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The Churches of London: A History and Description of the …, Volume 1
By George Godwin

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The interior of the church is very peculiar, displaying a most inappropriate mixture of debased pointed architecture, or “Gothic,” and the Corinthian order ; but nevertheless possesses a certain degree of richness and picturesque beauty. It is divided into a nave and ailes by Corinthian columns and ornamented arches, which support a clere-story. On the walls of the latter at certain distances are pilasters, resting on corbels of mixed style, and from these spring ribs which form a groined ceiling of peculiar aspect, the details of which, however, are coarse and ugly, resulting apparently from an attempt on the part of the architect, either to restore a previously existing ceiling, or to modify the forms of pointed architecture, so that they might accord with those of the Italian style, with which latter he was evidently best acquainted. In panels formed at the intersections of the ribs appear the arms of the city and of various companies. The ceiling of the ailes is nearly similar. The windows in the clerestory and side ailes which light the church, are of the pointed style, and have peculiarly flat transoms, or heads, with two knees, or breaks in each, as represented in the engraving of the exterior. At the eastern end of the church, above the altar-piece, is a large square-headed window, the upper portion of which is formed by stone mullions into a Catherine wheel, shewn in the accompanying engraving, and is filled with stained glass of brilliant colours, but tasteless design.’ An inscription upon one part of this window, records that it was the gift of the Right Hon. Sir Samuel Stainier, knt. who was Lord Mayor of the City of London in the first year of the reign of King George I.

and Holy Ghost, I pronounce it holy;” then throwing dust from the ground into the air, he bowed to the chancel, and went in procession round the church.

St. Catherine, to whom the church is dedicated, was a Christian virgin who was persecuted in the 4th century for the principles which she professed. Legends say that she was placed between wheels, to which were fastened knives and sword blades, with the intent that she might be lacerated

It has been stated by some writer that this church was restored under the direction of the celebrated architect, Inigo Jones ;’ and although we have not found any authority for this assertion, we are led to believe from the appearance of the church, remembering too the period of its erection, that this must have been the case.?

Among the monuments in the present church are some few which were originally placed in the former building. The chief among them are, a full length recumbent figure beneath a canopy affixed to the south wall of the church, in memory of Sir Nicholas Throkmorton, (one of the Chamberlains of England, and ambassador to France from Queen Elizabeth,) who died in 1570; and a small tablet supported by two figures of monks inscribed to Bartholomei Ellnor, and executed at the commencement of the 17th century. The former is of marble, or alabaster, but is now painted stone colour; in the latter, the figures are deserving of notice. On the same side of the church as those last mentioned is a tablet to “Richard Spenser,” who “ after he had seen prodigious changes in the state, the dreadful tryvmps of death by pestilence, the astonishand crushed, to death ; but that the wheels miraculously broke asunder, and the knives being scattered, wounded her enemies. Whether this story be true or false the form of wheel to which she was fastened received her name in consequence. The name of the pyrotechnic toy known corruptly as a “ Cat and Wheel,” has this origin.

See “ London Churches,” list. of St. Bene’t’s, Paul’s Wharf, for some particulars of his life.

The length of the church is 90 feet : the breadth 51 feet, the height 37 feet. The height of the steeple is 75 feet. “ New View of London.” The Rev. J. J. Gelling, is the present Incumbent.

ing conflagration of the city by fire, piously lamented the misery, and then in peace and charity, in the faith of Christ, in communion of the church, he finished his course, and left behinde him a good name, a deare wife, a vertuous example, and three daughters.” This was in 1667.

Among the more modern memorials, the last erected is a neat tablet of. statuary marble in the south aile, commemorative of James Bridger, Esq.’

The annexed engraving represents the exterior of the building, and shews the range of windows which light the south aile, the old stone tower, (now covered with composition, and surmounted by an ugly circular turret, formed by Tuscan columns and a cupola,) and a curious gateway at the east end of the church, which leads to the yard, and was built by William Avenon, in 1631.

“The inscription is as follows;” Sacred to the memory of James Bridger, Esq. who departed this life the 15th of December 1836, in the 81st year of his age ; having been for 67 years an inhabitant of this parish. His remains are deposited in a family grave in the middle aisle of this church.”

ST. CLEMENT’S, EAST CHEAP.

How wonderful and enduring is the power of genius ! A barren knoll of earth, a rugged cliff, a dilapidated dwelling, associated with its works, become objects almost of reverence, and remain in the memory of men long after the hillock has been covered by a town, the rock has disappeared before the action of the sea, and the site of the old house is matter for antiquarian dispute. Who for example can walk in Eastcheap, near which stands the church represented in the following engraving, without seeking for the “Boar’s Head” tavern, where, in the “Dolphin ” Chamber, Shakspeare assembled the careless, but noble, Prince Henry, the sensual, weak, but merry Falstaff, witty Poins, and blustering Pistol At the time when these meetings are supposed to occur, namely at the commencement of the 15th century, there was no tavern in Eastcheap, but it was noted as the residence of cooks, and such as sold meats ready dressed,” and was resorted to by those who desired to dine or sup. Stow mentions a tumult which was caused in 1410, by the retainers of Thomas and John, sons of King Henry IV, while their masters were regaling there ; and it is not improbable that this circumstance in conjunction with the known character of Eastcheap, may have induced the dramatist to adopt that locality for the merry-makings of Prince Henry and the jovial knight. Eastcheap was so called from the market which was kept there for the east part of the city; the Saxon word “cheap” signifying a market. Some, indeed, have supposed that it was one of the first established in London during the dominion of the Romans, inasmuch as it was near to the ferry over the Thames. A Roman roadway passed through it; and during the excavations which were made for the purpose of forming the approaches to new London Bridge in 1831, two Roman wells, and a massive architectural fragment which was supposed to have been part of an architrave of a Roman building of some importance, were found among many other remains,

  • This is confirmed by a curious, but often quoted ballad, called “London Lyckpeny,” which was written by Lidgate, a monk of Bury St. Edmunds, in the reign of Henry V. and purports to be the adventures of a countryman in London, who for lack of money was unable to obtain food, clothes, or justice. “Then I hyed me into Estchepe,

One cryes rybbs of befe and many a pye ;

Pewter pots they clattered on a heape,

There was harpe, pype, and mynstrelsye.”

Upon a house on the south side of Eastcheap, previous to recent altera

tions, there was a representation of a boar’s head, to indicate the site of the tavern ; but there is reason to believe that this was incorrectly placed, insomuch as by the books of St. Clement’s parish it appears to have been situated on the north side. It seems by a deed of trust which still remains, that the tavern belonged to this parish, and in the books about the year 1710, appears this entry; “Ordered that the churchwardens doe pay to the Rev. Mr. Pulleyn, £20. for four years due to him at Lady-day next, for one moyetee of the ground rent of a house formerly called the Boar’s Head, Eastcheap, near the George alehouse.” Again, too; we find, “August 18, 1714. An agreement was entered into with William Usborne, to grant him a lease for 46 years, from expiration of the then lease, of a brick messuage or tenement on the north side of Great Eastcheap, commonly known by the name of the Lamb and Perriwig, in the occupation of Joseph Lock, barber, and which was formerly known as the sign of the Boar’s Head.” For this extract we are indebted to Mr. John Sharp, one of the churchwardens.

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The Churches of London: A History and Description of the …, Volume 1
By George Godwin

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at the north-east corner of Great Eastcheap, and in 1836 further evidences of Roman occupation were discovered.

To return however to our immediate subject, the church of St. Clement’s Eastcheap, (or as it was sometimes written, St. Clement’s near Eastcheap,) which stands on the east side of Clements Lane, nearly adjoining King William Street. According to Newcourt, William de Southlees was Rector previous to the year 1309; but when the church was founded is uncertain. Clement, whose name it bears, was a Roman convert to Christianity, and according to Eusebius was made Bishop of the Imperial City, about the year 92. He is said to have been in communion with the Apostles themselves. St. Paul speaks of Clement as one of his “ fellow labourers whose names are written in the book of life.” 2 Some writers have stated, that he was first banished from Rome by the Emperor Trajan for his exertions in the cause of Christianity, and ultimately thrown into the sea, with an anchor about his neck,—but this has been questioned, and with some show of reason, by others. Whether however he suffered martyrdom or not, it appears that his death took place in the last year of the first century.

Previous to the suppression of religious houses, the rectory belonged to the Abbot and Convent of St. Peter, Westminster : but coming then to the crown, it was afterwards given by Queen Mary to the Bishop of London, and his successors for ever. After the fire of 1666, when St. Clement’s church was destroyed, this parish was united to that of St. Martin Orgar; and St. Clement’s Church,

som

1 See Gentleman’s Magazine, Vol. V. New Series, p. 135. · Philippians iv. 3. This epistle is said to have been written about the middle of the first century. If, then, this be the same Clement of whom we have spoken, he must have lived to be a very old man.

when rebuilt, which was in- 1686, was made to serve the two districts. The right of presentation to the church

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1 Among other monuments in the old church of St. Clement, Eastcheap, was one to Queen Elizabeth, who was termed upon it,

Spain’s rod, Rome’s ruin,
Netherland’s relief,
Heaven’s gem, Earth’s joy,

World’s wonder, Nature’s chief.
Britain’s blessing, Englan d’s splendour,

Religion’s nurse, the Faith’s defender. A few years before the fire, viz. in 1658, the church had been rebuilt, with the exception of the south aile and steeple.

of St. Martin Orgar’ belonged to the Dean and Chapter of St. Paul’s, and they therefore now present alternately with the Bishop of London. The present Rector is the Rev. W. Johnson, B.D.

The church represented in the engraving, was built from the designs of Sir Christopher Wren, and it would appear that the parishioners were satisfied with his exertions ; for in the Register books we find among the items of expenditure in the year 1685, “ To one third of a hogshead of wine given to Sir Christopher Wren, £4. 2s.”

The interior of the church is a paralellogram, with the addition of an aile on the south side, introduced in order to disguise the intrusion of the tower which stands at the south west angle of the building. The aile is separated from the body of the church by two columns rising from very high plinths, and supporting an entablature with a clere-story above it, in which are windows. The ceiling is divided into panels, the centre one being formed by a large oval band of fruit and flowers. There is a gallery in the aile, as there is at the west end, and in the latter is a fine organ. Over the altar-piece, which is similar to many in Wren’s churches, is a large window, (besides four smaller ones,) having a stained glass border of Gothic pattern. This, although an error in taste, insomuch as it does not accord in style with the edifice, is yet so unobstrusive, that we should not allude to it, did we not hope that by so

| The church of St. Martin Orgar, which had its distinctive name from Ordgarus, once its owner, who presented it previous to the year 1181, to the Dean and Chapter of St. Paul’s, stood in Martin’s Lane. After the fire, part of the tower and the nave were found to be worth reparation, and they were converted into a place of meeting for French protestants, but becoming ruinous, the whole was taken down a few years ago, with the exception of the tower, which serves as an entrance to the site of the old church, now occupied as a burial ground for the parishioners of the united parishes.

doing, a similar error elsewhere may by chance be prevented. The pulpit and desk, as well as the large sounding-board above them, are elaborately carved; and a marble font standing in the south aile has an oak cover of curious design. Among many mural tablets, are three which have been erected at the cost of the parishioners, commemorative of the Rev. Thomas Green, curate 27 years, who died in 1734, the Rev. John Farrer, Rector, 1820, and the Rev. W. Valentine Ireson, A.M. who was lecturer of the united parishes 30 years, and died in 1822. The last tablet put up in the church is to the memory of Thomas White, Esq, 1821, and Mary White, his relict, who died 1836. The west end of the church seen in Clement’s Lane, is covered with “compoe.” The exterior of the remainder of the building, being entirely shrouded by houses, is of plain brick. The tower has rusticated quoins, or angles, and is surmounted by a cornice and balustrade. In connection with the church, we may not omit to mention one of its rectors, Dr. Benjamin Stone, of Corpus Christi College Cambridge, who was presented to the living by Bishop Juxton in 1637. During the dominion of Cromwell, being deemed popishly affected, he was declared unfit to hold office, and was confined for some time in Crosby Hall, St. Helen’s. From thence he was removed to Plymouth ; where after paying a fine of sixty pounds, he obtained his liberty. On the restoration of King Charles II. in 1660, he recovered his benefice, but died in 1665.” In this church too, were first delivered the celebrated Lectures on the Creed, by Bishop Pearson, which may perhaps rank among the most finished theological compositions in our language. The Bishop died in 1686.

  • See Masters’ “Hist. of Corpus Christi Coll.” Lamb’s Edit, p. 340, for some particulars of his life.

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Walking to Canterbury: A Modern Journey Through Chaucer’s Medieval England (Excerpt)

‘Hello, Brother John speaking,’ came the voice.

I had never been to a monastery and wasn’t sure what to anticipate. But a part of me half expected to hear Gregorian chants in the background, so I was surprised when a cat meowed. That, or Brother John had the unique hobby of making animal sounds.

‘Sorry’, said Brother John. ‘The cat is on my shoulder. I’ll just set him down. Very well, what can I do for you?’

‘I’m an American on a pilgrimage to Canterbury,’ I said. ‘Do you have a place for me to stay tomorrow night?’

Medieval churches and monasteries had holes in their doors for mouse-catching cats to come and go, and I questioned if that was true today at the Friars. The cat meowed again, and the monk scolded.

‘Yes, we’ll have a place for you to sleep,’ said Brother John without asking a single question except for my name.

The Archaeological Journal, Volume 39 (Google Books)

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Tong I have not seen, but from the descriptions I have received, I believe that it belongs to the 17th century. It is of oak, suspended by rods from the chancel roof. “Sir Christopher Wren designed a Baldachino for St. Paul’s Cathedral, following the character of that erected by Bernini in St. Peter’s at Rome in the year 1633, having four columnar supports, carrying a roof, the whole standing quite detached, this, however, was not carried into execution. “Wren, in several of his churches, gave a quasi Baldachino appearance to the oak panelling with which he usually lined the Eastern walls, but the columns were generally attached, or but little detached from the panelling, so that the altar did not actually stand under the pediment or cornice which surmounted the columns. “Wren’s pupil, Hawksmoor, in the church of St. Mary Woolnoth, by the Mansion House, erected in 1716, placed a richly carved oak Baldachino altar, standing against the east wall. The canopy has a depth or projection of several feet, so that the altar stands entirely beneath it. The same architect, in the church of St. George, Bloomsbury, placed a somewhat similar, though plainer structure, having less projection, so that in this case the altar is partly beneath and partly beyond the line of the canopy. In both these cases the space between the supports of the canopy from north to south is so limited that the idea of the officiating clergyman standing at the north and south ends of the altar could not have been contemplated by the designer. “I am informed by Lord Coleridge that in his younger days, the chapel of Eton College possessed a Baldachino of classic design, probably by Wren, very sumptuous in character, having carvings and inlays of various woods, but this has now disappeared. “The design of the canopy in Totnes church consisted of two detached fluted columns of the composite order standing in advance of two engaged columns of like design placed on a panelled dado or pedestal next the east wall, on either side of the chancel, a little distance from the north and south walls. The east wall from which these columns projected had between the two clusters of columns a further curved recess eastward, forming a total recess at the floor line of nearly six feet. These groups of columns supported a horizontal entablature returning into the east wall, and not carried across the recess. From the top of the entablature an arched cornice, or archivolt, semi-circular in elevation, was carried, so connecting the two groups of columns. The front line of this arched cornice coincided with the face of the outer columns, giving a canopy five-and-ahalf-feet deep. “The soffit or underside of this arch was divided into moulded coffers or panels having paterae of foliage within them. The arched ceiling was one foot in thickness, and above it the wall face was in the same plane with that behind the engaged columns. The wall had, at a still higher level, a cornice of simple character, level at either end, but wavy in the middle, reaching nearly to the curved roof of the chancel. On each side upon the entablature, stood a vase. “Below the arch ceiling in the upper part of the east wall, was a small semicircular window with mouldings round it, and cherubs in relief filling up the space between it and the coffered ceiling, while below the window was some flowing foliage marking a change in the plan of the recess.

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The whole structure was of lath and plaster on a framework of deal. The execution of the mouldings, and enrichments with all the intricacies of the modillioned and coffered cornice was exceedingly good, the only exception being the vases which were coarsely designed and executed. “The altar, of oak, which is coeval with the canopy, is three feet nine inches long, and two feet eight inches in projection; this was probably intended to stand in the curved recess. The space between the pedestals of the canopy was nine feet in length, leaving a very limited space at either end of the table where it projected beyond the curved recess. “I have been unable to ascertain the date of the erection of the structure, but it was probably towards the end of the last century. It must have been designed by an architect who had studied in Italy, the same perhaps who designed a house in Fore Street, nearly opposite the Ashburton Road, to the canopy of the doorway of which house it had some resemblance. “I would say in passing that these canopies to doorways in the last century were called “Baldachins.” The name is also applied to a canopy of cloth, supported by upright poles, borne over persons of distinction. “It was hoped that the removal of this interesting object might have been accomplished without injury, so that it might have been preserved elsewhere as a relic of a fashion now abandoned, but the fragile nature of the work and the decay of the framework rendered this impossible. In view of this contingency I made sketches and measurements of the structure, which I drew out and had lithographed. Copies of this print I have presented to the public libraries, to the Archæological Institute, and to societies and individuals likely to be interested in archaeological or ecclesiastical matters. “There is a recent instance of a Baldachino in St. Barnabas church Oxford, but the attempt made a few years ago to erect one in St. Barnabas church, Pimlico, was frustrated, although the Totnes and other English examples were mentioned, in the course of the Faculty suit, as affording precedents for such fittings.” By the CHAIRMAN.—A collection of early keys, a bronze celt, and a large fibula, from Italy. The meeting was further indebted to Mr. Hilton for the opportunity of inspecting a parcel-gilt silver collar of SS. With reference to this object Mr. Hartshorne contributed some general notes on such decorations, which will appear in a future Journal. By Mr. E. C. HULME.—Impression of a seal in low-relief, *-inch in diameter, representing the Virgin and child seated in a flowery mead, and circumscribed by the legend, TIMO6EOC IIPIAPXACKQXQN NINOUIIOAEOC. This was found on the site of Winchester House, Old Broad-street, City. It is apparently of the early part of the seventeenth century,

    May 4, 1882. 

T. H. BAYLIS, Esq., Q.C., in the chair.

The Rev. C. F. R. Palmer sent “Further Notes on the Priory of Dartford, in Kent,” which were read by the CHAIRMAN, in the unavoidable absence of Mr. Hartshorne, and are printed at p. 177. A vote of thanks was passed to Mr. Palmer for thus again contributing to the interest of the monthly meetings from his rich and extensive sources of information. Precentor WENABLEs sent a paper on Carrow Priory, a house

of Benedictine nuns in the suburbs of Norwich. Carrow is familiar to the readers of Skelton from his well-known “Little Boke of Philip Sparow,” being an Elegy on the death of a pet bird, belonging to Mistress Jane Scrope, an inmate of the convent, by the talons of “Gyb,” the nunnery cat. “Gib, I say, our cat

Worried her on that

Which I loved beste;

So cannot be exprest

My sorrowful heavyness,

But al without redress.”

The irreverent rhymester parodies the funeral service of the Roman Catholic church : “For the soul of Philip Sparow That was late slain at Carow Among the nunnes blake : For that sweet soules sake And for al sparrowes soules Set in our bede roules.”

After an invocation addressed to Jupiter and other names of ancient mythology, he proceeds to call down vengeance:

“On al the whole nacion
Of cattes
God send them sorow and shame
These vilanous false cattes
Made for mice and rattes
And not for byrdes small;
That cat specially,
Which slew so cruelly
My litle prety sparow

That I brought up at Carow.”

Through the munificence of the proprietor, Mr. J. J. Colman, M.P., one of the representatives of the City of Norwich, the buildings of the monastery have been recently exhumed. It was originally dedicated to SS. Mary and John the Baptist. King Stephen enlarged and endowed it with lands near Norwich; and in pursuance of the Royal decree, two sisters of the old foundation, named Seyna and Leftelina, in 1146, began to build a church and monastery, the former dedicated to the Virgin. King John, in 1199, granted the nuns a four days’ fair. In 1245, consecrations of several bishops took place in the nunnery church. Afterwards it became a place of education for the daughters of leading families in the diocese. In 1395, Edith Wilton, a prioress, was prosecuted and imprisoned for giving sanctuary to a murderer, but after the trial was discharged. The last prioress but one, Isabella Wygon, A.D. 1514, erected the prioress’s house, where her rebus, a Y and a “gun” appear on a chimney piece. The last prioress was Cecily Stafford, who received at the Dissolution a pension of £8, which on Q. Mary’s accession she was still enjoying. … With the exception of the Prioress’s house, which was converted into a residence by Sir John Shelton, the grantee, the buildings of the monastery shared the common fate of conventual establishments. Everything that was saleable, timber, iron, lead, glass, was sold, and the walls of the cloister garth after being stripped of their facings remained as the enclosure of a garden. So complete was the interment of the ruins in their own débris that an observer in the last century declared “there were no apparent ruins.” To the munificence of the owner of the property, Mr. J. J. Colman, M.P., is due the disenterment of these remains, and the task of describing and planning the building has been ably undertaken by Mr. A. S. King. The fragments consist of the foundation of the church and of a range of buildings on the east side of the cloisters, consisting of the slype, chapter house, and day-room. After a minute description of these remains, the paper concluded by an assurance on the part of the writer that the Institute would be ready to tender their sincere thanks both to Mr. Colman for beginning and carrying out, and to Mr. Tillett, the occupier, for permitting the excavations, which, however rich in architectural results, must have been productive of no little personal discomfort. Mr. E. WALFORD thought the members of the Institute would be glad to hear that these excavations were in a great measure the result of a meeting of the Archaeological Association in 1879, which on that occasion gave the first impetus to the investigation by calling attention to this religious house, with regard to which the histories of the county were almost silent. A vote of thanks was passed to Precentor Venables for his paper, as well as to Mr. Colman and the other gentlemen who have assisted in bringing to light such valuable evidences of an important monastic establishment. o Rev. E. KING read the following notes on a dish by Thomas Toft — “At the monthly meeting of the Institute held in November, 1880, as recorded in the Journal for 1881, pp. 102-3, Professor Westwood, in reading “A Notice of an Early Posset-pot,” amongst other interesting matter, touched briefly on what are termed ‘Toft Dishes, mentioning jour existing specimens, viz., one in the Museum of Practical Geology, Jermyn Street; another in the Bateman Museum; a third in the possession of Mr. Bagshaw; and a fourth in the South Kensington Museum. “Mr. Llewellyn Jewitt, in his valuable work, ‘The Life of Wedgwood,’ also mentions four, omitting Mr. Bagshaw’s, and quoting one then in the hands of a Mr. Mills, in Norwich. This dish was sold at his death. “Mr. Rudler, of the Jermyn Street Museum, informs me that there is another, the property of Mr. Willett of Brighton. I have now the pleasure of exhibiting a dish which is the most perfect I have yet seen, and differing somewhat from any I have either seen or heard of. “There seem to have been two Tofts, Thomas and Ralph, father and son, who were master-potters in the middle of the seventeenth century. Their works were at Burslem in Staffordshire, which has been, not inaptly, styled ‘the cradle of the potter’s art.” They flourished in the reign of Charles II, and were engaged in the manufacture of various articles of pottery. Mr. Shaw in his ‘History of Staffordshire,’ mentions Thomas Toft as potting in 1650.

