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CHAPTER XXIX
THE TOWER

"The house that is to be builded for the Lord must be exceeding magnifical."

1 Chron. xxii. 5

 
"Lift it gently to the steeple,
Let our bell be set on high;
There fulfil its daily mission,
Midway 'twixt the earth and sky.
 
 
"As the birds sing early matins
To the God of nature's praise,
This its nobler daily music
To the God of grace shall raise.
 
 
"And when evening shadows soften
Chancel-cross, and tower, and aisle,
It shall blend its vesper summons
With the day's departing smile.
 
 
"Year by year the steeple-music
O'er the tended graves shall pour
Where the dust of saints is garner'd,
Till the Master comes once more."
 

J. M. Neale.

When the Vicar and the Squire met on their way to church the following day, the conversation of the previous evening was thus resumed: —

"You will, I am sure, agree with me," said Mr. Ambrose, "in regarding the church spire as ever teaching outside the building the same lesson that the open timber roof, as you so truly said yesterday, is teaching inside. It is always pointing the thoughts of thoughtful men up above the earthly temple."

"Quite so; and, as is the case with many other great teachers, the earthly fabric has, I believe, in both these cases, a very humble origin; for as the grandest cathedral roof is but a development of the simple tent which formed the early habitation of the once rude inhabitants of this and other countries, so has its lofty and elegant spire gradually raised itself from the low and unpretending roof which covered in the towers of our earliest parish churches.

"I am inclined myself to think that, as a matter of taste and beauty, no church tower is complete without a spire in some form¹⁹³, and it is a question whether, in every case, the tower was not at first built with a view to such an ornament. The termination with a flat or only embattled cornice does not harmonize well with pointed architecture; the spiral form seems to me the only appropriate termination; and, as you say, the symbolic teaching of this part of the building depends upon it. And yet, though it may almost seem a contradiction to what I have said, the spire always needs some object for the eye to rest upon at its summit. The time-honoured weather-cock which every body knows to be the emblem of watchfulness, seems by far the most convenient and suitable, though I am aware that other forms – such as a dragon, and a boat – are fixed to the summits of some spires."

"We do not generally succeed well," said Mr. Ambrose, "in our imitations of the Norman style of architecture. Its extreme massiveness, on which so much of its beauty depends, renders it very costly; and if this is abandoned, as it often is, for the sake of saving expense, and only the details of the style are copied, whilst the walls are thin and unsubstantial, the building has always a mean and cardboard appearance. But where the style is faithfully carried out, it is a matter of surprise to me that the round tower is not more often adopted. It harmonizes so well with the semi-circular arches and the apsidal termination of the chancel. We have, you know, many splendid examples of such towers¹⁹⁴. It is true, indeed, that the architects may in some cases have adopted this form, in places where there was difficulty in obtaining the stone required for the corners of a square tower, as being the most convenient for a building composed of flint only; but that they did not always choose this form as a mere matter of convenience, and not for its own peculiar beauty, is evident from the fact that in the construction of some round towers not only flint, but also stone, is largely employed. The objection to these towers, founded on the supposition that they are not adapted for the use of bells, may, I think, be easily met by a little constructional arrangement of the interior of the belfry."

"The erection of towers detached from the church has not, I am glad to say, gained much favour in this country¹⁹⁵. They certainly lose much of their beauty when separated from the main building. The custom, however, greatly prevails in Italy. The appropriation of a portion of the tower as a priest's chamber is, I believe, far more common with us than it is abroad¹⁹⁶."

At this moment the bells of St. Catherine's commenced a cheerful peal.

"After all," said the Vicar, "that sound indicates the real purpose of the tower."

"True enough," answered Mr. Acres; "no doubt our towers were built to hold the bells¹⁹⁷; and so, if the tower is good and sound, and the bells are there, we must not complain if the spire is wanting."

"Yes; but I wish the bells were under better control than they commonly are."

"Ah, so indeed do I. There's no part of the church so much desecrated as 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 them¹⁹⁸. 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."
 

"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 rules²⁰⁰ 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 bells²⁰¹. 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 purposes²⁰²; 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 inscriptions²⁰³. But there are some, both ancient and modern, that have foolish or otherwise objectionable sentences upon them²⁰⁴. 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 danger²⁰⁵.' 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."

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

"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 God²⁰⁶.'"

"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 heavens²⁰⁷."

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 heavens²⁰⁸." 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 Spirit²⁰⁹.' 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 confounded²¹⁰,' and in the fulness of time 'the stone which the builders refused became the head stone of the corner²¹¹.'

"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 together²¹²,' and by St. Peter, as the living stones which compose this living temple – 'Ye also as lively stones are built up a spiritual house²¹³.' 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 God²¹⁴.' 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 dead²¹⁵. 'Put on charity, which is the bond of perfectness²¹⁶,' 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 mortar²¹⁷,' 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 it²¹⁸.'

"Be it yours, then, 'by patient continuance in well doing, to seek for glory and immortality²¹⁹' 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 ever²²⁰.'"

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 fell²²¹. 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