains of
this most appropriate and beautiful ornament still exist, and
doubtless is often older than the churchyard as a place of Christian
burial. In many places this cross has been lately restored to its
proper place, near to the Lich-Gate. "Let a handsome churchyard
cross be erected in every churchyard."--Institutions of the Bishop
of Winchester, A.D. 1229.