*A paper on Carrow Abbey by Mr. of the British Archaeological Association Loftus Brock may be found in the Journal v. xxxviii, p. 165.

“Amongst other fictile ware they made “Tygs,’ and these large coarse dishes which are now called Toft dishes. “The examples I have just mentioned are all, with one exception, undated. These dishes are formed of a salmony coloured, or sometimes of a yellowish, clay. The pattern, or ornamentation, instead of being painted, is laid on in “slip’ of variously tinted clay; the outline and shading, such as it is, being marked out with dark brown, or pitchy-coloured lines, dotted with little white beads; the whole is thickly overlaid with a yellow glaze. “Mons. Jacquemart in his ‘History of Ceramic Art,” as translated by Mrs. Bury Palliser, describes them as ‘Earthenwares in relief, of a primitive and hideous aspect.’ “1. The Jermyn Street specimen is 174 inches in diameter. The centre is charged with a lion rampant regally crowned. The rim is trellised, and bears the name of Thomas Toft. It is much misshapen, as though it had been put into the oven in too soft a state; and it is, besides, considerably over-fired. An engraving of this dish is given in Mr. Jewitt’s book, and also by Mr. Marryatt. “2. The dish late the property of Mr. Mills, deceased, is 19 inches in diameter, and shows a full-length, but very unsymmetrical, female figure between two female heads in ovals. The rim in this case is ornamented with a double spiral thread and bears the name of Ralph Toft. This dish, some twelve or fourteen years ago, passed into other hands. “3. The South Kensington specimen, which doubtless some of you may have seen, is 17% inches in diameter, having the centre charged with a mermaid. It is in excellent preservation, and is an interesting example, This was, as a label upon it states, bought for £15 in 1869. “4. The Lomberdale House example is, I believe, the largest known, being over 22 inches in diameter. It bears a three-quarter-length portrait of King Charles II, bearing a sceptre in either hand, one terminating in a fleur-de-lis, the other in a mound (probably the one for France, the latter for Britain) surrounded with foliage. This, like No. 1, has a trellised border or rim. “5. Mr. Bagshaw’s dish is described by Professor Westwood as having the figure formed of dark brown lines, dotted with white, and bearing the name of Ralph Toft. This and the one last mentioned I have not myself seen, but both are engraved in Mr. Llewellyn Jewitt’s ‘Life of Wedgwood.’ Mr. Chaffers in speaking of this describes it as having a female figure crowned, between two medallions bearing female heads, also crowned. This seems to be a similar, if not the same, dish to that which I have mentioned as having been sold at Mr. Mills’ sale. “6. Another, as I said before, is owned by Mr. Henry Willett, in Brighton, but I have no description of this. “7. I am myself the fortunate possessor of the one I now exhibit. “Of dated examples, besides the one already mentioned, Mr. Chaffers instances a specimen in the Salford Museum, bearing ‘a gentleman and lady at full length, dated Ralph Toft, 1676.’ “Mr. Marryatt records one in the possession of Lady Stafford “with the Royal arms of Charles II’s reign; this is probably undated except so far as the sovereign’s arms indicate the reign in which it was potted. “There may be others still in existence, and if so one would be glad for information about them.

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Christain Monasticism – A Great Force in History

Christain Monasticism – A Great Force in History

The better known “ancren riwle” of the following century
distinguishes between professed nuns and ladies who merely
lived together without taking any vows. “The true re-
cluses,” it says, “are indeed birds of heaven, that fly aloft
and sit on the green boughs singing merrily; that is, they
meditate, enraptured, upon the blessedness of heaven that
never fadeth but is ever green, singing right merrily.”

Keeping school is fraught with danger from the personal
affection it is apt to bring. So it will be better to let servants
do any teaching that must be done. !No other animal than
a cat should be kept, unless the community has need of a
cow. Apparently dogs were deemed unsuitable to religious
as entailing a good deal of attention, which’ seems indeed to
have been the case with the one owned by Chaucer’s nun.
At Carrow Priory, Norwich, the monastery cat once con-
trived to make considerable trouble by killing a pet sparrow
belonging to a nun, an incident immortalized by one of
Skelton’s bestr-known poems, 6 which to a slight extent helps
us to picture the atmosphere of a sisterhood at the end of
the Middle Ages. The evil custom of using convents for the

‘Boke of Phyltyp Sparowe slam bi/ Gib, ow cat savage, among the
Nones Blake, by John Skelton (d. 1529). Ed. A. Dyce.

NUNS, HERMITS, AND PILGRIMS 115

support of girls belonging to leading families for whom no
husbands could be found had long tended to multiply the
number of nuns with no real vocation to religion.

That the old double monastery rather appealed to the
British mind seems to be indicated by the way it reappears
in the only distinctively English order of the Middle Ages.
S. Gilbert of Sempringham in Lincolnshire (c. 1083-1189),
after studying all monastic rules with the object of taking its
best features from each, decided in favour of houses for both
nuns and monks. The head of the whole establishment was
a prior with direct charge of the canons, and the women were
under the control of three colleague prioresses, who took it
in turn to preside in chapter.

The nuns did the cooking and sewing, besides being in
charge of the library, but hatches were arranged so that men
and women should see as little as possible of each other.
Excavations at Watton Abbey 7 have shown that a wall
divided the church so that both nuns and canons when in
choir could see the altar and take part in the same singing
but could not see each other.

The Premonstratensian order (p. 97) was originally
double, but this was abolished as early as 1137, though some
few nunneries remained. 8 Another double order was that
of Fontevraud, 9 which had a house at Amesbury in England.

There were very obvious dangers in these houses and the
system never spread very far. As early as 1200, we find
Abbot Hugh of Cluny (p. 123) issuing an order that no
woman might be received into any monastery of the order
except ad succurrendumj that is, when there is immediate
danger of death. 10

T In Yorkshire, founded about 1150 by Eustace Fitz John on on old
nunnery site.

See Helyot, Histoire dea ordres monaatiquea, 1714, ii, p. 176.

This abbey was founded by Robert of Arbrissel (d. 1117), who made
a lady, Husende of Champagne, its Superior.

10 D. Royce, Lomdbok of Winchoombe, I, 210. Coulton, Five Centurie$
of Religion, I, 480.

116 CHRISTIAN MONASTIOISM

It is remarkable, however, that as late as the fourteenth
century a woman felt that the cause of religion could best
be served by the foundation of a new order and by a revival
of double monasteries. One of the most interesting monu-
ments in the cathedral at TJpsala, Sweden, commemorates a
man known to his own generation as the president of a com-
mission that codified the laws of Upland in 1296, but to us
as the father of S. Brigitta, or Briget (1304-73). Though
she had been married and was the mother of seven children,
. she developed in later life a great admiration for monasticism.

She received a number of revelations which are not very
interesting in themselves, 11 but they were so pointed in their
allusions that she had to travel abroad. She made the pil-
grimage to Jerusalem and spent some time in Italy, attempt-
ing to get the Popes back from Avignon to Rome, in which
latter city she died.

Her order centred at Wadstena, in her native land. At a
time when monastic culture was beginning to decay (p. 241)
it tried to collect books and to promote education and in fact
is chiefly remarkable as the last great effort that was made in
the Middle Ages and it was after the rise of the friars
to revive without any serious modification the older monastic
ideals.

The only house of the Brigittine order in England was
Zion on the Thames, and it came into being through the mar-
riage of a daughter of Henry IV to Eric XIII of Sweden
(1406). The chapel had a double choir, separated only by
an iron screen, so that the monks and nuns could see each
other as they chanted their offices.

At the dissolution some of them retired to the Continent
and have continued their corporate existence! the only Eng-
lish convent that escaped complete dissolution.

HEBMITS: Despite the decision of S. Benedict of Aniane

11 There are copious extracts in Bp. Wordsworth’s Hale Lectures, 1910,
The National Ohuroh of Sweden, pp. 129-132.

NUNS, HERMITS, AND PILGRIMS 117

to seek a revival of the Rule of S. Benedict the Great
(p. 93), there were important mediaeval developments in
the direction of a completer return to the genesis of monasti-
cism as practised by the solitaries of the desert. Purely
from the point of view of the story of asceticism these are
possibly of even more significance than the rise of the orders
of Chiny and Citeaux, but as we are principally concerned
with the place of monasticism in the history of the world
their importance is very much less.

In the eleventh century the Camaldulensiau order was
founded (c. 1020), by Romuald of Ravenna who, after sow-
ing his wild oats, became exceedingly austere and helped to
bring about in Italy a remarkable monastic revival which
sought to restore much of the manner of life of the Egyptian
monks.

General religious life was at a low ebb; the great Em-
peror, Otto III, the last who ever reigned at Rome, was
trying to reform the Papacy by the inauguration of a
German, Bruno (Gregory V) and he greatly welcomed
Romuald’s reform, reverently kissing his cowl. Though an
eremitical or hermit order, the Camaldulensians followed the
Benedictines in their splendid missionary work. Vallom-
brosa, among the Apennines, founded in 1038 by Gualbert,
became the centre of another such order.

That of Grandmont (1073) was almost purely French and
that its bons hommes might be free for their contemplation,
all business affairs were entrusted to lay brothers. Its Rule,
based on the Camaldulensian, was committed to writing in
1124 after the death of its founder, Stephen, a nobleman of
Auvergne.

A German, Bruno of Koln, was the founder of the best
known of the eremitical orders. It dates from about 1080
and takes its name from the mother house in the deserts of
Chartreuse, near Grenoble, in what was Burgundy of old.
Alone of aU great orders, though it never was very large, the

118 CHRISTIAN MOSTASTICISM

Carthusians boast that they have never needed to be . re-
formed, for through all the centuries till today they have
kept something like the austerity with which they began.

Their severe asceticism made a profound impression on
the Benedictines of that day. Guibert, Abbot of Nogent,
wrote of them : “They hardly ever speak, and if they want
anything they make signs. If they drink wine it is watered
so as to be scarcely stronger than water. They wear a hair
shirt next the skin, while their other garments are scanty
and thin.” 12 Peter the Venerable (p. 134) says of them:
“To mortify the flesh they wear hair shirts; their fasting
is almost continuous; * * * they never eat meat; cheese
and eggs only Sundays and Thursdays. * * * They live in
separate little houses like the monks of Egypt and occupy
their time in silence in reading, prayer, and working with
their hands, particularly writing books. They say most of
the offices in their cells, but come together in their church
for vespers and matins.” 18

Just under the Hambleton Hills of Yorkshire still stand
the singularly complete ruins of a house of this order, which
was built in the fifteenth century ; Mount Grace, is absolutely
destitute of that monastic magnificence so characteristic of
Cistercian abbeys not far off. The severely simple cells sur-
round two large courts, each with a hatch through the wall
by which food could be passed to its occupant.

Rural England: Being an Account of Agricultural and Social Researches …

Rural England: Being an Account of Agricultural and Social Researches …

Part 1:

He believed that many yonng men (thanks to School
Penny and Post Office savings banks) are anxioos to become
owners of a cottage and garden. Unfortunately, however
strange it may seem, this desire can, he said, be more
easily gratified in the suburb of a large town than in a
country village, where the land is generally in the hands of
a few persons, who do not care to sell, or of public bodies
such as the Church and the Ecclesiastical Commissioners.
He thought that if this matter of the provision of garden plots
were taken up by those in authority, a great deal of good
might be done, and many of the rural population who at
present leave it would be retained upon the land. Further,
he said, villagers require recreation like other people, and
although games and f6tes may suffice for the summer, none
is provided for the long winter evenings. Being gregarious,
therefore, they assemble in the taverns where publicans
cannot allow them to remain unless they continually call for
drinks. This evil, Mr. Ames believed, might be obviated by
providing non-political and unsectarian village clubs, where
men could resort and enjoy innocent recreation, with, if they
desired them, newspapers, books, and ale or other drinkables.
Many clubs and institutes, he declared, are strangled by
the ‘ goody-goody ‘ manner in which they are conducted, no
smoking or intoxicants being allowed upon the premises.
If such advantages and innocent pleasures are not provided,
can we wonder, asked Mr. Ames, that people migrate to the
towns or their suburbs?

For my part I think that Mr. Ames’ views are very sound
and sensible, although by no means capable of universal
application. I have, however, observed, especially in the
Eastern Counties, that cottagers often neglect the fruit trees
which they find in their gardens, although in many instances

HAMP8HIBE 67

this may arise from ignorance. Not one labouring man in
ten seems to understand that an apple tree — to take an
example — ^requires to be lime-washed to kill the moss and
insects, to be occasionally manured at the root to promote
fertility, or to have the surplus wood removed, especially in
the centre, so that the sun and air can get to the hearts of
the trees. Certainly, as Mr. Ames suggests, they should be
instructed in these matters, and good would result from the
cultivation of such wholesome and natural tastes.

F 2

68 BUSAL BNGLAND

GUBENSEY

The island of Guernsey, whither I travelled from Wiltshire,
has an area of only about 15,560 acres, of which I believe
some 10,000 are cultivated.

In planning this journey of agricultural research my
intention was to commence it in the Channel Islands. In
fact, however, a return of furious winter weather made this
almost impossible until the seas should moderate, especially
as these islands suffer from the drawback that, with the
exception of a few months in the sunmier, boats run thither
only through the night. As it chanced, this accidental delay
was fortunate, since I can imagine no better preparation for a
study of Guernsey than that of the unfrequented rolling Downs
of Wiltshire. It is the finest example of the advantages
of education by contrast that I know. The student comes
from a country where land sells for £6 an acre to one where
it fetches as much as de500 an acre (for agricultural purposes,
be it understood) ; from a country where land lets at from

  1. to 15s, per acre to one where it lets at from £4 (for the
    rougher furze-bearing soil) to £9 per acre ; from a country
    where the average holding covers a thousand acres to one
    where it covers but a single acre.

There are other contrasts equally strange. In the one
place vast expanses are in the hands of great landlords, and
to them, for the most part, but ruinous possessions ; in the
other the soil is held in tiny patches by a multitude of small-
holders. In the one place the population is extraordinarily
sparse I drove there for a whole day and scarcely met a
dozen people on the road — in the other I believe it to be
the densest in Europe. In Wiltshire, Hampshire, and the

GUBBNSEY 69

adjacent connties the labouring inhabitants are ponring
from the soil ; the cottages are, at least in very many cases,
wretched and insufficient in number, and few working men
can hope to rise to independence, much less to wealth.
In Ouemsey, on the other hand, the population own the
soil and cling to it ; most of the houses are excellent ; indeed,
there is no such thing as a hovel to be seen, except, perhaps,
in certain ports of St. Peter’s Port and St. Sampson ; and
instances are common in which men who begin life with no
other endowment than health and strength end it in the
possession of fortunes of from iE5,000 to jeiO,000 — eamed,
every farthing of it, not by trade or speculation, but out of
those small-holdings which we are so often assured cannot
possibly be made to pay.

He believed that many yonng men (thanks to School
Penny and Post Office savings banks) are anxioos to become
owners of a cottage and garden. Unfortunately, however
strange it may seem, this desire can, he said, be more
easily gratified in the suburb of a large town than in a
country village, where the land is generally in the hands of
a few persons, who do not care to sell, or of public bodies
such as the Church and the Ecclesiastical Commissioners.
He thought that if this matter of the provision of garden plots
were taken up by those in authority, a great deal of good
might be done, and many of the rural population who at
present leave it would be retained upon the land. Further,
he said, villagers require recreation like other people, and
although games and f6tes may suffice for the summer, none
is provided for the long winter evenings. Being gregarious,
therefore, they assemble in the taverns where publicans
cannot allow them to remain unless they continually call for
drinks. This evil, Mr. Ames believed, might be obviated by
providing non-political and unsectarian village clubs, where
men could resort and enjoy innocent recreation, with, if they
desired them, newspapers, books, and ale or other drinkables.
Many clubs and institutes, he declared, are strangled by
the ‘ goody-goody ‘ manner in which they are conducted, no
smoking or intoxicants being allowed upon the premises.
If such advantages and innocent pleasures are not provided,
can we wonder, asked Mr. Ames, that people migrate to the
towns or their suburbs?

For my part I think that Mr. Ames’ views are very sound
and sensible, although by no means capable of universal
application. I have, however, observed, especially in the
Eastern Counties, that cottagers often neglect the fruit trees
which they find in their gardens, although in many instances

HAMP8HIBE 67

this may arise from ignorance. Not one labouring man in
ten seems to understand that an apple tree — to take an
example — ^requires to be lime-washed to kill the moss and
insects, to be occasionally manured at the root to promote
fertility, or to have the surplus wood removed, especially in
the centre, so that the sun and air can get to the hearts of
the trees. Certainly, as Mr. Ames suggests, they should be
instructed in these matters, and good would result from the
cultivation of such wholesome and natural tastes.

F 2

68 BUSAL BNGLAND

GUBENSEY

The island of Guernsey, whither I travelled from Wiltshire,
has an area of only about 15,560 acres, of which I believe
some 10,000 are cultivated.

In planning this journey of agricultural research my
intention was to commence it in the Channel Islands. In
fact, however, a return of furious winter weather made this
almost impossible until the seas should moderate, especially
as these islands suffer from the drawback that, with the
exception of a few months in the sunmier, boats run thither
only through the night. As it chanced, this accidental delay
was fortunate, since I can imagine no better preparation for a
study of Guernsey than that of the unfrequented rolling Downs
of Wiltshire. It is the finest example of the advantages
of education by contrast that I know. The student comes
from a country where land sells for £6 an acre to one where
it fetches as much as de500 an acre (for agricultural purposes,
be it understood) ; from a country where land lets at from

  1. to 15s, per acre to one where it lets at from £4 (for the
    rougher furze-bearing soil) to £9 per acre ; from a country
    where the average holding covers a thousand acres to one
    where it covers but a single acre.

There are other contrasts equally strange. In the one
place vast expanses are in the hands of great landlords, and
to them, for the most part, but ruinous possessions ; in the
other the soil is held in tiny patches by a multitude of small-
holders. In the one place the population is extraordinarily
sparse I drove there for a whole day and scarcely met a
dozen people on the road — in the other I believe it to be
the densest in Europe. In Wiltshire, Hampshire, and the

GUBBNSEY 69

adjacent connties the labouring inhabitants are ponring
from the soil ; the cottages are, at least in very many cases,
wretched and insufficient in number, and few working men
can hope to rise to independence, much less to wealth.
In Ouemsey, on the other hand, the population own the
soil and cling to it ; most of the houses are excellent ; indeed,
there is no such thing as a hovel to be seen, except, perhaps,
in certain ports of St. Peter’s Port and St. Sampson ; and
instances are common in which men who begin life with no
other endowment than health and strength end it in the
possession of fortunes of from iE5,000 to jeiO,000 — eamed,
every farthing of it, not by trade or speculation, but out of
those small-holdings which we are so often assured cannot
possibly be made to pay.

Part 2:

In the course of my long joumeyings throughout Eng-
land, nothing has struck me more than the great power for
good or evil that lies in the hands of the clergy in their
respective parishes, a power which is by no means limited to
matters spiritual. Beaders of this book may remember the
good work that is being done in the neighbourhood of
Bewdley, in Worcestershire, by the Bev. Messrs. Money-
Kyrle and Eyre. Here, far away in Northern Yorkshire, I
found a very similar instance of clerical energy. The
Bev. J. L. Kyle, the Bector of Carlton-in-Cleveland and
Faceby, ^ii^ch lie at a distance of a few miles from Potto,
is an enthusiastic agriculturist and one who, by that best of
all methods, example, has set himself to show his parish*
ioners — of whom the bulk are small-holders — ^the way to
make the most of their land.

Mr. Kyle asked me if I could see any harm in the
fact of a clergyman spending his spare time in farming.
I answered that I wished none of them did less whole-
some things. In the case of Mr. Eyle, it is, moreover,
clear that agriculture does not exhaust his enterprise,
seeing that he has entirely rebuilt his parish church, with

396 BUttAL ENGLAND

the result tbat» although it is small, I know of do ofhi&c
new ehuch which gmpaooeo it in ezoeUence of design or
wozknumship. 8till» the dergyman who farms must expect
cntusism» although the general judgment of the conuaQnity
18 perhaps sommed up in the words with which one of
Mr. Kyle’s parishionecB ooncladed an argument on the
matter: ‘Well* I say he is a nsefol sort of man, cor
parson — ^if you have aoght to seU he’ll bny it I ‘

In Mr. Kyle’s opinion the Bmall-holders in his parish
and district were doing well, there being a ready and e^ea
an eager market in Stockton and Middlesbrough for all
that they conld produce. This was proved by the fact that
some (tf them had been aUe to repay borrowed money and
by the numerous i^^^plications to take at a high rent any
tenancy that fell vacant. Thus one widow hired dghteen
acres at £64 a year, which was mora than she could
manage. In order to assist this person Mr. Kyle bad taken
some of the land off her hands at £8 5<. the acre. For
another holding of nine acres £30 was paid ; this, however,
was all grass. A third tenancy bad become vacant through
death. There was a great demand for it, and Mr. Kyle
said that he could name several men who would be glad to
take it at an advanced rent.

Hudibras; with notes by T.R. Nash, Volume 1 (Google Books)

A squire he had, whose name was Ralph,] As the knight was of the Presbyterian party, so the squire was an Anabaptist or Independent. This gives our author an opportunity of characterizing both these sects, and of shewing their joint concurrence against the king and church.

The Presbyterians and Independents had each a separate form of church discipline. The Presbyterian system appointed, for every parish, a minister, one or more deacons, and two ruling elders, who were laymen chosen by the parishioners. Each parish was subject to a classis, or union of several parishes. A deputation of two ministers and four ruling elders, from every classis in the county, constituted a provincial synod. And superior to the provincial was the national synod, consisting of deputies from the former, in the proportion of two ruling elders to one minister. Appeals were allowed throughout these several jurisdictions, and ultimately to the parliament. On the attachment of the Presbyterians to their lay-elders, Mr. Seldon observes, in his Table-talk, p. 118, that “ there must be “ some laymen in the synod to overlook the clergy, lest they spoil “ the civil work : just as when the good woman puts a cat into the “milk-house, she sends her maid to look after the cat, lest the cat “ should eat up the cream.”

The Independents maintained, that every congregation was a complete church within itself, and had no dependence on classical,

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Hudibras; with notes by T.R. Nash, Volume 1
By Samuel Butler

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Though writers, for more stately tone,
Do call himn Ralpho, ’tis all one:
And when we can, with metre safe,
We’ll call him so, if not, plain Raph ;’
For rhyme the rudder is of verses,
With which, like ships, they steer their courses.
An equal stock of wit and valour

                                                   465 

He had lain in, by birth a tailor.
The mighty Tyrian queen that gain’d,
With subtle shreds, a tract of land,

provincial, or national synods or assemblies. They chose their own ministers, and required no ordination or laying on of hands, as the Presbyterians did. They admitted any gifted brother, that is, any enthusiast who thought he could preach or pray, into their assemblies. They entered into covenant with their minister, and he with them. Soon after the Revolution the Presbyterians and Independents coalesced, the former yielding in some respects to the latter. 9 And when we can, with metre safe, We’ll call him so, if not, plain Raph ;] Paulino Ausonius, metrum sic suasit, ut esses

Tu prior, et nomen prægrederere meum. Sir Roger L’Estrange supposes, that in his description of Ralpho, our author had in view one Isaac Robinson, a butcher in Moorfields : others think that the character was designed for Pemble, a tailor, and one of the committee of sequestrators.-Dr. Grey supposes, that the name of Ralph was taken from the grocer’s apprentice, in Beaumont and Fletcher’s play, called the Knight of the Burning Pestle. Mr. Pemberton, who was a relation and godson of Mr. Butler, said, that the ‘squire was designed for Ralph Bedford, esquire, member of parliament for the town of Bedford.

The mighty Tyrian queen that gain’d,

With subtle shreds, a tract of land,] Alludes to the well-known story of Dido, who purchased as much land as she could surround

Did leave it, with a castle fair,
To his great ancestor, her heir ;

                                              470 

From him descended cross-legg’d knights ;2
Fam’d for their faith and warlike fights
Against the bloody Cannibal,
Whom they destroy’d both great and small.
This sturdy Squire had, as well

475 As the bold Trojan knight, seen hell,

with an ox’s hide. She cut the hide into small strips, and obtained twenty-two furlongs.

Mercatique solum, facti de nomine Byrsam,
Taurino quantum possent circundare tergo.

Virg. Æneid, lib. i. 367. ? From him descended cross-legg’d knights ;] Tailors, who usually sit at their work in this posture; and knights of the Holy Voyage, persons who had made a vow to go to the Holy Land, after death were represented on their monuments with their legs across. “ Sumptuosissima per orbem christianum erecta cænobia; in qui““ bus hodie quoque videre licet militum illorum imagines, monu“ menta, tibiis in crucem transversis : sic enim sepulti fuerunt “ quotquot illo seculo nomina bello sacro dedissent, vel qui tunc “ temporis crucem suscepissent.” Chronic. Ecclesiast. lib. ii. p. 72. 9 Fam’d for their faith and warlike fights

Against the bloody Cannibal,] Tailors, as well as knights of the Holy Voyage, are famed for their faith, the former frequently trusting much in the way of their trade. The words, bloody cannibal, are not altogether applied to the Saracens; who, on many occasions behaved with great generosity; but they denote a more insignificant creature, to whom the tailor is said to be an avowed enemy. + This sturdy Squire had, as well

As the bold Trojan knight, seen hell,] In allusion to Æneas’s descent into hell, and the tailor’s repairing to the place under the board on which he sat to work, called hell likewise, being a receptacle for all the stolen scraps of cloth, lace, &c.

480

Not with a counterfeited pass
Of golden bough, but true gold lace.
His knowledge was not far behind
The knight’s, but of another kind,
And he another way came by’t;
Some call it gifts, and some new LIGHT.
A lib’ral art that costs no pains
Of study, industry, or brains.
His wits were sent him for a token,
But in the carriage crack’d and broken.
Like commendation nine-pence crookt,
With-to and from my love it lookt.?

485

*s Not with a counterfeited pass

Of golden bough,-) Mr. Montague Bacon says, it should seem, by these lines, that the poet thought Virgil meant a counterfeited bough; Dr. Plot, in his History of Staffordshire, says, that gold in the mines often grows in the shape of boughs and branches, and leaves ; therefore Virgil, who understood nature well, though he gave it a poetical turn, means no more than a sign of Æneas’s going under ground where mines are.

• But in the carriage crack’d and broken.] That is, that he was crack-brained. ? Like commendation nine-pence crookt,

With—to and from my love it lookt.] From hence, and from the proverb used (Post. Works, v. ii. No. 114.) viz.“ he has brought “ his noble to a ninepence,” one would be led to conclude, that some coins had actually been strucken of this denomination and value. And, indeed, two instances of this are recorded by Mr. Folkes, both during the civil wars, the one at Dublin, and the other at Newark. Table of English coins, ed. 1763, p. 92. plates 27. 4. and 28. But long before this period, by royal proclamation of July 9, 1551, the base testoons or shillings of Henry VIII. and Edward VI. were rated at ninepence (Folkes, ibid. p. 37.) and of these there were great numbers. It may be conjectured also, that the clipt shillings of Edward and Elizabeth; and, perhaps, some foreign silver coins,

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He ne’er consider’d it, as loth
To look a gift-horse in the mouth;
And very wisely would lay forth
No more upon it than ’twas worth.’

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might pass by common allowance and tacit agreement for ninepence, and be so called. In William Prynne’s answer to John Audland the Quaker, in Butler’s Genuine Remains, vol. i. p. 382. we read, a light piece of gold is good and lawful English coin, current with allowance, though it be clipt, filed, washed, or worn: even so are my ears legal, warrantable, and sufficient ears, however they have been clipt, par’d, cropt, circumcis’d.

In Queen Elizabeth’s time, as Holinshed, Stow, and Cambden affirm, a proclamation was issued, declaring that the testoon coined for twelve-pence, should be current for four-pence halfpenny; an inferior sort, marked with a greyhound, for two-pence farthing ; and a third and worst sort not to be current at all: stamping and milling money took place about the year 1662.

All, or any of these pieces, might serve for pocket-pieces among the vulgar, and be given to their sweethearts and comrades, as tokens of remembrance and affection. At this day, an Elizabeth’s shilling is not unfrequently applied to such purpose. The country people say commonly, I will use your commendations, that is, make your compliments. George Philips, before his execution, bended a sixpence, and presented it to a friend of his, Mr. Stroud. He gave a bended shilling to one Mr. Clark. See a brief narrative of the stupendous tragedy intended by the satanical saints, 1662, p. 59. .: He ne’er consider’d it, as loth] That is, he did not consider it was crackt and broken, or perhaps it may mean, he did not overvalue, and hoard it up, it being given him by inspiration, according to the doctrine of the Independents. 9 And very wisely would lay forth

No more upon it than ’twas worth.] When the barber came to shave Sir Thomas More the morning of his execution, the prisoner told him, “ that there was a contest betwixt the King and him for “his head, and he would not willingly lay out more upon it than it “ was worth.”

495

But as he got it freely, so
He spent it frank and freely too.
For saints themselves will sometimes be,
Of gifts that cost them nothing, free.
By means of this, with hem and cough,
Prolongers to enlighten’d snuff,
He could deep mysteries unriddle,
As easily as thread a needle ;
For as of vagabonds we say,
That they are ne’er beside their way:

500

i By means of this, with hem and cough,

Prolongers to enlightend snuff.] This reading seems confirmed by Butler’s Genuine Remains, vol. i. p. 55. and I prefer it to “en“ lightened stuff.” Enlightened snuff is a good allusion. As a lamp just expiring with a faint light for want of oil, emits flashes at intervals; so the tailor’s shallow discourse, like the extempore preaching of his brethren, was lengthened out with hems and coughs, with stops and pauses, for want of matter. The preachers of those days considered hems, nasal tones, and coughs, as graces of oratory. Some of their discourses are printed with breaks and marginal notes, which shew where the preacher introduced his embellishments.

The expiring state of the lamp has furnished Mr. Addison with a beautiful simile in his Cato :

Thus o’er the dying lamp th’unsteady flame
Hangs quivering on a point, leaps off by fits,

  And falls again, as loth to quit its hold. 

And Mr. Butler, Part iii. Cant. ii. L. 349, says,

Prolong the snuff of life in pain,

And from the grave recover-gain. See also Genuine Remains, vol. i. p. 374. “And this serves thee “ to the same purpose that hem’s and hah’s do thy gifted ghostly “ fathers, that is, to lose time, and put off thy commodity.”

Butler seems fond of this expression ; “ the snuff of the moon is “ full as harsh as the snuff of a sermon.”

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A General History of the County of Norfolk: Intended to Convey All …, Volume 2 (Google Books)

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A General History of the County of Norfolk: Intended to Convey All …, Volume 2
edited by John Chambers

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appears from the many tumuli throughout this hundred, there being scarce any township without more or less of them. These tumuli were erected by the northern nations, for the sepulchre of their most considerable men who fell in battle; and served not only as monuments of honour to the deceased, but as tokens of victory and terror; and were trophies of* conquest, to shew how far they had led their armies, and conquered. In these tumuli have been often found the bones of men and pieces of old armour. This hundred, with that of Weyland, &c. were anciently the demesnes of the kings of England; but king John gave them to Roger de Thorny. In the thirty-fourth of Henry III. it was valued at six marks; and in the lifty-second of that king, William de St. Omer held it, paying twenty shillings per annum. The whole hundred is in the deanery of Cranvvich, and under the archdeacon of Norfolk.

BUCKENHAM TOFTS, (or Bokenham Parva.) .Twentythree miles. St. Andrew. P. 29. Held by the De Montforts soon after the conquest, from whom it came to the Buckinghams, &c; and at length, in the reign of Charles 11. to Mr. Vincent, who built here a hall, with a lantern and turret; and a fishpond of lead, to contain water, with pipes to convey water to it from the house. About 1738, the honourable Phillip Howard, esq. brother to the duke of Norfolk, resided here, aud was lord and patron. The church has not a vestige of its ancieitt appearauce left.

COULSTON, (or Cohesion.) Twenty-seven miles. Virgin Mary. P. 42. Written in Domesday-book Covestuna, deriving its name from the Saxon cove, a small creak, aud tun or ton, a town or village.—It lies on the opposite shore to Cranwich, on the north of the Wissey; the hundred of Grimshoc crossing here at that river, and taking in this town aud that of Ickburgh. The church has been in ruins from time immemorial; it stood a little west of the present farmhouse. The rector was deprived in 1053, being a married priest. The manor-house was built by Edward Wilson, esq.

CRANWICH, (or Cranwise.) Twenty-seven miles. The Blessed Virgin. P. 70. Written in Domesday-book Cranewisse.*—In the reign of Henry I. Peter de Cranwich was lord; and soon after the Cayleys. The church is small, and has a lofty round tower, embattled, with one bell; this tower and west end is of great antiquity, presumed to have been built by the Danish king Harold; its length is thirtyfive feet by fifteen, and the chancel thirty feet by fifteen: and here are inscriptions to the memory of Steward, and the Heywards. This village gives name to the deanery of Cranwich, which takes in all the churches within the hundreds of Grim shoe and South Greenhoe, except San ton, which is in the deanery of Thetford. In ancient days, each deanery had its peculiar dean, called a rural dean. This deanery contained, at one time, forty-seven parishes.

CROXTON. Twenty-five miles. All Saints. P. 246. Stands at the south-east corner of the hundred, and called Crokeston in Domesday-book.—It stands on the side of a hill, and there are some trees growing on the summit, which are seen many miles oft” in this open country, and are called Croxton high trees. In the fields of this town is a large mere, called Foul mere, consisting of many acres of water. The tower of the church, built by the Danes, is round at the lower part, but upward, octangular ; with a cap or cover of wood, and three bells. The body is about thirty-eight feet by twenty-eight, including the south aisle. At the west end of the nave stands a very large font, with a capacious basin, supported by a shaft of five pilasters of stone, and has a hole, with a stopple at bottom, for letting out the consecrated water. From the dimensions, being sufficiently capacious to admit of dipping the Infants to be baptized, it is considered as old as the time of the Saxons; immersion, at that period,, having been invariably used, as appears from the baptism of king Edgar, by Dunstan, referred to by William of Worcester, in Metra de Regibus Anglite. The nave is divided from the chancel, which’is twenty-four feet by fifteen, by an ancient screen of oak, on which is inscribed

ssfssssiESJilmi: &ngot ffapellt: tt Drtri Jilngot rt anabule=~=== Itarrntum Skuor.

Here are inscriptions to the memory of Snclling, Smith,. Fletcher, Long, White, and Faux. The hospital of St.

  • It derives lis name from the Saxon word garne, a turn, nook, or corner; and wic, a bay, port, or landing place; and from garne, and Ibc river Wissey.

Mary Magdalen, of Thetford, has an interest here.—See Blomeficld. Here are the manors of Sibton and Bromhill: the former was, in 1738, held by the duke of Norfolk; and there was a park well stocked with deer. The house was formerly known by the name of North Wic, but afterwards by that of Croxton Park.—Inclosure act, 1813.

FELTWELL. Thirty-five miles. St. Nicholas and St. Mary . P. 1163. Lies north of Hockwold and Wilton, and was given by Ethelwold, bishop of Winchester, in the reign of king Edgar, to the monastery of Ely. In Domesday-book it is called Fatwella and Feltwella.* St. Nicholas’ church stands at the west end of the town, and is a small pile of flint and pebbles; against the end of the nave is a little tower, round at bottom and octangular at top, in which hang five small bells. It is in length about thirty-six feet, and in breadth, with the north and south aisles, about fortyeight. On the south wall of the nave are letters wrought in stone in memory of Jofin J3o and Cfromas Drg, benefactors to the work. The chancel is in length about twenty-seven feet by seventeen. This church and the bells being destroyed by fire, an indulgence was granted, dated May 6th, 1494, to repair, and in a great measure, re-edify the church. Here is a rectory-house and twelve acres of glebe. St. Mary’s church is a regular pile of flint, boulder, &c, consisting of a nave, a north and south aisle, with a chancel covered with lead; the roof of the nave is of oak, on the principals of which are the effigies of several religious: the roof is supported by pillars of stone joined together, making ten handsome arches, five on each side, with as many windows over them. At the west end of the nave stands a large and lofty square tower, embattled, with four pinnacles; and under the battlements are the arms of Mundford and Fincham: and here are

  • It may derive its name from feat and wella, that is ft pare water, or spring; or rather from the Saxon word fleot, which signifies im actuary, canal, or bay; all which agree welt with the site of this village on the side of these great waters, which came np to It before the draining of the Fens.

In the time of Leofwine, fifth abbot of Ely, when the tenures and services of several townships belonging to that monastery were fixed, this was obliged to furnish the abbey with provisions for two weeks in every year. The abbot had forty-five socmen, who, as often as lie commanded, were obliged to plough his land, to weed, cat, and bind his corn, and carry it to the barn, and bring provisions to the monastery; and as often as the abbot wanted their horses to send them to him; and whenever they forfeited, the abbot had the forfeitures; but on the conquest, the earl Warren encroached on many of these privileges, and deprivi-d the monastery of a considerable part ot the town.

inscriptions to the Mundfords, (see their pedigree in BlomeJield) to one of whom is a brass, near the stone staircase that leads to the old rood loft, with this inscription—

Orate pro Snima Ktargarete fHunoeforo, auonoam Conwrtts ^Franrisn fRunoeforo, arniig: Quo obijt ubi” tilt iflrnsis fttaii 3″ 30t!i: iHrrrrrrr. Cujiw ammc propitirtur 39rus amrn.

She is represented with a girdle, having two appendages lieside her beads, probably her purse and pocket. The arms of Mundeford were argent, three fleurs de lys, gules—vide Cotman’s Brasses. On the right hand, against the chancel wall, is a little marble compartment, with the effigy of a man in armour, to the memory of Francis Mundeford, who died in 1590; at the east end of the nave, on the left against the chancel wall, are three small arches, with the effigy of Osbert Mundeford, esq., in armour, with his helmet before him; also his two wives, all on their knees, with quartered shields of the arms of Townshend, Mundeford, &c. and this motto “Soyes Loyal ct Foyal.” Here are also memorials to the family of Ware, and at an ascent of three steps to the communion table, and against the south wall, three stone arches and seats for the bishop, priest, and deacon, at their head a piscina; and in the north wall a cupboard for relics. John Holland, rector here in 1543, made a very remarkable lease of this rectory, which was properly confirmed in the thirty-seventh of the reign of Henry VIII.* Here is a small fair on the 20th of November. A very iarge district of the Bedford south level belongs to this town. Here are the manors of the bishop of Ely+, South Hall, Duntons, Spinwell’s, Windling Abbot’s, East Hall alias Bromhill, and Tydds.—Inclosure act 1813. Feltwell is the seat of George R. Eyres, esq.

HOCKWOLD With Wilton. Thirty-six miles. St. Peter. P. 846. Stands at the south-west point of this hundred, north of the Ouze Parva, near the great level of the

  • This lease was dated Ibe 2Glh of September, to George Holland, secretary to the duke of Norfolk, for ninety nine years from St. Michael next ensning, the said rector reserving only per annum rent, the dwelling in a chambi r, tiring, and washing of his linen: the plea in the preamble is in consideration of his costs, charges, expenses, &c.

t The demesnes of this manor are to he ploughed with three ploughs, to every plough there was to be three stoneinrses anil two oxen, and two horses to harrow the land.

Fens/—The church has a square tower with three bells; it has a south aisle annexed to the nave or body, forty-seven feet by thirty-six: on the pavements are several inscriptions to the Mundefords, but the brass plates are reaved. The chancel is about thirty-seven feet by twenty-three: at the upper end of the south wall are three stalls and a piscina, with several shields daubed over with whitewash. Against the east wall is a large marble compartment, with busts of a man and woman, &c. &c. to the memory of John Iiungerford, who died 1719. Mere is also the brass of a woman, which Gough gives as a memorial of one of the Mundefords, and seems to blame Blometield for not having described it, and for saying that the monuments of that family were all despoiled, excepting this—-Blomefield has mentioned this brass, and has attributed it to the rightful owner Amfelicia, the wife of sir John Tiudale, 1532, part of the inscription was gone in his time, but the rest he gives thus—

“Obitns Amfelicle Tendale decimo octavo die niensis Januar An Dui raillessimo rccccxxxii.”

This figure is interesting in itself, for its decided character of date in the cuffs and short gown; short in front, for there yet remained a long train behind, but more so as it is connected in history with sir Simon Felbrigg, 1413. Sir William Tindale, knighted at the creation of Arthur, prince of Wales, was declared heir of the kingdom of Bohemia, in the right of Margaret his great grandmother, niece of the king of Bohemia, and wife of sir Simon Felbrigg, whose daughter and heiress Alana was married to sir William Tindale, of Redenhale, in this county, grandfather of the firstmentioned sir William. John, who was created knight of the Bath, at the coronation of Anne Boleyn, married Amfelicia, daughter of sir Humphrey Coningsby, one of the justices of the Common Pleas; he survived his wife about three years. She is represented on the brass with nine children kneeling.—See Cotman’s Brasses. Here are also inscriptions to the memory of Wyche, Smith, Haveningham, and Lyng. Here is a small fair kept on St. James’s day, which is the remains of the wake of Wilton church, but

  • It occurs in the survey by the name of Iloccuuella. /for or hoke, signifying a low, dirty situation, a vale, and solm-timcs an angle, nook, or corner; an t H’etla, a place or spring of water; the other name llockwold, relates to its site in respect of Northewold and Methwold.

ommonly called Hockwold lair. Here are the manors of Poinings, Scales, Mundefurd,* Carle, Cockfeld alias Ellinghani or Aliens, and Stewkeys. The two villages of Hockwold and Wilton, form a street of more than one mile in length. Divine service is performed at each church alternately. Inclosure act, 1814.

Hockwold Hall is the seat of Edward Billingsley, esq.

Wilton St. James lies west of Weeting, and on the north side of the Ouze Parva, which derives its name from its site, a town of water or springs; in old writings it is called Wilton Hockwold, this being the head town of the two. The church has a square embattled tower, on which is an octangular spire of freestone, and three bells; the nave is about fifty-seven feet by thirty, and near the reading desk are orates lor Buck and his wife: the chancel is thirtyeight feet by twenty-two. Here is an incription to the memory of Colborue. On the north side is a curious worked arch in the wall, and below an old gravestone without arms or inscription; probably, says Blomefield, this might be for the sepulchre of our Lord, as described by him under the article Northwold. It was, probably, nothing more than the tomb of the founder. There is, also, says Blomefield, an ascent of three stone steps to the communion table, and behind the table is an old wainscot partition which runs the breadth of the chancel; on a panel of this wainscot are represented two priests kneeling at an altar, with their books before them; on another panel the figure of St. John the Evangelist, with a cup, and a dragon issuing out of it, and on a label, in prinefpio erat Unburn, under him the portrait of a man kneeling, and this label, ©ra pro nobis beat* Jacobr; on a third pannel, the figure of St. John Baptist, with a lamb, &c. and a label OFrceagnuB ©ei; under him the portraiture of a woman bidding her beads, and this label ©mnrs Sanrti Spostoli orate pro nobis. On the panels by St. John the Evangelist, are the arms of lords Scales, Poinings, Arundel, earl Warren, and St. George. There are two head stones in the churchyard, the first having a shield sable, a fess, between three bells, and a_ hand holding a club for a crest, in memory of

  • Osbcrt Mundeford leave* lo Margaret bis wife a chamber in his boose at Hollcwold, for her and her maid, and twelve marks yearly; also meat, drink, wood, and caudle.
  1. Thomas Bell, who was bom in the house of Allbe, in Middleborough parish, in Scotland. He died February 14,1714, aged sixty.
  2. In memory of the wife of Thomas Bell, her maiden name Eliza Pain, died a right of burgess of Dumfries,* in Scotland, Novem-‘ ber, 22, 1725.

At twenty years of age I little thought,
That hither to this place I should been brought;
Therefore, as in the Lord I put my Trust,
I hope I shall be blest among the Just.t

ICKBURGH. Twenty-five miles. St. Peter. P. 154. Written in Domesday-book, Scheburc. Lies east of Colveston, on the north side of the Wissey opposite to Mundeford; the London road to Swaffham, Walsingham, &c, running through itj. The church is an old single building of flint and pebbles, covered with reed, and has a square embattled tower, and four bells; and at first was dedicated to St. Bartholomew. It is forty-four feet by eighteen. On the nice of the screen, and over which stood the old rood loft, were several shields of arms. The chancel is about twentysix feet by eighteen, in the east window is the figure of St. Catherine; and on the north side one of the Virgin. On the pavement are several gravestones, some ridged, and some with crosses floral, cut in them, in memory of some ancient

  • So expressed by Blomeficld, who says these persons were pedlars.

t In the will of Edward Kypar, rector, made 1508 and 1525, mention Is made of the chapel of our Lady in the church of St. James, of Wilton, he desires to be buried in the choir, before the image of St. James, give* money to the common torches, &c.: and John Ketryngham, by will, 1506, gives to the five gawd its in the chapel of oor Lady, to continue there two ycrc, every yerc a pound of wax.

X Dr. Gale, In his “Commentary on Antoninus,” makes this a Roman station, (the Iciani;) and of the same opinion was the learned Mr. Talbot, though Salmon, in his ” Roman Stations/’ places the Iciani at Colchester, and even the villa Faustini, at Maldon, in Essex, bat most authors dissent from him. It is certain that the distance between this town and that of Bury, (generally agreed to be the villa Faustini) as observed by Antoninus, exactly answers; take which rout you please, either through Brandon or Thetford, and that the road here leading to Swaffham, &c is broad, strait, and level, and has an air of antiquity and grandeur appears to every traveller; and in the plantations at Linford, within less than a mile of Ickburgh; and at the building of the new hall there, several Roman urns have been dug up; and on the road towards Bury was a large miUiare to be seen, which might be the primus ab urbe lapis, the distance answering. Sir Henry Spelman observes that the Iceni, by which name this part of the Heptarchy was distinguished in the time of the Saxons, is a British term, partly adopted by the Romans, and on which the Roman Iciani Is founded, is a British term, derived from the river Ise or Ichen; and it ts not a little remarkable, that most of the rivers in Norfolk, with very little variation, in sound, still retain the same name. Thns the great river that flows between Norfolk and Cambridgeshire, emptying itself into the sea near Lynn, is called the Ouse Magna; that which divides the south west of this county from Suffolk, is called the Ouse Parva; and a third, which is in a great measure the boundary of the hundred of Grimshoe; between those of Clackclose and South Grcenhoe, in called the Wissey, which certainly comes very near the British word Ise. On the north of this Ise or Wissey stands the town of Icbebnrc, as it is written in Domesday-book, which in other words is a town or bnrgh on the Ise, as it is also written, that is, the bourn, brook e, or river Ise.

rectors. The Hermitage, or House of Lepers, stood in the south part of the town, and was founded by William Barentun, in the reign of Edward I., and was dedicated to St. Mary and St. Lawrence. The chapel belonging to it was built of flint and boulder, about thirty feet by twenty in length, having an additional building at the west end, converted to a farmhouse. In old writings it is frequently designated ‘at the new bridge at Ickburgh.’ Here is Chevere’s manor.

LYNFORD. Twenty-seven miles. P. 52.

Lies between Mundford and Buckenham Parva, and derives its name from the British hlyn (palus), and signifies a fenny or miry ford, or, as some will have it, a spreading water; and in both these respects the passage over the river here to Ickburgh does very well answer, the ground near the water being bog, and a mere fen, two rivers uniting a little above the town.* In 1720, two Roman urns were dug up here; and, in 1735, a gardener working in the plantations of Mr. Nelthorpe’s house, discovered a pavement of flint stones, on which were ashes with ossary fragments, and beneath an urn; this was evidently a Roman sepulchral hearth. In 1717, James Nelthorp, esq., built (says Blomefield) a very agreeable, seat here, with gardens, plantations, canal, &c. a little distance from the old halV, now the farmhouse, which was the only house in this place. The church of Lynford has been long demolished, it stood in the south-west part of the court yard leading to the new hall; its site is enclosed and planted with Scotch firs, where may be observed several of the foundation stones, and here several human bones were dug up. Lynford Hall is the seat of J. W. D. Merest, esq.

METHWOLD. Thirty-six miles. St. George. P. 1104. Lies north of Feltwell, and on the west side of the hundred. It takes it name from its site, Methelwalde, that is, the wold between Northwold and Hackwold, the Midlewalde. The church is presumed to have been been built in the reign of Edward II. It is a regular building, with a nave, north and south aisles, and a chancel. At the west end of the nave, is a square embattled tower, ornamented with a pinnacle as

  • It may also derive its name from llwyn, which signifies, in the British, a city or large town, and so may have respect to (lie Iciani of the Roman*.

each corner—herein is a clock and a dial plate, with five musical bells; and on this square tower is raised an octangular one, on which is an octangular spire or pyramid, of crocketwork, surmounted by a vane. The nave, from the screen to the arch of the tower, is fifty-four feet by forty-six. The roof of the nave is supported by fluted pillars of stone, and on the heads of the principal wood-work of the roof, are figures of the religious; here are several gravestones reaved of their brasses, and at the south end of the screen is a stone staircase to the rood loft, and over this part of the church, on the gable of the chancel, is an arch of stone and brick, where the saint’s bell formerly hung.* The chancel is separated from the church by a wooden screen, but the panels of it seem to have been transposed; on them are inscriptions to Thomas Hallworthy and Robert Keteryngton, also to the Swifts, and the Cartwrights. The chancel is about thirty feet by nineteen; before the steps of the communion-table is a gravestone, on which has been the effigy of a person in complete armour, with a canopy, in.brass, over his head, but the brass was purloined, about a century ago, by the parish clerk, and sold to a tinker. There was, formerly, a considerable market at Methwold, kept on Tuesday, but now almost disused, and there is a fair yearly on St. George’s day. Its warren (says Blomefield) is large and famous to a proverb, for rabbits. A late author says, “in the reign of king Cnute, Leoffwine, abbot of Ely, agreed to find the duke of Lancaster’s family with them two months in every year; but at that time there was no duke thus entitled, nor for many ages after.” Great suits have been commenced on account of the damage of the rabbits; and, in 1606, there was a cause depending in Chancery, and another in the duchy courts of Lancaster, between sir William Paston, sir Philip Wodehouse, sir John Heveningham, sir Edmund Mundeford, &c. lords of the adjoining towns, and the warrener—notwithstanding which an immense number of these animals, called by the poulterers, Mewil rabbits, are still brought to market. The late vicarage house at Methwold, is well worth the attention of the anti

• This bell was not fto called from the name of the aainl being inscribed on it, nor from the taint to which the church was dedicated, bnt because it waft always rang ont when the priest came to “Sancte, sancte, aancte. Domino Dent Sabaoth,” Holy, holy, holy. Lord God of Sabaoth, or f!oit«, purposely, that they who could not come to church, might understand what a solemn office the congregation were at that time engaged in; for this purpose the sanctus bell was so hung that it might be heard at the quary.—See an etching of it in Cot man $ Antiq. of Norfolk. Here are the manors of Bromhill, Otringhithe, and Slevesholm priory, commonly called Slusham—the latter was a cell to Castle Acre.—Inclosure act, 1805.

MUNDFORD. Thirty miles. St. Leonard. P. 307. Here is a bridge over the river, a little distance from the town, through which runs the London road, which was probably the ford in the time of the Saxons. The church is a single pile, with a square embattled tower, with three bells, on the second of which is inscribed

©ursurauB ancica jfamulonim, suscipt Vota,

A wooden screen divides the body of this church from the chancel, the latter of which is about thirty feet by seventeen; and here are inscriptions to the Walter family. In Mundford are the manors of West Hall, (held by the service of a rose, and a ‘sparhawk’), also East Hall, and Bigots.

NORTHWOLD. Thirty-six miles. St. Andrew. P. 981. Vulgarly pronounced Nor’old, and written Northwalde in Domesday-book, adjoins Methwold, and lies on the south side of the Wissey, and is called Wold from its situation ia an open champaign country.—The church has a nave, north and south aisles, a large und lofty square embattled tower with eight pinnacles of stone, carved, and five bells; a clock, and dial.* The church measures about sixty-five feet by fifty-five: near the font lies a stone with the brass of a man, but the female figure is gone; on a brass plate is an orate for John Perse and his wife; besides these are orates for Dameut, Dawson, Talbothe, and a gravestone in memory of Richard Carter. At the west end of the nave is a large gallery for the singers; and on the head of |two ancient scats under it, a shield, with a sword and a mace in saltire, in allusion to St. Andrew. The roof of the nave is of oak, painted and gilt; ornamented with the letter A and a crown over it, in honour of St. Andrew, and with many spread eagles. Over the arch of the lowest window on the south side, in stone work, is this inscription—

Notes of a Traveller on the Social and Political State of France, Prussia … (Google Books)

CHURCH OF ROME. – CAT HOLICISM AND PROTESTANTISM.

THE power of ancient Rome in the meridian of her glory was not so wonderful as her subsequent and her present dominion over the mind of man. Physical power we can understand. We see its growth. We see its cause along with its effect. We see armies in front, and civil authority in rear. But this moral power, this government over the mind extending through regions more vast and distant than ever the Roman arms conquered, is the most extraordinary phenomenon in human history. The Papist claims it as a proof of the Divine origin and truth of his doctrine. The Protestant and the philosopher inquire what principles of human origin give this power over the minds of men such wonderful extension and durability. To compare the machinery of each establishment, the Catholic and Protestant, the means by which each of these churches works upon the human mind — an inquiry altogether distinct from any investigation or comparison of the scriptural foundations of their different doctrines— would be a noble subject for the philosopher and historian, and one belonging strictly to metaphysical and political science, not to theology. It would bring out many of the most hidden springs of mental action, would elucidate many of those great moral influences which have agitated nations, and which are sometimes dormant but never extinct in society; and would explain some of the most important historical events and social arrangements of Europe. A few observations upon the present state and working of the machinery of each church, as they appear to the traveller in passing through Catholic and Protestant lands, may turn the attention perhaps of the philosophic inquirer to this vast and curious subject. Catholicism has certainly a much stronger hold over the human mind than Protestantism. The fact is visible and undeniable, and perhaps not unaccountable. The fervour of devotion among these Catholics, the absence of all worldly feelings in their religious acts, strikes every traveller who enters a Roman Catholic church abroad. They seem to have no reserve, no false shame, false pride, or whatever the feeling may be, which, among us Protestants, makes the individual exercise of devotion private, hidden — an affair of the closet. Here, and every where in Catholic countries, you see well-dressed people, persons of the higher as well as of the lower orders, on their knees upon the pavement of the church, totally regardless of and unregarded by the crowd of passengers in the aisles moving to and fro. I have Christian charity enough to believe, and I do not envy that man’s mind who does not believe, that this is quite sincere devotion, and not hypocrisy, affectation, or attempt at display. It is so common, that none of these motives could derive the slightest gratification from the act—not more than a man’s vanity could be gratified by his appearing in shoes, or a hat, where all wear the same. In no Protestant place of worship do we witness the same intense abstraction in prayer, the same unaffected devotion of mind. The beggar-woman comes in here and kneels down by the side of the princess, and evidently no feeling of intrusion suggests itself in the mind of either. To the praise of the Papists be it said, no worldly distinctions, or human rights of property, much less money payment for places in a place of worship, appear to enter into their imaginations. Their churches are God’s houses, open alike to all his rational creatures, without distinction of high or low, rich or poor. All who have a soul to be saved come freely to worship. They have no family pews, or seats for genteel souls, and seats for vulgar

souls. Their houses of worship are not let out, like theatres, or opera houses, or Edinburgh kirks, for money rents for the sittings. The public mind is evidently more religionised than in Protestant countries. Why should such strong devotional feeling be more widely diffused and more conspicuous among people holding erroneous doctrines, than among us Protestants holding right doctrines 2 This question can only be solved by comparing the machinery of each church. Although our doctrine be right, our church machinery, that is, our clerical establishment, is not so effective, and perhaps, from the very reason that our doctrine is right, cannot be so effective as that of the Catholics. In the Popish church the clergyman is more of a sacred character than it is possible to invest him with in our Protestant church, and more cut off from all worldly affairs. It is very up-hill work in the church of England, and still more so in the church of Scotland, for the clergyman to impress his flock with the persuasion that he is a better man, and more able to instruct them, than any other equally pious and equally well-educated man in the parish, whose worldly circumstances have given him equal opportunity and leisure to cultivate his mind; and in every parish, owing to the diffusion of knowledge, good education, and religious feeling among our upper and middle classes, there are now such men. The Scotch country clergyman in this generation does not, as in the last, stand in the position of being the only regularly educated, enlightened, religious man perhaps in his whole congregation. He has also the cares of a family, of a housekeeping, of a glebe in Scotland, of tithe in England, and, in short, the busisiness and toils, the motives of action, and objects of interest that other men have. It is difficult, or in truth impossible in our state of society, to impress on his flock that he is in any way removed from their condition, from their failings or feelings; and it would be but a delusion if he succeeded, for he is a human being in the same position with themselves, under the influences of the same motives and objects with themselves in his daily life. The machinery of the Roman Catholic church is altogether different, and produces a totally different result. The clergyman is entirely separated from individual interests, or worldly objects of ordinary life, by his celibacy. This separates him from all other men. Be their knowledge, their education, their piety, what it will, they belong to the rest of mankind in feelings, interests, and motives of action, — he to a peculiar class. His avarice, his ambition, or whatever evil passions may actuate him, lie all within his own class, and bring him into no comparison or collision with other men. The restriction of celibacy led, no doubt, to monstrous disorder and depravity in the age preceding the Reformation — an age, however, in which gross licentiousness of conduct and language seems to have pervaded all society — but it is a vulgar prejudice to suppose that the Catholic clergy of the present times are not as pure and chaste in their lives as the unmarried of the female sex among ourselves. Instances may occur of a different character, but quite as rarely as among an equal number of our unmarried females in Britain of the higher educated classes. The restriction itself of celibacy is unnatural, and in our church is properly done away with; because we receive the elements of the Lord’s Supper as symbolical only, not as being any thing else than bread and wine in virtue of the priestly consecration. The Papists, who receive the elements as transubstantiated by the consecration, require very naturally and properly that the priest should be of a sanctified class removed from human impurity, contamination, or sensual lusts, as well as from all worldly affairs, as far as human nature can by human means be. Both churches are right, and consequent in their usage and reasoning, according to their different doctrines. The Puseyites of the church of England alone are inconsequent ; for if they claim apostolic succession, and apostolic reverence and authority for the clerical body, they should lead the apostolic

life of celibacy, and repudiate their worldly spouses, interests, and objects. But our Scotch clergy placed by the Reformation in such a totally different religious position as to the nature of their function, are wrong in expecting a peculiar veneration, and in challenging a peculiar sanctity for their order. As a sacred order, or class, they ceased to exist, or to have influence founded upon any sound religious grounds, when the distinction which made them a peculiar class in the eyes and feelings of mankind, the distinction in their sacramental function, and consequent separation in all worldly affairs between their class and other men, ceased and was removed. The veneration and sanctity which each individual works out for himself by his personal character and conduct in his clerical functions alone remained. As a member of an order, he could take nothing, and de facto receives nothing. Superior education, and the prestige from Catholic times, kept up a lingering distinction in our Scotch country parishes in the last generation; but it seems a hopeless claim now in an educated age, for members of a profession not better educated than men of other professions, not separated by any peculiar exclusive religious function from the ordinary business, interests, motives, and modes of living of other well-conducted men, to obtain a separate status in society analogous to that of the popish clergy. They have an elevated, and, if they will so apply the word, a sacred duty to perform along with the ordinary duties of life; but they form no distinct, sacred class, or corporation, like the tribe of Levi among the Israelites, or like the Catholic clergy among the papists, having religious duties or functions which none can perform but its members, and to which they are essential. Some of our clergy in Scotland in the present day would insinuate that they are, by virtue of their ordination, or of their duties, a sacred order or class in the community; but this is a papistical pretension so entirely exploded by our Reformation, that those of the Scotch church who make it are afraid to speak out. F F

The genuine spirit of Calvinism, as adopted by the Scotch people, acknowledges no such order of priesthood, admits no such principle. A presbytery has no claim, like the Roman Catholic bishops, to sacred apostolic power of ordination. Their examinations and licences regard only the education, moral and religious character, and fitness of the individual to become a preacher in the established state-church, and to serve that particular charge to which he is called; but confer no spiritual gifts, no peculiar sacred powers; and for the good reason, that, in our presbyterian faith, no such gifts or powers are reserved for one class of men more than another, but scriptural knowledge, piety, sanctity, and all religious gifts, powers, advantages, and abilities, stand equally open to all men to be attained through faith, and their Bibles. As an influential machine in society, our clerical establishment cannot, therefore, from its nature, have such power over the mind as the Roman Catholic priesthood. The latter appears also to have taken up a new and more efficient position since the settlement of Europe after the revolutionary war. Catholicism has had its revival—and its priesthood has used it adroitly. By the French revolution many of the most glaring and revolting abuses of the Roman Catholic church were abolished. In no Catholic country, for instance, not even in Rome, is the interference of the church, or the clergy, in the private concerns, or civil affairs, opinions, or doings of individuals, at all tolerated. Its establishments, and powers discordant with the civil authority, have every where been abrogated. Monks and nuns are no longer very numerous, except in Rome and Naples, and are nowhere a scandal; and the vast estates of these establishments have, generally, over all the Continent been, in the course of the last war, confiscated and sold to pay the public debt of the state. In Tuscany, for instance, of 202 monastic establishments, viz. 133 of monks, and 69 of nuns, only 40 remain with means for their future support and continuance, and 162 receive aid from government, until the existing members who survive the confiscation of their former estates die out. The rich Neapolitan monasteries have, in the same way, been reduced in wealth and numbers. In France and Germany, the Catholic clergy, in general, are by no means in brilliant circumstances. The obnoxious and useless growth of the Catholic church establishment has, in almost every country, been closely pruned; and their clergy are, in reality, worse provided for than the Protestant. The effects of the Revolution have been to reverse the position of the clergy of the two churches; and to place the Catholic now on the vantage ground in the eye of the vulgar of the continental populations, of being poor and sincere, while the Protestant clergy are, at least, comfortable, and well paid for their sincerity. The sleek, fat, narrow-minded, wealthy drone is now to be sought for on the epispocal bench, or in the prebendal stall of the Lutheran or Anglican churches; the well-off, comfortable parish minister, yeomanlike in mind, intelligence, and, social position, in the manse and glebe of the Calvinistic church. The poverty-stricken, intellectual recluse, never seen abroad but on his way to or from his studies or church duties, living nobody knows how, but all know in the poorest manner, upon a wretched pittance in his obscure abode—and this is the popish priest of the 19th century—has all the advantage of position with the multitude for giving effect to his teaching. Our clergy, especially in Scotland, have a very erroneous impression of the state of the popish clergy. In our country churches we often hear them prayed for as men wallowing in luxury, and sunk in gross ignorance. This is somewhat injudicious, as well as uncharitable; for when the youth of their congregations, who, in this travelling age, must often come in contact abroad with the Catholic clergy so described, find them in learning, liberal views, and genuine piety according to their own doctrines, so very different from the description and the describers, there will unavoidably arise comparisons

in the minds especially of females and young susceptible persons, by no means edifying, or flattering to their clerical teachers at home. Catholic priests and monks, at the time of the Reformation, may have been all that our Scotch clergy fancy them still to be ; but three centuries, a French revolution, and an incessant advance of intelligence in society, make a difference for the better or worse in the spirit even of clerical corporations. Our churchmen should understand better the strength of a formidable adversary who is evidently gaining ground but too fast upon our Protestant church, and who, in this age, brings into the field, zeal and purity of life equal to their own, and learning, a training in theological scholarship, and a general knowledge superior, perhaps, to their own. The education of the regular clergy of the Catholic church is, perhaps, positively higher, and, beyond doubt, comparatively higher, than the education of the Scotch clergy. By positively higher, is meant that among a given number of popish and of Scotch clergy, a greater proportion of the former will be found who read with ease, and a perfect mastery, the ancient languages, Greek and Latin, and the Hebrew and the Eastern languages conmected with that of the Old Testament—a greater number of profound scholars, a greater number of high mathematicians, and a higher average amount of acquired knowledge. Is it asked of what use to the preacher of the gospel is such obsolete worldly scholarship 2 The ready answer is, that if the parish minister of the Scotch church can no more read the works of the Evangelists, Apostles, and early Fathers easily and masterly in the original Greek than any other man in the parish, knows them only from the translations and books in our mother tongue, to which every reading man in the parish has access as well as he, and if he has not had his mental faculties cultivated and improved by a long course of application to such studies as mathematics, the dead languages, scholastic learning, ancient doctrines in philosophy and morals, the ancient history of mind and men, and the laws of matter and intelligence as far as known to man, on what grounds does he challenge deference and respect for his opinions from us his parishioners? We are educated up to him. How can he instruct a congregation who know him to be as ignorant as themselves? Has the ordination of a presbytery conferred on the half-educated lad any miraculous gifts or knowledge? If he be as ignorant as his hearers of these higher branches of knowledge which few have his leisure to arrive at, what is it he does know 2 What is the education, what the acquirements on which a presbytery not better educated than himself have examined and licensed him He is like an apothecary ignorant of chemistry, compounding his medicines from a book of formulae left in his shop by his predecessor, and without any knowledge of the nature and properties of the substances he is handling. It may be said that the standard of clerical education in Scotland at the present day is as high as it ever was —as high as in any generation since the Reformation. It may be so; but if the public has become educated up to that standard, the clergy of the present day have lost the vantage ground of superior education and learning, and consequently of moral influence as teachers, as much as if the standard of clerical education had itself been lowered. In the nature, also, of our Presbyterian church service there is an element of decay of moral influence, produced by the general advance of society in education, intelligence, and religious knowledge. From the days of the Apostles to the Reformation, all instruction was oral, all knowledge was conveyed by word of mouth from the teacher to his pupils. But printing and the diffusion of books have reduced to insignificance this ancient mode of communicating knowledge, especially in abstract science. It is confined now to the branches of knowledge connected with natural substances, and the operations on them. Knowledge is imparted to the mind now, through the eye, not through the ear; and the book read, referred to, considered in the silence of the closet, has in all studies, sciences, public and private affairs, and intellectual acquirement, superseded, even in the universities, the duty and utility of the orator, lecturer, or speaker. Reading has reduced oral instruction to utter insignificance in pure science and in public affairs; and the ancient, but imperfect, mode of conveying information by word of mouth is banished to the nursery. The influence of the oral teacher naturally must decay along with the utility and importance of his occupation ; and this principle of decay of the moral influence of oral tuition reaches the Presbyterian pulpit.

It is unfortunate, also, for the influence of the Scotch Calvinistic church, that its service consists exclusively of extemporary effusions or temporary compositions. These, composed in haste by men of moderate education, and often of small abilities, have to undergo the comparison in the mind of an educated and reading congregation, with similar compositions, prayers, or sermons, prepared carefully for the press by the most able and learned divines. The moral influence resting solely on such a church service cannot be permanent. As a machinery, the English church is founded on a more lasting and influential basis; its established forms of prayer, unobjectionably good in themselves, not placing one minister or his compositions in competition with another, or with other similar compositions, in the public mind—the almost mechanical operation of reading the service well or ill being all the comparison that can be made between two clergymen in the essential part of the church duty. The competition, also, or comparison of any other compositions of the same kind, however excellent, with the old liturgy, can never occur in the public mind in England; because the liturgy has use and wont, antiquity, repetition from childhood to old age in its favour, and is interwoven with the habits of the people by these threads, in all their religious exerCISeS.

The comparative education of the Scotch clergy of the present generation, that is to say, their education compared to that of the Scotch people, is unquestionably lower than that of the popish clergy compared to the education of their people. This is usually ascribed to the popish clergy seeking to maintain their influence and superiority by keeping the people in gross ignorance. But this opinion of our churchmen seems more orthodox than charitable, or correct. The popish clergy have in reality less to lose by the progress of education than our own Scotch clergy; because their pastoral influence and their church services being founded on ceremonial ordinances, come into no competition or comparison whatsoever in the public mind with any thing similar that literature or education produces ; and are not connected with the imperfect mode of conveying instruction, which, as education advances, becomes obsolete, and falls into disuse, and almost into contempt, although essential in our Scotch church. In Catholic Germany, in France, Italy, and even Spain, the education of the common people in reading, writing, arithmetic, music, manners, and morals, is at least as generally diffused, and as faithfully promoted by the clerical body, as in Scotland. It is by their own advance, and not by keeping back the advance of the people, that the popish priesthood of the present day seek to keep ahead of the intellectual progress of the community in Catholic lands; and they might, perhaps, retort on our presbyterian clergy, and ask if they, too, are in their countries at the head of the intellectual movement of the age 2 Education is in reality not only not repressed, but is encouraged by the popish church, and is a mighty instrument in its hands, and ably used. In every street in Rome, for instance, there are, at short distances, public primary schools for the education of the children of the lower and middle classes in the neighbourhood. Rome, with a population of 158,678 souls, has 372 public primary schools with 482 teachers, and 14,099 children attending them. Has Edinburgh so many public schools for the instruction of those classes 2 I doubt it. Berlin, with a population about double that of Rome, has only 264 schools. Rome has also her university, with an average attendance of 660 students; and the Papal States, with a population of 2% millions, contain seven universities. Prussia, with a population of 14 millions, has but seven. These are amusing statistical facts — and instructive as well as amusing — when we remember the boasting and glorying carried on a few years back, and even to this day, about the Prussian educational system for the people, and the establishment of governmental schools, and enforcing by police regulation the school attendance of the children of the lower classes. France sent her philosophers on a pilgrimage to Berlin to study the manifold excellences of the Prussian school machinery, and to engraft them on her own “liberty of the people;” and not a few of the most enlightened, liberal, and benevolent of our own upper classes, sighing over the supposed ignorance and vice of the multitude, wish that our government, even at the expense of a little demoralising constraint and infringement of the natural rights of parents, would take up the trade of teaching, make a monopoly of it as in Prussia, with a stateminister of public instruction to manage it, and enforce by law and regulation the consumpt of a certain quantity in every family out of the government shops. Our statesmen were wiser than our philanthropists, or rather the common sense and sense of their civil and moral rights among the people were more powerful than both ; and society with us has been wisely left by our legislature to educate itself up to its wants—a point beyond which no school-mastering can drive it with any useful moral or religious result, and up to which, as in all free action for meeting human wants, the demand will produce the supply. The statistical fact, that Rome has above a hundred schools more than Berlin, for a population little more than half of that of Berlin, puts to flight a world of humbug about systems of

national education carried on by governments, and their moral effects on society. Is it asked, what is taught to the people of Rome by all these schools 2–precisely what is taught at Berlin, – reading, writing, arithmetic, geography, history, languages, religious doctrine of some sort, and, above all, the habit of passive submission in the one city to the clerical, in the other to the government authorities. The priesthood and the state functionaries well know that reading and writing are not thinking; that these acquirements and all the branches of useful knowledge besides, which can enter into the education of the common man in ordinary station, only increase his veneration for, and the social influence of that higher education which the mass of the community has no leisure to apply to, and which always must be confined to a few — to a professional class. The flocks will follow the more readily for being trained, if the leaders only keep ahead of the crowd. There is an evident reaction in the application of the old maxim, that superstition and despotism must be founded on ignorance. In Austria, in Prussia, in Italy, it is found that useful acquirements and knowledge do not necessarily involve thinking, and still less acting ; that, on the contrary, they furnish distraction and excitement to the public mind, and turn it from deeply considering, or deeply feeling, real errors in religion, or practical grievances in civil life. Education is become the art of teaching men not to think. When a government, a priesthood, a corporate body of any kind gets hold of the education of the people without competition, even in the most minute portion, as in a village school, this is invariably the result of their teaching. It is not difficult to account for the great number of schools — consequently the great diffusion of those acquirements which are called education—in Rome. The same cause acts in the same way in Edinburgh. There is a great demand for that sort of labour which may be called educated labour to distinguish it from mechanical labour, but which has as little influence on the moral or mental condition of the individual as shoemaking, or chipping stones on the highway, — and the demand produces the supply. Church servants of all kinds, from the cardinal down to the singing boy, must be able to read ; and the great amount of living to be found at Rome in the church, produces the demand for instruction in the qualifications. In Edinburgh, and generally in Scotland, the same demand for educated labour in the colonies, in mercantile, or legal, or me. dical professions, and in the Scotch church, produces a similar supply. Those who raise the supply are, in both cities, generally the young men intended for the priesthood; but in Rome the clergy occupy themselves more systematically, and more authoritatively, more in the Prussian style, with the education of the people, than they have legal power to do with us. They hold the reins, and are the superintendants, if not the actual teachers, in all these schools. It is very much owing to the zeal and assiduity of the priesthood in diffusing instruction in the useful branches of knowledge, that the revival and spread of Catholicism have been so considerable among the people of the Continent who were left by the Revolution, and the warfare attending it, in that state that if the Catholic religion had not connected itself with something visibly useful, with material interests, would have had nothing to do with it. The Catholic clergy adroitly seized on education, and not, as we suppose in Protestant countries, to keep the people in darkness and ignorance, and to inculcate error and superstition ; but to be at the head of the great social influence of useful knowledge, and with the conviction that this knowledge—reading, writing, arithmetic, and all such acquirements — is no more thinking, or an education leading to thinking, and to shaking off the trammels of popish superstition, than playing the fiddle, or painting, or any other acquirement to which mind is applied. Since the peace of Europe was established in 1815, very important events in church history have taken place, although scarcely noticed by our clergy occupied too exclusively in the petty politics of their own establishments. The revival of religious feeling in every country of Europe after the war-feeling, after the moral fever, and excitement of the revolutionary period were extinguished, and the embers of the flame trodden out at Waterloo, is one of the most striking characteristics of the times which have succeeded; and the different directions this universal revival of religion has taken in the different churches of Europe, one of the most eventful for future generations. The Continental people had a religion to choose at the end of the last war. How have the two churches of Europe availed themselves of this peculiar state of the European mind 2 The Protestant church is shaken to the foundation in her ancient seats, Germany and Switzerland, and, as a body politic, has lost, instead of gained, influence. The overthrow of the very name and form of Protestantism in Prussia by the late king, and the defection even of the clergy, from her doctrines in Switzerland, Germany, and other Protestant countries, have thrown great moral weight into the scale of the Roman Catholic church. The European people had a religion to choose, and found the Protestant church in its very centre, Germany, in a state of transition, and transformation into the new shaped thing — the Prussian church; and from the almost total silence of the abject Prussian population, both clergy and flocks, at the change, it was naturally believed that the change was undeniably necessary; and people naturally attached themselves to that church which acknowledges no want of change, and carries with it the moral weight of stability and time-hallowed forms. In the Continental Protestant church, the revived flame of religion has not taken a church direction, but has shown itself in schisms, discord of rites and opinions, the extinction in Prussia of the doctrines and forms of the two great branches of Protestantism, and the adoption, even by the clergy in Germany and Switzerland, of views which would have been considered formerly in their churches as deistical, unitarian, socinian. In Britain, also, the Protestant church has got into a false position. The clergy, both in the church of England and in the church of Scotland, have been attempting to unite the two opposite poles— power and popularity — and in their struggle for church power, and church influence, have lost the lead in the religious revival of the age. It is not the church in either country now that sustains, or directs, or even represents the religious sentiments of the people, but the offsets from the clerical body acting independently of the church, and forming an evangelical laity. The scholars have outgrown the teachers; and the teachers, instead of advancing with and leading the progress of the age, are in danger of becoming superannuated appendages on the religion of the people, sustained by it, not sustaining it; nor capable of directing it in the vast educational and missionary efforts which the religious sentiments of the people are making by their own agents, while their clergy are battling for church wealth, or church power. The Roman Catholic church, with its more effective machinery of a priesthood, has held the bridle, and guided the public mind in this great revival of religious feeling in Europe, more cleverly than the Protestant. It has evidently entered more fully into the spirit of the age, has seen more clearly what to give up, and what to retain, in the present intellectual state of the European mind, and has exerted its elasticity to cover with the mantle of Catholicism, opinions wide enough apart to have formed irreconcilable schisms and sects in former ages. Monkish institutions, onerous calls upon the time or purse of the common man, relic-veneration, vows, pilgrimages, auricular confessions, penances, and processional mummery, appear to be silently relaxed, or relinquished, wheresoever the public mind is too advanced for them. The old Catholic clergy and their kind of Catholicism appear to have died out, or to be

placed in an inactive state, and young men of new education and spirit to have been formed, and set to work: and these men have taken up their church as they found her, shorn of temporal and political power in almost every country, and of all social influence in a great part of Europe, and even with the means of living reduced to a very scanty pittance in France, and other Catholic lands, and have to set to work from this position, without looking back, with the zeal and fervency which perhaps only flourish in poverty. It is so far from being on the ignorance of the people this new school of the Catholic priesthood founds the Catholic church, that you hear sermons from them which might be preached to any Christian congregation. The general doctrines of Christianity are as ably inculcated as from our own pulpits, and the peculiar or disputable doctrines of the Popish church seem, by some tacit understanding, to be left out of the range of their subjects. They are not only free from the puerilities of doctrinal points, but also from the affectation, so common in the Protestant churches abroad, of preaching only the moral, and not the religious, doctrines of the gospel. Besides this greater efficiency of the machinery of the Romish church, the Catholic religion itself has the apparent unity of belief of all its adherents, in its favour. This unity is apparent only, not real ; but it has the same moral effect on the minds of the unreflecting, as if it were real. The Catholic religion adapts itself, in fact, to every degree of intelligence, and to every class of intellect. It is a net which adapts its meshes to the minnow, and the whale. The Lazarone on his knees before a child’s doll in a glass case, and praying fervently to the bellissima Madonna, is a Catholic, as well as Gibbon, Stolberg, or Schlegel: but his Catholicism is little, if at all, removed from an idolatrous faith in the image before him, which may in its time have represented a Diana of Ephesus, or a Venus. Their Catholicism was the result of the investigation of philosophic minds, and which, however erroneous, could

have had nothing in common with that of the ignorant Lazarone. I strolled one Sunday evening in Prussia into the Roman Catholic church at Bonn on the Rhine. The priest was catechising, examining, and instructing the children of the parish, in the same way, and upon the same plan, and with the same care to awaken the intellectual powers of each child by appropriate questions and explanations, as in our well conducted Sunday schools that are taught on the system of the Edinburgh Sessional School. And what of all subjects was the subject this Catholic priest was explaining and inculcating to Catholic children ; and by his familiar questions, and their answers, bringing most admirably home to their intelligence 2 — the total uselessness and inefficacy of mere forms of prayer, or verbal repetitions of prayers, if not understood and accompanied by mental occupation with the subject, and the preference of silent mental prayer to all forms — and this most beautifully brought out to suit the intelligence of the children. I looked around me, to be satisfied that I was really at the altar steps of a popish church, and not in the school room of Dr. Muir’s or any other well-taught presbyterian parish in Edinburgh. Yet beside me, on her knees before the altar, was an old crone mumbling her Pater Nosters, and keeping tale of them by her beads, and whose mind was evidently intent on accomplishing so many repetitions, without attaching any meaning to the words. Between her Catholicism, and that of the pastor and of the new generation he was teaching, there was certainly a mighty chasm, a distance that in the Protestant church, or in a former age, would have given ample room for half a dozen sects and shades of dissent — a difference as great as between the Puseyite branch of the church of England, and the Roman Catholic church itself. But the mantle of the Catholic faith is elastic, and covers all sorts of differences, and hides all sorts of disunion. Each understands the Catholic religion in his own way, and remains classed as Catholic, without dissent, although, in reality, as widely apart from the old Catholic church, as ever Luther was from the pope. Our Protestant faith sets before all men distinctly one and the same doctrine and belief, the same principles, the same christian knowledge, ideas, and objects. Thereis, consequently, distinct ground for sectarianism, and dissent, in the very nature of the Protestant church. These are also abstract ideas which are set before men, to which every mind must raise itself, and which, from the very nature of the human mind, cannot be comprehended so readily, or dwelt upon so long, and so fervently, especially by those untrained to mental exertion, as the material ideas of crucifixes, images, relics, paintings, and ceremonies, with which Catholicism mixes up the same abstract ideas. These material objects act like Leyden jars in electricity upon the devotion of Catholics: and every one seems to adjust to his own mental powers and intelligence, the use of this material machinery for quickening his devotion. With some, the invocation of the Virgin Mary, and the Saints, is considered but as a necessary, logical deduction from the great doctrine of mediation. If the mediation of the Son with the Father, be efficacious, the mediation of the Mother, who must have been the most perfect of created beings, as the chosen vessel for our Redeemer’s conception, with her Son, who in filial piety and affection as in all other virtue, was perfection, must, according to their not unspecious deduction, be efficacious also. The ora pro nobis, the invocations addressed to the Virgin Mary, the Apostles, Saints, and those who were either personal friends and companions of our Saviour when on earth, or are supposed to have been acceptable to him by their lives or sufferings, are founded on this deduction from the principle of mediation, and from the excellency of the virtue of our Saviour. The mediatory nature of these invocations is with others, again, almost entirely lost sight of and forgotten, and it becomes a direct idolatrous worship to those secondary mediators equal to what we pay to the great Mediator himself:

and as these are at best but human beings little removed from our own condition, the mind is able to dwell without exertion or fatigue upon them, their merits, and their works; and is excited to a fervency of devotion not attainable by the human mind from the contemplation of the sublime abstract truths of our religious belief. Our belief is the working of judgment, theirs of imagination; and this fervency of feeling is, in the construction of our mental system, more nearly allied to, and nourished and excited by imagination, than judgment. In this way we must account for the undeniably greater devotional fervour of Catholics than of Protestants. The elasticity of the Catholic church adapting itself to every mind, instead of raising every mind up to it, is the great cause of the advance of Catholicism in the present day, among the enlightened, as well as the ignorant classes; and the great cause of the small influence of Catholicism in raising the moral and intellectual condition of mankind, and advancing the civilisation of society. It is a cap that fits every head, for every head can stick it on in some fashion or other. Its most absurb doctrine, as that of the real presence in the elements of the Lord’s Supper, is plausibly enough deduced from the plain words of scripture — “This is my body” — not, this is the symbol of my body — and the natural objection of the evidence of our senses contradicting the supposed transubstantiation, is met by the argument of the unceasing divine power to operate a miracle even every day and hour upon every altar, the incompatibility with any rational idea of divine power, of the doctrine that the age of miracles is past, that what the divine power worked at one time it cannot or will not work at another, although the same necessity exists, and the insufficiency of our senses as a test of miracle, the disciples themselves having been blind to the miracle of the loaves and fishes, although seeing and assisting in it. This fits some heads. Others find the consubstantiation of the Lutheran, not at all more intelligible, than the transubstantiation of the Catholic, and acquiesce in the older faith of the two. The majority believe that which requires

no thinking. The French revolution left the minds of

men in a rude, uneducated state more adapted to re

ceive the material impressions of the Catholic faith, the ideas suited to a low, neglected, religious, and moral education, than to comprehend and embrace the higher and more abstract truths of Protestantism. The military spirit of a generation born and bred in wars and revolutions, and accustomed to see all distinction and honour resting not upon moral worth and good principle, but upon success, promotion, and outward decoration, could, when a reaction and revival arose in religious feeling among them, more easily go over into that church in which similar merits and similar emblems are admitted, and supersede mental exertion. The period of the French revolutionary war, undoubtedly, lowered the tone of moral and religious sentiment in Europe. In the events and present results of that vast movement, so many enterprises were successful in which all acknowledged moral and religious principles were set aside, and so many agents and participators in iniquitous events attained, and still to this day retain, all honour and social consideration, although gained in defiance of all moral principles of conduct, that wrong-doing has been kept in countenance, and success has been allowed to legalise, and cover from the judgment of posterity, the most flagitious acts of public historical personages. This is the deepest stain upon the literature of our times. Who in all wide Europe, which of the many historians of the French revolution — Scott, Alison, Thiers — who, who has raised his voice in the cause of moral right and integrity ? Who has applied to the test-stone of just moral principle the men and acts he is describing to posterity as great and brilliant examples of human conduct? Who has asked the French generals, marshals, and princes, the living individuals who now revel G G

in the eye of the world as the highest characters of the age, who has asked them, one by one, how did ye amass your immense wealth 2 Is it honestly come by ? Is it the savings of your daily pay and allowances in your professional stations 2 or is it money gained by secret participation with your own contractors and commissaries, or wrung by forced gifts, requisitions, unmilitary robbery, in a word, from towns, ancient institutions, and innocent suffering individuals 2 Where got ye your services of gold and silver plate? your collections of Flemish, Italian, and Spanish paintings 2 Were these not forced, plundered from their lawful owners, without even the show of purchase ? And who has asked the Buonaparte family, who are now vapouring about the world, attempting to set it on fire, how came ye to be great men P Your brother was a great soldier, but ye have neither inherited nor achieved greatness. Ye have no talents among you, either for civil or military affairs, that would be at all out of place in your original vocations upon three-legged stools, as country procurators, or behind the counter in the honest calling of grocers and drapers, in your native little town of Ajaccio 2 What, in the name of common sense, entitles you to be crowing upon the top of the world as princes and counts? And where got ye your immense wealth 2 Was it honestly earned in Ajaccio 2 Ye cannot even say it was military pillage and peculation. It was pilfered out of the taxes of those countries over which ye were sent to reign by your brother, like so many Sancho Panzas—the most impudent mockery of national rights and public principle ever attempted among European nations. It belongs, every dollar of it, to the people of those countries. Honest Sancho came penniless away from his government of Barataria, but ye left Holland, Westphalia, and Spain with full pockets. His moral feeling told him to leave his subjects without profiting by a farthing of their revenues. Ye offered to subscribe millions to the funeral of the emperor, and have expended millions in silly attempts to kindle a

flame in Europe for your ambitious projects, while the money you are wasting belongs really, and on just, correct, moral principle, to the people from whom it was squeezed, who earned it by their industry, paid it over most grudgingly to your own or your brother’s tax-gatherers for the public service, or civil list, or privy purse of their state, and to whom, individually, or collectively as a state, every shilling you have does in common honesty belong. When the great men of the earth arranged and restored at the congress of Vienna the political and territorial interests of kings and states, why did they not follow out the principle, and restore the moral interests of Europe also 2 Why did they not make the vultures who were gorged with the pillage of Holland, Germany, Spain, Italy, of every city from Hamburgh to Bern, and from Bern to Cadiz, and to Naples, disgorge individually their unmilitary booty, and restore the property to the countries, towns, institutions, and private persons, from whom it had been extorted contrary to all principles of civilized warfare? They were not eagles,—these were but the foul birds of prey which follow the eagle to feed upon the carcass he strikes down in his flight. Political or military profligacy in high station and command is more ruinous to public morals than private vice, because it sets principle at defiance openly, and not in a corner, and showing the homage to virtue of attempting to hide itself; but braving, in high and conspicuous social positions, the control of morality and public opinion. The congress of Vienna, in restoring something like a balance of power, and a monarchical shape to the Continent, only skinned over the wound inflicted on society — made compensation only to kings, and some royal dynasties, not to the people; restored nothing of what is of more importance than forms of government, — nothing of the moral principle which had been pushed out of its proper place and influence in society, by the impunity, unmerited honours, and impudent assumption of dignity, permitted to the most shameless rapine that ever disgraced the history of civilised people. M. Thiers, the late minister of France, is now in Germany, writing history, fortunately for mankind, instead of making history on the banks of the Rhine. He is visiting all the cities and localities of Germany which were the theatres of important events and memorable exploits, to collect, it is said, materials for a great historical work from the commencement of the French revolution. Has M. Thiers the moral courage to write such a history as history in this age ought to be written ? Will he bring to the unerring test-stone of moral principle, every act, every character, every man he is dealing with as an historian * Will he unmask and denounce to posterity, the unprincipled adventurers, pillagers, and marauders, whom accident, good fortune, military success, and the bravery of their troops, threw up into high and conspicuous stations, and who are figuring to this day in the eye of the world, the first of men? Will he restore the moral tone to society which has been lost in France, by the unmerited success and splendour of such men? Or will he only give the world a classical work — a fine imitation of the ancient historians, brilliant descriptions of marches, battles, intrigues, causes and results of events, fine-spun, imaginary, eloquent, modelled upon the manner and style of Thucydides or Tacitus; a work of talent, but not of historical philosophic truth ; a work which every body will praise, few will read, and nobody believe, or be the better for ; a work, in short, of leading articles, in which every victory is unparalleled, every successful general a hero, and glory a cloak for the most infamous deeds and characters? The road is open to M. Thiers, and Germany is the country which contains much of the materials, to produce the most influential and truly philosophical history of an eventful period, which the moralist, or the historian teaching morality by example, ever had before him. Will M. Thiers have the moral courage to take this road 2 The results at some future period of the singular moral and religious state of the European mind which has followed the revolutionary paroxysm of the beginning of this century baffle conjecture. The Protestant religion, existing, it may almost be said, only in detached corners of the world, and there torn into a hundred sects and divisions, and the clergy of her two branches occupied in unseemly squabbles for power and property,’ and not leading, nor, in public estimation, capable of leading, the religious revival among Protestant Christians, nor of meeting and refuting the learning and theological scholarship of professed infidel writers— the popish church advancing stealthily, but steadily, step by step, with a well-organized, well-educated, zealous, and wily priesthood at the head of and guiding the religious revival in her domain of Christianity, and adapting herself to the state of the public mind, and the degree of social and intellectual development in every country, from the despotism of Naples, to the democracy of New York — the moral tone of society, the power of moral and religious principle over conduct, the weight and value of right or wrong in public estimation, deranged, the influence of public opinion on the moral conduct of public men lowered, by the countenance given by governments to individuals who should be branded in the history of this age as unprincipled depredators setting all moral and international law at defiance in their military and political acts — these are elements in the religious, moral, and political condition of European society, which, together with the change in its social economy by the new distribution of property, must make every thinking man feel that the French revolution, as a vast social movement, is but in its commencement. We are but living in a pause between its actS.

The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, Volume 12 (Google Books)

CHANGES OF SOCIETY.

THE circumstances which have most influence on the happiness of mankind, the changes of manners and morals, the transition of communities from poverty to wealth, from knowledge to ignorance, from ferocity to humanity—these are, for the most part, noiseless revolutions. Their progress is rarely indicated by what historians are pleased to call important events. They are not achieved by armies, or enacted by senates. They are sanctioned by no treaties, and recorded in no archives. They are carried on in every school, in every church, behind 10,000 counters, at 10,000 fire-sides. The upper current of society presents no certain criterion by which we can judge of the direction in which the under current flows.-Edinburgh Review.

BATTLE OF THE HEADS,

Phrenologists.–Anti-Phrenologists. Phrenologists. The bantling which but a few years since we ushered into the world, is now become a giant; and as well might you attempt to smother him as to entangle a lion in the gossamer, or drown him in the morning dew.

Anti-Phrenologists. Your giant is a butterfly; to-day he roams on gilded wings, to-morrow he will show his hideousness and be forgotten.

APF, a Norwegian prince, is stated to have had sixty guards, each of whom, previous to being enrolled, was obliged to lift a stone which lay in the royal courtyard, and required the united strength of ten men to raise. They were forbidden to seek shelter during the most tremendous storms, nor were they allowed to dress their wounds before the conclusion of a combat. What would some of our “Guards” say to such an ordeal P

Pont RAIT PAINTING.

No picture is exactly like the original; nor is a picture good in proportion as it is like the original. . When Sir Thomas Lawrence paints a handsome peeress, he does not contemplate her through a powerful microscope, and transfer to the canvass the pores of the skin, the bloodvessels of the eye, and all the other beauties which Gulliver discovered in the Brobdignagian maids of honour. If he were to do this, the effect would not merely be unpleasant, but unless the scale of the picture were proportionably enlarged, would be absolutely false. And, after all, a microscope of greater power than that which he had employed, would convict him of innumerable omissions.

IT is calculated that Rome has derived from Spain, for matrimonial briefs, and other machinery of the Papal court, since the year 1500—no less than 76,800,000l. or about three millions and a half per

information.—A more clear idea, however, of our scheme will be conveyed by subjoining a few specimens taken at random from our first number, which will contain about seventy-five articles. No. 14. Fortune.-10,000l. certain, left by a grandfather; two brothers have the same, one of whom is likely to die before he is of age, which would produce 5,000l. more. The father in business, supposed to live up to his income. A rich, single aunt, but not on terms, on account of No. 14’s love of waltzing. A prudent husband might easily effect a reconciliation. Person. — Fair, with red hair, and freckled, nose depressed, brow contracted, figure good, two false teeth. Non-essentials.-Bad-tempered, economical almost to parsimony. Sings a great deal, but has no voice. Dances well; a

Fond of

Pope . This is preachee and payee too ! Roman Catholic. Miscellaneous Informati o – winning at cards. A particular dislike to spirit OF THE large whiskers; disapproves of hunting; łłublic journal.g. makes her own gowns, and likes to have a- them admired.

THE BACHELOR’s VADE-MEcum.

To obviate the difficulties and remove the perplexing doubts of cautious men, myself and a party of friends, who have a large acquaintance in London and its vicinity, propose publishing a work in monthly parts, which we mean to entitle “The Bachelor’s Wade-mecum, or a sure guide to a good match.” It will contain a list of all genuine and undoubted heiresses in the metropolis, and within ten miles around it, and of those ladies whose fortune depends on contingencies: as our correspondence and information increase, we shall hope to extend the circle of our inquiries, and we solicit those communications and assistances which the extent and utility of our plan require and deserve. Notices will be given of all who drop off by death and marriage, and of those whose value may be unexpectedly increased by a legacy, or a sister or brother’s decease. Particular attention will be paid to rich widows.-The first part of this truly useful work is nearly ready for the press; and we flatter ourselves that its arrangement and execution will excite universal applause. The particulars concerning each lady will be dis. tributed under four heads; the first will be devoted to her fortune and expectations; the second to a description of her person; the third to non-essentials; and under the fourth will be found hints as to the readiest means of approach, cautions against offending peculiar tastes or prejudices, and much interesting and valuable

No. 26. Fortune. — 16,000l. from her father, who is dead, and 10,000l. more certain on the death of her mother, who is at present ill. It is hoped that her complaint is dropsy, but more information on this point shall be given in our next Number. Person.—Fair, with fine blue eyes, good teeth, beautiful light hair. Tall and well made. Hands and feet bad. Non-essentials.—Weak in understanding, and rather ungovernable in temper. Has been taught . fashionable accomplishments; plays well on the harp; sings Italian. Bites her nails, cannot pronounce her h’s, and misplaces her v’s and w’s. Her father was a butcher. Miscellaneous Information.—Keeps a recipe-book, and is fond of prescribing for colds and tooth-aches. Has a great dislike to lawyers. Eats onions. Fond of bull-finches and canary-birds. Collects seals. . . Attends lectures on chemistry. Sits with her mouth open. No. 43. Fortune.—60,000l. in her own disposal. Person. — Aquiline nose, large dark eyes, tall and thin. Fine teeth and hair, supposed false; but the lady’s-maid has high wages, and has not yet been brought to confess. Non-essentials. – Plays well on the piano. Good-tempered. Aged sixtythree. Evangelical, and a blue-stocking. Miscellaneous Information.—Dislikes military and naval men. Fond of hares and trout. Has a great objection to waltz

ing. Aunt to No. 14. A prudent man might easily widen the breach between them. Attends Bible-meetings and charity-schools. Lame of one leg. No. 61. Fortune.—An only child; father a widower, with landed property to the amount of 1,500l. per annum, and 40,000l. in the Three per Cents. It is possible he may marry again, but it is hoped that this may not occur. The daughter lives with a maternal aunt. Person.—A decidedly handsome brunette. Tall, and well made. Non-essentials.-Charitable almost beyond her means; from which, and her wishing her father to marry, she is supto be extremely weak. Temper excellent ; said to be well educated, but of too retiring a disposition to allow of our discovering the fact without more trouble than the matter is worth. Miscellaneous Information.—Fond of the country. Goes twice to church on Sundays; but this affords no opportunity to a lover, as she never looks about her. Has an uncle a bishop, which may recommend her to a clergyman. Every person who has directed his attention to the subject, must perceive at a glance the immense utility of a work of this nature, conducted, as it will be, by men who pledge their characuers on the correctness of the information they convey. When a bachelor decides on marriage, by running over a few pages of our work, he will, in half an hour, be able to select a desirable match ; by applying at our office, and giving testimonials of his respectability, he will receive the lady’s name and it. and he may then … sue his object with a calm tranquillity of mind, a settled determination of purpose, which are in themselves the heralds and pledges of success. Or, should he meet in society a lady who pleases his taste, before resigning himself to his admiration, he will make inquiries at our office as to the number under which we have placed her in our list; and should she be of too little value to deserve a place in it, he will vigorously root her from his imagination, and suffer himself no longer to hover round her perilous charms, “come al lume farfalla.”–New Monthly Magazine.

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By these mysterious ties the busy pow’r
Of mem’ry her ideal train preserves
Intire ; or, when they would elude her watch,
Reclaims their fleeting footsteps from the waste
Of dark oblivion. AKENSIDE.

GENTLE, courteous, and patient reader —to understand the above plan, it is requisite that you carry your mind’s eye back to those troublous times when men enjoyed no protection, but in opposing force to force; and to a period when every man’s house was his castle, though not in the metaphorical sense we have since been accustomed to apply these words, viz. to the protection and security of British subJects. Few portions of our island have been more amply illustrated, by antiquarians, than Oxford ; and from one of these we learn that a Keep Tower, or Castle, existed here a considerable time before the conquest; for Alfred lived here; and Harold Harefoot was crowned and resided here; and one of Alfred’s sons struck money here. Hearne has likewise identified this fact by the very ancient and original arms of Oxford, which have a castle represented, with a large Wol. xii. I

ditch and bridge. Upon the same authority we learn that Offa “built walls at Oxford,” and by him, therefore, a Saxon castle was originally built at Oxford. Leland, Dugdale, and Camden, on the other hand, affirm that the castle at Oxford was built by Robert D’Oiley, who came into England with William the Conqueror; and the Chronicles of Osney Abbey, preserved in the Cottonian library, even ascertain the precise date of this great baron’s undertaking, viz. A.D. 1071. No question, therefore, can remain, but that this illustrious chieftain either repaired or rebuilt the castle; but as we have shown, upon equal authority, there was a Saxon castle, fit for a royal residence at Oxford, long previous to D’Oiley’s time. About the year 1794, several Saxon remains were discovered here; but our engraving represents the castle in Norman times, with Robert D’Oiley’s magnificent additions, and is a fac-simile of a plan by Ralph Agas, in 1533, which, allowing a little for bad or unskilful drawing, may be taken as a perfect specimen of Norman military architecture, and will, we are persuaded, be received by * aso

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a popular and interesting illustration of the warlike character of the age in which the castle was erected. For the description we are indebted to a MS. account of Anthony Wood, in the Bodleian library, who informs us that at one of its entrances was “a large bridge, which led into a long and broad entry, and so to the chief gate of the castle, the entry itself being fortified, on each side, with a large embattled wall; and having several passages above, from one side to she other, with open spaces between them, through which, in times of storm, whenever any enemy had broken through the first gates of the bridge, and was gotten into the entry, scalding water or stones might be cast down to annoy them.” On passing through the gate, at the end of this long entry, the fortification stretched itself, on the left hand, in a straight line, till it came to a round tower, that was rebuilt in the 19th of Henry III.” And from thence went a fair embattled wall, guarded for the most part with the mill-stream underneath, till it came to the high towerjoining to St. George’s-church.t From hence, says the manuscript, the wall went to another gate, now quite down, opposite to the abovementioned; and leading to Osney, over another bridge ; close to which joined that lofty and eminent mount, sometime crowned with an embattled tower. The manuscript, adds, that for the greater defence of this castle, there was, on one of the sides of it, a barbican; which seems to have not merely been a single tower, but (according to an ancient deed) a place, or outwork, containing several habita. tions; and from other accounts it further appears, that there were more barbicans than one. The ruins of certain other towers of the castle, besides the barbicans, and those already described, are also said to have been standing till 1649; when they were pulled down to erect new bulwarks for the parliamentary garrison. This is an abstract of Anthony Wood’s manuscript, which agrees with Agas’s drawing, except that in his sketch the tower between the gate-tower and St. George’s, is represented square instead of being round. Antiquarians also infer

that in the drawing it was intended to represent the great keep-tower as standing upon the top of the mount, and not by the side of it.: Some discoveries made in 1794, throw much light on the history of the castle, and warrant a conclusion that in its area were several buildings. Wells were then cleared out, and among the rubbish were found horses’ bones, dogs’ bones, horse-shoes, and human skeletons; the appearance of the latter is not easily accounted for, unless they were the bodies of malefactors, who had been executed on the gallows placed near the castle, in later ages, that might have been flung in here, instead of being buried under the gibbet. We must however pass over many interesting facts, and content ourselves with a mere reference to the empress Maud being besieged here in 1141, and her miraculous flight with three knights, all escaping the eyes of the besiegers by the brightness of their raiment; Maud having just previously escaped from the castle of the Devizes, as a dead corpse, in a funeral hearse or bier. The reader will not be surprised at the decay of the castle, when he is informed that it was in a dilapidated state in the reign of Edward III. The castle was situate on the west side of the city of Oxford, on the site of the present county gaol. In 1788 little remained except the tower, which was for some time used as the county prison, and part of the old wall could then be traced 10 feet in thickness. In the castle-yard were the remains of the ancient sessionshouse, in which, at the Black Assize, in 1577, the lieutenant of the county, two knights, eighty esquires and justices, and almost all the grand jury, died of a distemper, brought thither and communicated by the prisoners 4-and nearly one hundred scholars and townsmen fell victims to the same disorder. We have been somewhat minute in the preceding description, but we hope not more so than the exhaustless curiosity of the public on such subjects appears to warrant. Indeed, these interesting details are only a tithe portion of what we might have abridged. The warlike habits of our ancestors are always attractive topics for inquirers into the history of mankind, and their study is not Dull and crabbed as some fools suppose,

but a treasury or depository of useful knowledge, by enabling the inquirer to draw many valuable inferences from the comparative states of men in the several ages he seeks to illustrate. The enthusiasm of such pursuits is, likewise, an everlasting source of delight; for who can visit such shrines as Netley, St. Albans, or Melrose, without feeling that he is on holy ground; and although we are equally active in our notice of the architectural triumphs of our own times, we must not entirely leave the proud labours of by-gone ages to be clasped in the ponderous folio, or to moulder and lieneglected on the upper shelves of our libraries. We have to acknowledge the loan of the original of the engraving, from a lineal descendant of D’OILEY,” the founder or repairer of the Castle at Oxford—a name not altogether unknown to our readers.

  • The sum of 1441.5s. was expended in the rebuilding. f By an odd mode of expression in the MS., it should seem as if this tower itself, or at least some building adjoining it, was formerly made use of as a royal residence, for the words are, jrom hence went a fair embattled wall, guarded jor the most part with the mill-stream undermeath, till it came to the high tower, going under St. George’s College, and the king’s house employed formerly as a campanile belonging to that church.

i Grose fell into an error on this point, in his 3rd volume of Antiquities, for in his copy of Aga’s plan, he placed a large keep tower just at the foot of an artificial mount—an anomaly in fortification. The same punster who described for. tification as two twenty-fications, would call this a Grose blunder.

THE “ INTELLECTUAL CAT.” (For the Mirror.)

The cat mania has hitherto been more popular in France than in England. To be sure, we have the threadbare story of Whittington and his cat; Mrs. Griggs and her 86 living and 28 dead cats; Peter King and his two cats in rich liveries; Foote’s concert of cats; and the newspaper story of tortoiseshell male cats—but in France, cats keep better company, or at least are associated with better names. Thus, Molir RE had his favourite cat; Madame de Puis, the celebrated harpplayer, settled a pension on her feline friend, which caused a law-suit, and brought into action all the most celebrated lawyers of France; and M. L’Abbe de Fontenu was in the habit of experimenting on these animals, one of which he found could exist twenty-six months without drinking ! which fact is recorded in the History of the Royal Academy of Sciences at Paris, 1753. Our present portrait is, however, of more recent date, being a free translation from Le Furet de Londres, a French paper published in London, whose columns are an agreeable accompaniment for a cup of coffee. It is a mere bagatelle, and as an amusive trifle may not be

unacceptable.

• When Robert D’Oiley, in the reign of Henry W. built the abbey at Osney, for monks and regulars, and gave them the revenues, &c. of the church of St. George, in the Castle, it is said in the Osney chronicle, that there “Robert Pulen *7am to read at Oxford the Holy Scriptures, which had fallen into neglect in England. And aster both the church of England and that of France had profited greatly by his doctrine, he was called away by Pope Lucius II., who made him chancellor of the holy Roman church.” This short effort. to which the Pope’s preferment put a stop, seems to have been the true origin of the Divinity Lectuke, and of the Divinity Schools at Oxford; and of the studies of the SoaeoxNE at Paris. I 2

My pretty little Puss, it is high time that I should pay a just tribute to your merits. We often talk of people who do not esteem you; therefore, why should I blush to give publicity toyour perfection ? You are exceedingly well made; your fur boasts of the delicate varieties of the tiger; your eyes are lively and pleasing; your velvet coat and tail are of enviable beauty; and your agility, gracefulness, and docility are, indeed, the admiration of all who behold you ! Your moral qualities are not less estimable; and we will attempt to recapitulate them. In the first place, you love me dearly, or at least you load me with caresses; unless, like the rest of the world, you love me for yourself’s sake. I know well that you like me less than a slice of mutton, or the leg of a fowl, but that is very simple; I am your master, and a leg of mutton is as good again as one master, twice as good as two masters, &c. You possess great sense, and good sense too, for you have precisely such as is most useful to you; for every other kind of knowledge will make you appear foolish. Nature has given you nails, which men unpolitely call claws; they are admirably constructed, and well jointed in a membrane, which is extended or drawn up like the fingers of a glove; and at pleasure it becomes a terrific claw, or a paw of velvet. You understand the physical laws of good and evil. A cat who strangles another will not be more culpable than a man who kills his fellow men. My dear Cat, the great Hobbes never reasoned more clearly than you do I You forget the past—you dream not of the future ; but you turn the present to account. Time flies not with you, but stands still, and all your moments appear but as one. You know that your muscles will give action to your limbs, and you know no other cause of your existence, than existence itself. My dear Cat, you are a profound materialist? You flatter the master who caresses you, you lick the hand that feeds you, you fly from a larger animal than yourself, whilst you unsparingly prey on the smaller ones. My dear Cat, you are a profound politician / You live peaceably with the dog, who is your messmate; in gratitude to me, you regulate your reception, good or bad, of all the animals under my roof; thus, you raise your claw against such as you imagine mine enemies, while you prick up your tail at the sight of my friends. My dear Cat, you are a profound moralist: When you promenade your graceful limbs upon a roof, on the edge of a casement, or in some situation equally perilous, you show your dexterity in opposing the bulk of your body to the danger. Your muscles extend or relax themselves with judgment, and you enjoy security where other animals would be petrified with fear. My dear Cat, you perfectly understand the laws of gravity! If through inadvertence, blundering, or haste, you lose your support or hold, then you are admirable; you bend yourself in raising your back, and carry the centre of gravity towards the umbilical region, by which means you fall on your feet. My dear Cat, you are an excellent natural philosopher 1 If you travel in darkness, you expand the pupil of your eye, which, in forming a perfect circle, describes a larger surface, and collects the greater part of the luminous rays which are scattered in the atmosphere. When you appear in daylight, your pupil takes an elliptic form, diminishes, and receives only a portion of these rays, an excess of which would injure your retina. My dear Cat, you are a perfect optician / When you wish to descenda precipice, you calculate the distance of the solid points with astonishing accuracy. In the first place, you dangle your legs as if to measure the space, which you divide in your judgment, by the motions of your feet; then you throw yourself exactly upon the wished-for spot, the distance to which you have compared with the effect on your muscles. My dear Cat, you are a skilful geometrician / When you wander in the country, you examine plants with judicious nicety; you soon select that kind which pleases you, when you roll yourself on it, and testify your joy by a thousand other gambols; you know also the several grasses, and their medicinal effects on your frame. My dear Cat, you are an excellent botanist! Your voice merits no less eulogium; for few animals have one so modulated. The rhyming pur of satisfaction, the fawning accents of appeal, the vigorous bursts of passion, and innumerable diatonic varieties, proceed from your larynx, according to the order of nature. My dear Cat, you are a dramatic musician! In your amusements, you prefer pantomime to dialogue; and you neglect the pen to study the picture. But then what agility what dancing ! what cross-capers | The difficulty never impairs the grace of the feat. Oh, my dear Cat you are a delightful dancer / Lastly, my dear Puss, show me a man who possesses as many kinds of knowledge as you do, and I will proclaim him

a living cyclopædia, or concentration of human wisdom. But, what do I see ? I am praising you, and you are fast asleep! This is still greater philosophy.

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  • “Now is the time, While yet the dark-brown water aids the guile, To tempt the trout.” Thomson. I HAVE not {. done with this subject; and as it strikes me you are an angler, I think the article a seasonable bait for you. I was certainly much entertained with your extracts from Sir Humphry Davy’s Salmonia; and from your being pleased to mention my name in commenting on its merits, I took the hint, and resolved to send you another leaf from my journal. You will easily imagine the abundance of fish in Westmoreland when I inform you, that they seldom use the line there, except in rivers, since they can take them much easier with their hands as before mentioned. I will now account for the trout frequenting such small brooks. There are frequent floods in that county, at certain periods of the year, which sweep the fish in shoals from the mountain rivulets, or perhaps the fish always go down with the flood, for the rivers and rivulets are all well stocked afterwards; and in my opinion it is on account of the rivers being so full, that great quantities are obliged to inhabit the neighbouring brooks, all which empty themselves in the rivers. At the latter end of the year, that is, the spawning season, the large trouts (which are become very loose and flabby) take to the small brooks to deposit their spawn; after which they return to the rivers. At this time there are, in consequence, many young trouts, which remain, I should imagine, till next year, when I believe they go to the rivers; for during that time I have seldom caught trouts weighing more than from half a pound to a pound, though in such a “beck” as * Cannon’s,” which runs directly into the Eden, I have taken them at all times very large—and this is how I account for the difference. I should observe, that at the “back end” of the year, immensely large trouts may be caught, which come up to spawn; but they are generally, when caught, immediately thrown into their element again, as they are worth nothing, on account of the looseness of their flesh.

But to the subject. Trout binning is a name given to a peculiar method of taking trout. A man wades any rocky stream (Pot-beck for instance) with a sledge-hammer, with which he strikes every stone likely to contain fish. The force of the blow stuns the fish, and they roll from under the rock half dead, when the “binner” throws them out with his hand.

Night-Fishing.— I have frequently gone out with a fishing party at about ten o’clock at night to spear trout. We supplied ourselves with an eel spear and a lantern, and visited Cannon’s “beck.” We drew the light gently over the water near the brink. Immediately the light appeared, both trouts and eels were splashing about the lantern in great quantities. We then took the spear, and as they approached, thrust it down upon them, sometimes bringing up with it three or four together. One night we took nearly twenty pounds of trout and eels, which, for the short time we were out, may be considered very fair sport, and some of those were of a very large size.

Should you notice this, I may be led to recur to the subject in a future paper.

W. H. H.

A PRoup MAN is a fool in fermentation, that swells and boils over like a porridgepot. He sets out his feathers like an owl, to swell and seem bigger than he is.

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THE GOLDEN YEAR.

WE sleep and wake and sleep; but all things
in ove:
The sun flies forward to his brother sun ;
The dark earth follows, wheeled in her eclipse;
And human things, returning on themselves,
Move onward, leading up the Golden Year.

Ah, though the times when some new thought
can bud
Are but as poet’s seasons when they flower;
Yet seas that daily gain upon the shore,
Have ebb and flow conditioning their march ;
And slow and sure comes up the Golden Year.

When wealth no more shall rest in moulded
heaps,
But, smit with freer light, shall slowly melt
In many streams, to fatten lower lands,
And light shall spread, and man be liker man,
Through all the seasons of the Golden Year.

Shall eagles not be eagles 2 wrens be wrens?
If all the world were falcons, what of that ?
The wonder of the eagle were the less,
But he not less the eagle. Happy days,
Roll onward, leading up the Golden Year !

Fly, happy, happy, sails, and bear the press— Fly, happy with the mission of the Cross; Knit land to land, and, blowing heavenward, With silks, and fruits, and spices, clear of toil, Enrich the markets of the Golden Year.

But we grow old. Ah! when shall all men’s
good
Be each man’s rule, and universal peace
Lie like a shaft of light across the land,
And like a lane of beams athwart the sea,
Through all the circle of the Golden Year?
TENNYSoN.

THOUGHTS AT SUNRISE.

THE summer night is waning, and the morn
13reaks over steaming streams and silent fields,
With dim, far voices of the early dawn.
God and his world are now at peace; this
calm,
Even now, might deepen to eternity.
Oh, break it not oh, stain it not O God,
Stay thou that rising sun, nor let him rise
Once more upon the weary sin and strife,
And ‘. that curse him thro’ the burning
lue !
Come hither, O ye sons of men and kneel, –
Pray to a God ye never prayed to yet,
Who in his wide and wistful tenderness
Maketh each day the self-same dawn that
broke
On Eden, – that, remembering what ye were,
The Dawn’s sweet innocence might call ye
back, –
An awful, mute appeal to turn again.

Nay, but he suffers in that Heaven of heavens.
About him are the deeps, Space, with her
sounds,
The Heaven, with all her dreams of star and
sun,
The singing of a thousand worlds; to him,
Serene, immortal beings bow them iow.
All these are perfect, yet he hears afar,
In that dim, little planet that he loves,
Man jarring ever on his harmonies.
Aye, yearning in his cold and perfect worlds
For man who might have sympathy with him,
Move with conceptions vast and burning
thoughts
From beauty unto beauty, peopling worlds,
He grieves, though not the less a God for
grief.
Man is all out of tune with his design,
Who might have shared in that first splendid
thought,
Conception striving with an utter space,
Sound with eternal still that knew her not,
And light with the vague dark, till at the last
He struck his vast conception into bounds.
Still makes he for mankind the innocent dawn,
Noon, twilight, and the night, that makes the
heart
Break into singing at her shining stars.
Yet is man but a trembling worshipper,
Who heeds not that world-cry from Calvary—
A God appealing to the love of man,
Laying aside all terror and all power —
That should have echoed in him, made the
world
One fearless Heaven, without a thought of
Hell, –
Man, who can learn not through defeat and
death
Sorrow’s last gift, a sympathy with God.
Spectator.

SCHUBERT’S SYMPHONY IN B MINOR.

I shu DDER at the awful airs that flow Across my soul; I hear crushed hopes that wail And flutter their brief wings and sudden fail — Wild tender cries that sing and dance and go In wonderful sweet troops. I cannot know What rends within my soul what unseen veil, And tells anew what strangely well-known tale Of infinite gladness and of infinite woe.

Was I long since thrust forth from Heaven’s door,

Where in that music I had borne my part?

Or had this symphony its birth before
The pulse of nature turned to laws of art?

O what familiar voice, from what far shore,
Calls to a voice that answers in my heart 1
Academy. H. HAVELOCK ELLIS,

From The Nineteenth Century. DAILY LIFE IN A MEDIAEVAL MONASTERY.

IT may be assumed as a fact which scarcely requires to be more than stated that there are few subjects which the great mass of Englishmen are so curiously ignorant of as the history of monasticism, of the constitution of the various orders, of the fortunes of any single religious house, or the discipline to which its members were, in theory at least, compelled to submit. The assumption being granted, it may naturally be asked, How is such ignorance to be accounted for 2. It is due to more causes than one, but chiefly and primarily to the vastness of the subject itself.

When the monasteries were suppressed by Henry VIII. there was an utter obliteration of an order of things which had existed in our island certainly for more than a thousand years, and how much longer it is impossible to say. The names of religious houses which are known to have existed before the Norman Conquest count by hundreds; the names of men and women who presided over such houses during the centuries preceding that event count by thousands. Some of these religious orders had passed through the strangest vicissitudes; they had been pillaged again and again; they had been burnt by Danish marauders; their inmates driven out into the wilderness or ruthlessly put to the sword; their lands given over to the spoiler or gone out of cultivation; their very existence in some cases almost forgotten ; yet they had revived again and again from their ashes. When William the Conqueror came among us, and that awful rule of his began, there was scarcely a county in England and Wales in which one or more religious houses were not to be found, and during his reign of twenty-one years about thirty new monasteries of one sort or another were added to those already existing.

To begin with, the very word monastery is a misnomer: the word is a Greek word, and means the dwelling-place of a solitary person, living in seclusion. But, misnomer though it be, the employment of

the word in a sense so widely different from that which it first bore, until it got to designate the dwelling-place of a corporate body, among whom no solitude was allowed and privacy was almost impossible, is of itself very significant as indicating the stages through which the original idea of monasticism passed. It was natural enough, when society was in a condition of profound disorganization, and sensuality and violence were in the ascendant, that men and women of gentle nature should become convinced that the higher life could only be lived in lonely retirement, far from the sound of human voices and the contact of human creatures, whose very nearness almost implies sin. But what a vast step from this to that other conviction which the developed form of monasticism expresses, when experience has convinced the devout searcher after God that no great work can be done in improving the world, or raising the tone of society, or in battling with our own weaknesses and vices, except by earnest, resolute, and disciplined co-operation It is when we draw together that we are strong, and strongest when we are laboring shoulder to shoulder for some common object, and that no mean and sordid one ; it is then that we best find deliverance from our self-deception and most inveterate delusions, whilst living in the light of others’ eyes, and subjected to the influence and control of a healthy and well-instructed public opinlon. In the thirteenth century (and I shall as much as possible confine myself to the limits of that period), a monastery meant what we now understand it to mean – viz. the abode of a society of men or women who lived together in common — who were supposed to partake of common meals; to sleep together in the common dormitory; to attend certain services to. gether in the common church; to transact certain business or pursue certain employ. ments in the sight and hearing of each other in the common cloister; and, when the end came, to be laid side by side in the common graveyard, where in theory none but members of the order could find a resting-place for their bones. When I

say “societies of men and women” I am again reminded that the other term, “convent,” has somehow got to be used commonly in a mistaken sense. People use the word as if it signified a religious house tenanted exclusively by women. The truth is that a convent is nothing more than a Latin name for an association of persons who have come together with a view to live for a common object and to submit to certain rules in the conduct of their daily lives. The monastery was the common dwelling-place: the convent was the society of persons inhabiting it; and the ordinary formula used when a body of monks or nuns execute any corporate act — such as buying or selling land — by any legal instrument is, “The Prior and Convent of the Monastery of the Holy Trinity at Norwich ;” “the Abbot and Convent of the Monastery of St. Peter’s, Westminster ; ” “the Abbess and Convent of the Monastery of St. Mary and St. Bernard at Lacock,” and so on. Bearing in mind, then, that the term convent has to do with a corporation of men or women united into an organized society, and that the term monastery can strictly be applied only to the buildings — the domus – in which that society had its home, it will be well at starting that we should endeavor to gain some notion of the general plan of these buildings first, and when we have done that, that we should proceed to deal with the constitution of the society itself and the daily routine of conventual life. A monastery in theory, then, was, as it was called, a religious house. It was supposed to be the home of people whose lives were passed in the worship of God, and in taking care of their own souls, and making themselves fit for a better world than this hereafter. As for this world, it was lying in wickedness; if men remained in this wicked world they would most cer. tainly become contaminated by all its pollutions; the only chance of ever attaining to holiness lay in a man’s turning his back upon the world and running away from it. It was no part of a monk’s duty to reform the world; all he had to do was to look after himself, and to save himself from the wrath to come. It is

hardly overstating the case if I say that a monastery was not intended to be a benevolent institution ; and if a great religious house became, as it almost inevitably did become, the centre of civilization and refinement, from which radiated light and warmth and incalculable blessings far and wide, these results flowed naturally from that growth and development which the original founders had never looked forward to or could have foreseen, but it was never contemplated as an end to be aimed at in the beginning. Being a home for religious men, whose main business was to spend their days and nights in worshipping God, the first requisite, the first and foremost, the sine guá non was, that there should be a church. On the church of a monastery, as a rule, no amount of money spent, no amount of lavish ornament or splendor of decoration, was grudged. Sculpture and painting, jewels and gold, gorgeous hangings, and stained glass that the moderns vainly attempt to imitate, the purple and fine linen of the priestly vestments, embroidery that to this hour remains unapproachable in its delicacy of finish and in the perfect harmony of colors — all these were to be found in almost incredible profusion in our monastic churches. You hear some people work themselves into a frenzy against the idolatrous worship of our forefathers; but to a monk of a great monastery his church was his one idol — to possess a church that should surpass all others in magnificence, and which could boast of some special unique glory — that seemed to a monk something worth living for. The holy rood at Bromholm, the holy thorn at Glastonbury, were possessions that brought world-wide renown to the monasteries in which they were found, and gave a lustre to the churches in which they were deposited ; and the intense es/rit de corps, the passionate loyalty, of a monk to his monastery is a sentiment which we in our time find it so extremely difficult to understand that we can hardly bring ourselves to believe that it could exist and did exist without some subtle intermixture of crafty selfishness as its ruling force and motive. The church of a monastery was the heart of the place. It was not that the church was built for the monastery, but the monastery existed for the church; there were hundreds and thousands of churches without monasteries, but there could be no monastery without a church. The monks were always at work on the church, always spending money upon it, always adding to it, always “restoring” it; it was always needing repair. We are in the habit of saying, “Those old monks knew how to build ; look at their work — see how it stands !” But we are very much mistaken if we suppose that in the twelfth or the thirteenth or the fourteenth century there was no bad building. On the contrary, nothing is more common in the monastic annals than the notices of how this and that tower fell down, and how this and that choir was falling into ruins, and how this or that abbot got into debt by his mania for building. There was an everlasting tinkering going on at the church ; and the surest token that a monastery was in a bad way was if its church was in a shabby condition. The church was, almost invariably, built in the form of a cross, facing east and west, the long limb of the cross being called the nave, the cross limbs being called the transepts, and the shorter limb, or head of the cross, being called the choir. The choir, as a rule, was occupied exclusively by the monks or nuns of the monastery. The servants, workpeople, and casual visitors who came to worship were not admitted into the choir; they were supposed to be present only on sufferance. The church was built for the use of the monks; it was their private place of worship. Almost as essential to the idea of a monastery as the church was the cloister or great quadrangle, inclosed on all sides by the high walls of the monastic build. ings. Its usual position was on the south of the church, to gain as much of the sun’s rays as possible, and to insure protection from the northerly and easterly winds in the bttter season. All round this quadrangle ran a covered arcade, whose roof, leaning against the high walls, was supported on the inner side by an open trellis work in stone—often exhibit

ing great beauty of design and workmanship — through which light and air was admitted into the arcade.” The open space not roofed in was called the garth, and was sometimes a plain grass-plat and sometimes was planted with shrubs, a fountain of running water being often found in the centre, which afforded a pleasant object for the eye to rest on. The cloister was really the living-place of the monks. Here they pursued their daily avocations, here they taught their school, they transacted their business, they spent their time and pursued their studies, always in society, co-operating and consulting, and, as a rule, knowing no privacy. “But a monk always lived in a cell ” I think you will be inclined to object. The sooner you get rid of that delusion the better. Until Henry II. founded the Carthusian Abbey of Witham, in 1178, there was no such thing known in England as a monk’s cell, as we understand the term. It was a peculiarity of the Carthusian order, and when it was first introduced it was regarded as a startling novelty for any privacy or anything approaching solitude to be tolerated in a monastery. The Carthusian system never found much favor in England. The Carthusians never had more than nine houses, all told ; the discipline was too rigid, the rule too severe, the loneliness too dreadful for our tastes and for our climate. In the thirteenth century, if I mistake not, there were only two monasteries in England in which monks or nuns could boast of having any privacy, any little corner of their own to turn into, any place where they could enjoy the luxury of retirement, any private study such as every boy nowadays, in a school of any pretension, expects to have provided for himself, and without which we assume that nobody could read and write for an hour.

  • In other words the thirteenth-century monk passed far the greater portion of his time in the open air, except that there was a roof over his head. As time went on, and monks became more self-indulgent, they did not by any means like the draughts and exposure in the cloister, and the old-fashioned open arcades were glazed, and the old open walks were turned into splendid lounges, comfortable and luxurious, such as the glorious cloisters of Gloucester could be made into, at a small outlay, at the present day.

The cloister arcade was said to have four walks. The south walk ran along the south wall of the nave, the north walk was bounded by the refectory or great dining hall, the east walk extended along the south transept, and where the transept ended there usually came a narrow passage called a slype, passing between the end of the transept and the chapterhouse, which may be described as the council-chamber of the convent. Beyond the chapter-house, and abutting partly upon the east wall of the cloister, but extending far beyond it till, in some cases, it made with the refectory a block of buildings in the form of a T, ran the dormitory or common sleeping-place for the fraternity. The dormitory was always approached by steps, for it was invariably constructed over a range of vaulted chambers, which served for various purposes; one of these chambers was set apart for the reception of those monks who had been subjected to the monthly bleedings which all were supposed to require, and which all were compelled to submit to, that so by a mechanical process, if in no other way, the flesh might be subdued. The beds of the monks were arranged along the walls of the dormitory, at regular intervals; and in some monasteries a wainscot partition separated the sleepers from each other, thus making for each a little cubicle, with a low door leading into it. The broad passage, running from end to end, between the sleeping-places in the dormitory was strewn with rushes; and at the end opposite to the flight of stairs were the latrines or washing-places, which were open to the air, and under which was always a sewer that could be flushed by a watercourse hard by.

In the dormitory and the latrines lights were kept burning through the night; a provision necessary, if for no other reason, because the services in the church at night-time had to be kept up and attended by the whole house. In going from the dormitory to the church the monks always passed under cover — sometimes by going through the cloister, sometimes by passing straight into the transept.

We have been round three sides of the cloister: on the north the church; on the east the chapter-house and dormitory; on the south the refectory. There remain the buildings abutting on the west wall. In the arrangement of these no strict rule was observed. But generally the western buildings were dedicated to the cellarer’s hall with cellars under it, the pitanciar’s and kitchener’s offices, or chequers as they

were called, and a guest-chamber for the reception of distinguished strangers and for the duties of hospitality, to which great importance was attached. These were the main buildings, the essential buildings of a monastery great or small. Where a monastery was rich enough to indulge in luxuries of “modern improvements and all the best appliances,” there was hardly any limit to the architectural freaks that might be indulged in. There were the infirmary and the hospital; the calefactory or warming apparatus, the recreation hall and the winter hall, the locutorium and the common hall, and I know not what besides. You observe I have as yet said nothing about the library. I must remind you that in the thirteenth century the number of books in the world was, to say the least, small. A library of five hundred volumes would, in those days, have been considered an important collection, and, after making all due allowances for ridiculous exaggerations which have been made by ill-informed writers on the subject, it may safely be said that nobody in the thirteenth century — at any rate in England — would have erected a large and lofty building as a receptacle for books, …} because nobody could have contemplated the possibility of filling it. Here and there amongst the larger and more important monasteries there were undoubtedly collections of books, the custody of which was intrusted to an accredited officer; but the time had not yet come for making libraries well stored with such priceless treasures as Leland, the antiquary, saw at Glastonbury, just before that magnificent foundation was given as a prey to the spoilers. A library, in any such sense as we now understand the term, was not only no essential part of a monastery in those days, but it may almost be said to have been a rarity. But if the thirteenth-century monastery possessed necessarily no great readingroom, the scriptorium, or writing-room, was almost an essential adjunct. In the absence of the printing-press, the demand for skilled writers and copyists throughout the country was enormous. In the scriptorium all the business, now transacted by half-a-dozen agents and their clerks, was carried on. The land of the country in those days was subdivided to an extent that it is now almost impossible for us to realize, and the tenure under which the small patches of arable or meadow land were held was sometimes very complex and intricate. The small patches

were perpetually changing hands, being

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The Living Age …, Volume 160

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bought or sold, settled upon trustees, or let out for a term of years, and every transaction would be registered in the books of the monastery interested, while the number of conveyances, leases, and enfeofments made out in the course of the year was incalculable. In such an abbey as that of Bury St. Edmunds a small army of writers must have been constantly employed in the business department of the scriptorium alone. Obviously it became a great writing-school, where the copyists consciously or unconsciously wrote according to the prevailing fashion of the place; and there have been, and there are experts who could tell you whether this or that document was or was not written in this or that monastic scriptorium. Paper was very little used, and the vellum and parchment required constituted a heavy item of expense. Add to this the production of school-books and all materials used for carrying on the education work, the constant replacement of church service books which the perpetual thumbing and fingering would subject to immense wear and tear, the great demand for music which, however simple, required to be written out large and conspicuous, in order to be read with ease, and you get a rather serious list of the charges upon the stationery department of a great abbey. But though by far the greater portion of work done in the scriptorium was mere office work, the educational department, if I may so term it, being subsidiary, it must not be forgotten that the literary and historical department also was represented in the scriptorium of every great monastery. In the thirteenth century men never kept diaries or journals of their own daily lives, but monasteries did. In theory, every religious house recorded its own annals, or kept a chronicle of great events that were happening in Church and State. Where a monastery had kept its chronicle going for a long time, it got to be regarded almost as a sacred book, and was treated with great veneration: it lay in a conspicuous place in the scriptorium, and was under the care of an officer who alone was permitted to make entries in it. When any great piece of news was brought to the monastery that seemed worth putting on record, the person giving the information wrote out his version of the story on a loose piece of parchment, and slipped his communication into the book of annals for the authorized compiler to make use of in any way that seemed best to him, after due examination of evidence. This was the

rule in all monastic houses. Unfortunately, however, as it is with the journals or diaries of men and women of the nineteenth century, so it was with the journals and diaries of monks of the thirteenth, they evidently were kept by fits and starts; and before the fourteenth century was half out, the practice of keeping up these diaries in all but the larger monasteries had come to an end. Before passing on from the library and scriptorium, on which a great deal more might easily be said, it is necessary that one caution should be given; I know not how the notion originated or how it has taken such hold of the minds of ninetynine out of a hundred, that the monks as a class were students or scholars or men of learning; but, as far as the English monasteries of the thirteenth century are concerned, I am sure that it is altogether erroneous. If we except some few of the larger and nobler monasteries, which from first to last seem always to have been centres of culture, enlightenment, and progress, the monks were no more learned than the nuns. As a class, students, scholars, and teachers they were not. When King John died, in 1216, a little learning went a long way, and whatever the Norman Conquest did for England (and it did a great deal), it certainly was not an event calculated to increase the love of study, or likely to make men bookish pundits. I should only confuse my readers if I dwelt more at length upon the buildings of a monastery. It is enough for the present that we should understand clearly that the essential buildings were (1) the church, (2) the cloister, (3) the dormitory, (4) the refectory, (5) the chapter-house. In these five buildings the life of the convent was carried on. Having said thus much we will pass on to the corporation itself — that which strictly was called the convent; and for convenience and distinctness it will be as well if we use that word convent in the more accurate sense, and employ it only as signifying the corporate body of persons occupying those buildings of which I have been speaking, and which in their aggregate were called a monastery. Once more I think it necessary to start with a caution. Not only do I propose to take no account here of that large class of conventuals which comprehended the mendicant orders, or friars as they are called, but I must needs pass by with little or no notice the various orders of regular canons – i.e. canons living under a rule. The friars came into England first in 1220. During the thirteenth century they were, so to speak, upon their trial; but from the first the monks and the friars were almost essentially opposed in the ideal of their daily lives; the monk’s ideal was that he must live to save his own soul: the friar’s ideal was that he must live to save the soul of others. So with the very numerous houses of canons regular up and down the land. They and the monks did not love one another, and when I speak of monks and their houses it will be advisable to exclude from our consideration the friars on the one hand and the canons on the other, and, in fact, to limit ourselves to that view of conventual life which the great English monasteries under the rule of St. Benedict afford. At the time of the Norman Conquest it may be said that all English monks were professedly under one and the same rule — the famous Benedictine rule. The rule of a monastery was the constitution or code of laws, which regulated the discipline of the house, and the rule of St. Benedict dates back as far as the sixth century, though it was not introduced into England for more than a hundred years after it had been adopted elsewhere. Four hundred years is a very long time for any constitution or code of law to last unchanged, and though the English monasteries professedly were living according to the Benedictine rule during all the Saxon and the Danish times, yet there is too much reason to believe that if St. Benedict could have risen from the dead in the days of Edward the Confessor and made a visitation of many an English house, he would have been rather astonished to be told that the monks were living according to his rule. About one hundred and fifty years before the Conquest, a great reformation had been attempted of the French monasteries, which it was said had fallen into a state of great decay so far as discipline and fervor were concerned, and a revision of the old rule had been found necessary, the reformers breaking away from the old Benedictines and subjecting themselves to a new and improved rule. These first reformers were called Cluniac monks, from the great Abbey of Clugni, in Burgundy, in which the new order of things had begun. The first English house of reformed or Cluniac monks was founded at Lewes, in Sussex, eleven years after the Conquest, by Gundrada, a step-daughter of William the Conqueror, and her

husband, William, Earl of Warrene and Surrey. The Cluniacs were at first famous for the simplicity of their lives and the strictness of their discipline, but as time went on they became too rich and so too luxurious, and at last they too needed reforming, and a new reformer arose. In this case the real moving spirit of reformation was an Englishman, one Stephen Harding, probably a Dorsetshire man, who was brought up at the Benedictine monastery of Sherborne, but in the course of events chosen abbot of the Monastery of Citeaux, where St. Bernard became his ardent disciple, and where the two enthusiasts, working cordially together, brought about that second reform of the Benedictines which resulted in the founding of the great Cistercian order. Thus, without looking too minutely into the matter, we find that when the thirteenth century opens, or, if you will, when Henry III. came to the throne, in 1216, there were three great orders of monks in England—the old Benedictimes, who had held houses and lands for centuries; the Cluniacs, who were the reformed Benedictines; and the Cistercians, who may be styled the reformed Cluniacs. But inasmuch as the architectural and other reforms among the Cistercians were many and peculiar, it will again be advisable to pass by these peculiarities for the present without remark. The constitution of every convent, great or small, was monarchical. The head of the house was almost an absolute sovereign, and was called the abbot. His dominions often extended, even in England, over a very wide tract of country, and sometimes over several minor monasteries which were called cells. Thus the abbot of St. Alban’s had under himself the cell of Tynemouth in Northumberland and two others in Norfolk – viz., Binham and Wymondham, the latter of which eventually became an independent abbey — and the heads of these cells or subject houses were called priors. An abbey was a monastery which was independent. A priory was a monastery which in theory or in fact was subject to an abbey. All the Cluniac monasteries in England were thus said to be alien priories, because they were mere cells of the great Abbey of Clugni in France, to which each priory paid heavy tribute; while the priors were almost always foreigners, and always appointed by the abbot of Clugni, and responsible to him much in the same way as a pacha is to his suzerain the sultan. On the other hand, the Cistercian houses were all abbeys, and their abbots sovereigns in alliance or confederation with one another, and exercising over their several convents supreme jurisdiction, though recognizing the abbot of Citeaux as their over-lord. The abbot not only had a separate residence within the monastery and lived apart from his monks, but be had his separate estate for the maintenance of his dignity, and to bear the very heavy expenses which that dignity necessitated, and he had the patronage of every office in the convent. The officers were numerous. The first of them was the prior, who was the abbot’s prime minister and head of the executive and the abbot’s representative in his absence. Under him was the sub-prior, sometimes a third prior, and then a number of functionaries, to whom, as in the case of the abbot, separate estates were assigned out of which they were bound to provide for certain charges which they were camed upon to meet as best they could, and a complicated system of finance provided for the surplus of one office being applied when necessary for the deficiency of another. In the great Abbey of Evesham a very elaborate constitution was drawn up and agreed to in the year 1214, after a long dispute between the abbot and convent which had lasted for several years, and this scheme has come down to us. From it we find that certain officers (obedientiaries was their technical name) were charged with providing certain articles out of the revenue of the office. The prior, to whom no mean share of the revenues was assigned, had to provide the archment that might be required for [. purposes or for legal instruments and all other materials for the scriptorium, except ink. The manciple was to provide all wine and mead, the keeping up the stock of earthenware cups, jugs, basins, and other vessels, together with the lamps and oil. The precentor had to find all the ink used, and all color required for illumination, the materials for book-binding, and the keeping the organ in repair. To the chamberlain were assigned certain revenues for providing all the clothing of the monks, it being stipulated that the abbot’s dress was not to be paid for out of the fund. In the same way certain small tithes were apportioned for buying basins, jugs, and towels for the guests’ chamber; while all rents levied from the various tenants paid not in money, but in kind-as, e.g., capons, eggs, salmon, eels,

herrings, etc. — were to be passed to the account of the kitchener. Every monk bearing office was bound to present his accounts for audit at regular intervals, and the rolls on which these accounts were inscribed exist in very large numbers, and may still be consulted by those who are able to read them. It looks as if it were the policy of the Benedictines to give as many monks as possible some special duty and responsibility — to give each, in fact, a personal interest in the prosperity of the house to which he belonged — and the vacancies occurring from time to time in the various offices gave everybody something to look forward to. There was room for ambition, and, I am bound to add, room for a good deal of petty scheming, on the one hand, and truckling to the abbot, on the other; but it all went towards relieving the monotony of the life in the cloister – a monotony which has been very much overstated by those who have never studied the subject. To begin with, it does not follow that what would be very dull to us would be dull and insipid to the men of the thirteenth century. Before a man offered himself for admission to a monastery, he must have had a taste for a quiet life, and in many instances he had grown tired of the bustle, the struggle, and all the anxious wear of the work-day world. He wanted to be rid of bothers, in fact ; he was pretty sure to have had a fair education, and he was presumably a religious man, with a taste for religious exercises; sometimes, and not unfrequently, he was a disappointed man, who had been left wifeless and childless ; sometimes, too, he was one whose career had been cut short suddenly by some accident which incapacitated him for active exertion and made him long only for repose and obscurity. Moreover, in those distant times the instinct of devotion was incomparably stronger than it is now, and people found a real and intense delight in the services of the sanctuary, to say nothing of their entire belief in the spiritual advantages to be derived from taking part in those services. Add to this that a monk had to pass through rather a long training before he was regularly admitted to full membership. He had to submit to a term of probation, during which he was subject to a somewhat rigorous ordeal. A novice had the pride taken out of him in a very effectual way during his novitiate — he was pretty much in the position of a fig at a great school nowadays, and by the time that he had passed through his novitiate he was usually very well broken in, and in harmony with the spirit of the place in which he found himself. It was something to have a higher place assigned him at last in the church and the dormitory, to have some petty office given him, and to have a chance of being promoted by-andby. There was Brother So-and-So, who was getting infirm, and he could not do the pitanciar’s work much longer; the precentor was getting as hoarse as a raven, and the sacrist was gouty, or the cellarer was showing signs of breaking up. Nay, the prior’s cough gave unmistakable signs of his lungs being wrong, and if he were to drop off, which we should of course all of us deplore — there would be a general move up, it might be ; unless, indeed, Father Abbot should promote his chaplain over the heads of all of us — for such things have been But, when we come to look a little closer, we find that the monotony of monastic life was almost confined to the frequent services in the church. There were six services every day, of one kind or another, at which the whole convent was supposed to be present, and one service at midnight. The lay brethren among the Cistercians, and the servants engaged in field labor, were excused attendance at the nocturnal service, and those officials of the convent whose business required them to be absent from the precincts were also excused. Indeed, it would have been simply impossible for the whole brotherhood to assemble at all these services: there would have been a dead-lock in twenty-four hours if the attempt had ever been made in any of the large monasteries, where the inmates sometimes counted by hundreds, who all expected their meals punctually, and for whom even the sim. plest cookery necessitated that fires should be kept up, the porridge boiled, the beer drawn, and the bread baked. Hence, they whose hands were full and their engagements many really had no time to put in an appearance at church seven times in twenty-four hours. While, on the other hand, the monk out of office, with nothing particular to do, was all the better for having his time broken up; going to church kept him out of mischief, and singing of psalms saved him from idle talk, and if it did him no good certainly did him very little harm. The ordinary life of the monastery be. gan at six o’clock in the morning, and when the small beil, called the skilla, rang, all rose, washed themselves at the latrines, put on their day habit, and then presented

themselves at the matin mass. Mirfum’, or breakfast, followed, and that over, the convent assembled in chapter for consultation. After chapter the officials dispersed: the kitchener to arrange for the meals, and not unfrequently to provide hospitality for distinguished guests and their retinue; the precentor to drill his choir-boys, to tune the organ, to look after the music, or to arrange for some procession in the church, or some extraordinary function : the infirmarer to take his rounds in the hospital; the cellarer to inspect the brewhouse and bakeries; and each or all of these officers might find it necessary to go far afield in looking after some bailiff or tenant who could not safely be left alone. At Evesham the sacristan, the chamberlain, and the infirmarer were allowed forage and the keep of one horse. Meanwhile in the cloister all was stir and movement without noise. In the west alley the schoolmaster was teaching his little pupils the rudiments of Latin, or it might be the elements of singing; in the south alley, where the light was best, a monk with a taste for art was trying his hand at illuminating a MS. or rubricating the initial letters; while on the other side, in the north alley, some were painfully getting by heart the psalms, or practising meditation — alone in a crowd. Within the retirement of that cloister, fenced all round, as I have said, with the high walls and the great buildings, there the monks were working, there the real conventual life was going on ; but outside the cloister, though yet within the precincts, it is difficult for us now to realize what a vast hive of industry a great monastery in some of the lonely and thinly populated parts of England was. Everything that was eaten or drunk or worn, almost everything that was made or used in a monastery, was produced upon the spot. The grain grew on their own land; the corn was ground in their own mill; their clothes were made from the wool of their own sheep; they had their own tailors and shoemakers, and carpenters and blacksmiths, almost within call; they kept their own bees; they grew their own garden stuff and their own fruit; I suspect they knew more of fish-culture than, until very lately, we moderns could boast of knowing; nay, they had their own vineyards and made their own wine. The commissariat of a large abbey must have required administrative ability of a very high order, and the cost of hospitality was enormous. No traveller, whatever his degree, was refused food and shelter, and every monastery was a vast hotel, where nobody need pay more than he chose for his board and lodging. The mere keeping the accounts must have employed no small number of clerks, for the minute. ness with which every transaction was recorded almost passes belief. Those rolls I spoke of, the sacrist’s, cellarer’s, and so on, were, it must be remembered, periodical balance-sheets handed in at audit day. They deal, not only with pence and halfpence, but with farthings and half-farthings, and were compiled from the tablets or small account-books posted up from day to day and hour to hour. They give the price of every nail hammered into a wall, and rarely omit the cost of the parchment on which the roll itself is written. The men must have been very busy, or, if you prefer it, very fussy — certainly they could not have been idle to have kept their accounts in this painfully minute manner, even to the fraction of a farthing.

In the natural course of events, as a monastery grew in wealth and importance, there was one element of interest which added great zest to the conventual life, in the quarrels that were sure to arise.

First and foremost, the most desirable person to quarrel with was a bishop. In its original idea, a monastery was not necessarily an ecclesiastical institution. It was not necessary that an abbot should be an ecclesiastic, and not essentially necessary that any one of his monks should be in holy orders. Long before the thirteenth century, however, a monk was almost invariably ordained, and being an ordained person, and having his local habitation in a bishop’s diocese, it was only natural that the bishop should claim jurisdiction over him and over the church in which he and the fraternity ministered; but to allow a power of visitation to any one outside the close corporation of the convent was fraught with infinite peril to the community. Confessing their faults one to another, and asking pardon of the lord abbot or his representative, the prior, was one thing; but to have a querulous or inquisitive or even hostile bishop coming and intruding into their secrets, blurting them out to the world and actually pronouncing sentence upon them — that seemed to the monks an absolutely intolerable and shocking condition of affairs. Hence it seemed supremely desirable to a convent to get for itself, by fair means or foul — and I am afraid the means were not always fair means, as we

their house from episcopal visitation or control. I believe that the earliest instance of such an exemption being granted in England was that of the Conqueror’s Abbey of Battle. The precedent was a bad one, and led to all sorts of attempts by other houses to procure for themselves the like privilege. Such attempts were stoutly resisted by the bishops, who foresaw the evils that would inevitably follow, and which, in fact, did follow ; and, of course, bishop and abbey went to law. Going to law in this case meant usually, first, a certain amount of preliminary litigation before the Archbishop of Canterbury; but sooner or later it was sure to end in an appeal to the pope’s court, or, as the phrase was, an appeal to Rome. Without wishing for a moment to defend or excuse a state of things which was always vexatious, and at last became intolorable, it is impossible to deny that a great deal of nonsense has been talked and written about these appeals. Almost exactly the same state of things exists in the present day both in civil and ecclesiastical matters. Parsee merchants fall to loggerheads in Bombay or Calcutta, and bring their disputes before the courts in India; one side feels aggrieved by the sentence, and straightway he removes the case to a court of appeal in London. Or some heretical person in Asia or Africa or somewhere else gets into hot water with an orthodox society for the promotion of religious persecution, and sooner or later the archbishop is appealed to, and the ecclesiastical lawyers have a most delightful time of it. It all costs a great deal of money nowadays, and leading advocates on this side or that are actually so extortionate that they will not do anything for nothing, and insist on receiving the most exorbitant fees. So it was in the old days. The final court of appeal in all matters ecclesiastical was before the pope at Rome or Avignon, and the proctors and doctors, and all the canonists and officials, actually required to be paid for their work. When a monastery was in for a great fight with a bishop, it was a serious matter for both parties. But it was much more serious for the bishop than for the convent. The bishop had always his state to keep up and his many houses to maintain, and his establishment was enormously costly. His margin for law expenses was small; and I suspect that a bishop in England during the thirteenth century who had no private fortune out

should consider them — the exemption of side of his mere episcopal revenues would

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have been likely sooner or later to find himself in serious difficulties. On the other hand, in a great monastery all sorts of expedients could be resorted to in order to effect a salutary retrenchment — as when the monks of St. Albans agreed to give up the use of wine for fifteen years, and actually did so, that they might be able to rebuild their refectory and dormi. tory in the days of John the twenty-first abbot. Moreover, inasmuch as a corporation never dies, the convent could raise very heavy sums on the security of its estates, and take its own time to repay the loans. A bishop could not pledge his episcopal estates beyond his own lifetime, and the result was that, in the days when life assurance was unknown, a bishop who had to raise money for a costly lawsuit would have to pay a rate of interest which would make our blood run cold if we had to pay it, or our hearts leap for joy if we could get it in these days of two and three per cent. The bishop was always at a disadvantage in these appeal cases; he stood to lose everything, and he stood to win nothing at all except the satisfaction of his conscience that he was struggling for principle and right. And thus it came to pass that the monks enjoyed this kind of warfare, and rarely shrank from engaging in it. Indeed, an appeal to Rome meant sending a deputation from the convent to watch the case as it was going on, and there was all the delight of a foreign tour and a sight of the world — a trip, in fact, to the Continent at the expense of the establishment. But when there was no appeal case going on — and they were too expensive an amusement to be indulged in often — there was always a good deal of exciting litigation to keep up the interest of the convent, and to give them something to think about and gossip about nearer home. We have the best authority — the authority of the great pope Innocent III. — for believing that Englishmen in the thirteenth century were extremely fond of beer; but there was something else that they were even fonder of, and that was law. Monastic history is almost made up of the stories of this everlasting litigation ; nothing was too trifling to be made into an occasion for a lawsuit. Some neighboring landowner had committed a trespass or withheld a tithe pig. Some audacious townsman had claimed the right of catching eels in a pond. Some brawling knight pretended he was in some sense patron of a cell, and demanded a trumpery allowance of bread and ale, or an equivalent. As we

read about these things we exclaim, “Why in the world did they make such a fuss about a trifie?” Not so thought the monks. They knew well enough what the thin end of the wedge meant, and, being in a far better position than we are to judge of the significance and importance of many a casus belli which now seems but trivial, they never dreamed of giving an inch for the other side to take an ell. So they went to law, and enjoyed it amazingly Sometimes, however, there were disputes which were not to be settled peaceably; and then came what univer. sity men in the old days used to know as a “town and gown row.” Let it be remembered that a Benedic

…tine monastery, in the early times, was

invariably set down in a lonely wilderness. As time went on, and the monks brought the swamp into cultivation, and wealth flowed in, and the monastery became a centre of culture, there would be sure to gather round the walls a number of hangers-on, who gradually grew into a community, the tendency of which was to assert itself, and to become less and less dependent upon the abbey for support. These towns (for they became such) were, as a rule, built on the abbey land, and paid dues to the monastery. Of course, on the one side, there was an inclination to raise the dues; on the other, a desire to repudiate them altogether. Hence bad blood was sure to arise between the monks and the townsmen, and sooner or later serious conflicts between the servants of the monasteries and the people outside. Thus in 1223 there was a serious collision between the Londoners and the Westminster monks, the mob rushed into the monastery, and the abbot escaped their violence with difficulty by slipping out at a back door and getting into a boat on the Thames. On another occasion there was a very serious fray between the citizens of Norwich and the priory there, in 1272, when the prior slew one man with his own hands, and many lives were lost. At a later time there was a similar disturbance at Bury St. Edmunds, and in the year 1314 the great abbey of St. Albans was kept in a state of siege for more than ten days by the townsmen, who were driven to frenzy by not being allowed to grind their own corn in their own handmills, but compelled to get it ground by i. abbey millers, and, of course, pay the ce. Thirty years later, again, that man of sin, Sir Philip de Lymbury, lifted up his heel’against the Abbey of St. Alban’s, and actually laid hands upon brother John Moote, the cellarer; and on Monday, being market day at Luton in Beds, did actually clap the said cellarer in the pillory, and kept him there, exposed to the jeers and contempt of the rude populace, who, we may be sure, were in ecstasies at this precursor of Mr. Pickwick in the pound. But the holy martyr St. Alban was not likely to let such an outrage pass; and when the rollicking knight came to the abbey to make it up, and was for presenting a peace-offering at the shrine, lo, the knightly nose began to bleed profusely, and, to the consternation of the beholders, the offering could not be made, and Sir Philip had to retire, holding his nose, and shortly after he died — and, adds the chronicler, was speedily forgotten, he and his. Such ruffling of the peace and quiet of conventual life was, there is reason to believe, not uncommon. But inside the cloister itself there was not always a holy calm. When the abbot died there came all the canvassing and excitement of a contested election, and sometimes a convent might be turned for years into a house divided against itself, the two parties among the monks fighting like cat and dog. Nor did it at all follow because the convent had elected their abbot or prior unanimously that therefore the election was allowed by the king, to whom the elect was presented.* King John kept monasteries without any abbot for years, sequestrating the estates in the mean time, and leaving the monks to make the best of it. Sometimes an abbot was forced upon a monastery in spite of the convent, as in the case of Abbot Roger Norreys at Evesham, in 1191 – a man whom the monks not only detested because of his gross mismanagement, but whom they denounced as actually immoral. Sometimes, too, the misconduct of a prior was so abominable that it could not be borne, and then came the very difficult and very delicate business of getting him deposed: a process which was by no means easily managed, as appeared in the instance of Simon Pumice, prior of Worcester, in 1219, and in many another case. Such hopes and fears and provocations as these all contributed to relieve the monotony which it has been too readily assumed was the characteristic of the cloister life. The monks had a world of their

  • See a notable instance in Carlyle’s Past and Presefit.

own within the precincts, but they were not so shut in but that their relations with the greater world outside were very real. Moreover, that confinement to the monastery itself, which was necessarily very greatly relaxed in the case of the officers or obedientiaries, as they were called, was almost as easily relaxed if one of the brethren could manage to get the right side of the abbot or prior. When Archbishop Peckham was holding his visitations in 1282 he more than once remarks with asperity upon a monk farming a manor of his convent, and declares that the practice must stop. The outlying manors must have somebody to look after them, it was assumed, and if one of the brethren was willing to undertake the management for the convent, why should he not 2 Nor, again, must we suppose that the monks were debarred all amusements. On August 29, 1283, there was a great wrestling-match at Hockliffe, in Beds, and a huge concourse of people of all sorts were there to see the fun. The roughs and the “fancy” were present in great force, and somehow it came to pass that a free fight ensued. I am sorry to say that the canons of Dunstable were largely represented upon the occasion. We are left to infer that the representatives were chiefly the servants of the canons, but I am afraid that some at least of their masters were there too. In the fight one Simon Mustard, who appears to have been something like a professional prize-fighter, “a bully exceeding fierce,” says the annalist, got killed; but thereon ensued much inquiry and much litigation, and Dunstable and its “religious ” had to suffer vexations not a few. In fairness it should be remembered that these Dunstable people were not monks but canons — regular or irregular — and those canons, we all know, would do anything. We protest against being confounded with canons ! The amusements of monks were more innocent. The garden was always a great place of resort, and gardening a favorite pastime. We may be sure there was much lamentation and grumbling at St. Alban’s when Abbot John de Maryns forbade any monk, who from infirmity could only be carried on a litter, from entering the garden at all. Poor old fellows had their bearers been disorderly and trodden upon the flower-beds 2 Bowls was the favorite and a very common diversion among them; but in the opinion of Archbishop Peckham, as appears by his letters, there were other diversions of a far more reprehensible character. Actually at the small priory of Coxford, in Norfolk, the prior and his canons were wholly given over to chess-playing. It was dreadful In other monasteries the monks actually hunted; not only the abbots, but the common domestic monks! Nay, such things were to be found as monks keeping dogs, or even birds, in the cloister. Peckham denounces these breaches of decorum as grave offences, which were not to be passed over and not to be allowed. What a black monk stalking along with a bullpup at his heels, and a jackdaw, worse than the jackdaw of Rheims, using bad words in the garth, and showing an evil example to the chorister boys, with his head on one side But, after all, it must be confessed that the greatest of all delights to the thirteenth-century monks was eating and drinking. “Sir, I like my dinner ‘ ” said Dr. Johnson, and I don’t think any one thought the worse of him for his honest outspokenness. The dinner in a great abbey was clearly a very important event in the day — I will not say it was the important event, but it was a very important one. It must strike any one who knows much of the literature of this age that the weak point in the monastic life of the thirteenth century was the gormandizing. It was exactly as, I am told, it is on board ship on a long voyage, where people have little or nothing to do, they are always looking forward to the next meal, and the sound of the dinner-bell is the most exciting sound that greets the ear in the twenty-four hours. And so with the monks in a great monastery which had grown rich, and in point of fact had more money than it knew what to do with : the dinner was the event of the day. It is not that we hear much of drunkenness, for we really hear very little of it, and where it is spoken of it is always with reprobation. Nor is it that we hear of anything like the loathsome and disgusting gluttony of the Romans of the empire, but eating and drinking, and especially eating, are always cropping up ; one is perpetually being reminded of them in one way or another, and it is significant that when the Cistercian revival began, one of the chief reforms aimed at was the rigorous simplification of the meals and the curtailing the luxury of the refectory. But the monks were not the only people in those times who had a high appreciation of good cheer. When a man of high degree took up his quarters in a monastery he by no

and-toast-and-water cheer. Richard de Marisco, one of King John’s profligate councillors, who was eventually foisted into the see of Durham, gave the Abbey of St. Alban’s the tithes of Eglingham, in Northumberland, to help them to make their ale better — “taking compassion upon the weakness of the convent’s drink,” as the chronicler tells us. The small beer of St. Alban’s, it seems, was not as much improved as was to be desired, notwithstanding this appropriation of Church property, for twice after this the abbey had the same delicate hint given to it that its brewing was not up to the mark, when the rectory of Norton, in Hertfordshire, and two-thirds of the tithes of Hartburn, in Northumberland, were given to the monastery that no excuse might remain for the bad quality of the malt liquor. And here let me remark in passing that

another widespread delusion needs to be removed from the popular mind with regard to the relations between the monks and the clergy. We have again and again heard people say, “Wonderfully devoted men, those monks’ Look at the churches all over the land ‘ If it had not been for the monks how could all the village churches have been built? The monks built them all !” Monks build parish churches : Why, the monks were the greatest church-robbers that the world has ever known ; they were always robbing the country parsons, and the town parsons, too, for that matter. Every vicarage in England represents a spoliation of the church, whose rectorial tithes had been appropriated by a religious house, the parson being left with the vicarial tithes, and often not even with them, but thrown for his daily bread upon the voluntary offerings of his parishioners. The monks build churches I could not from my own knowledge bring forward a single instance in all the history of England of a monastery contributing a shilling of money or a load of stone for the repair, let alone the erection of any parish church in the land. So far from it, they pulled down the churches when they had a chance, and they were always on the look-out to steal the rectory houses and substitute for them any cheap-and-nasty vicarage unless the bishop kept a sharp look-out upon them and came to the help of his clergy. Of all the sins that the monks had to answer for, this greedy grasping at Church property, this shameless robbery of the seculars, was beyond most mischievous. To the credit of the Cistercians it must be told that they at first set themselves against the wholesale pillage of the parochial clergy. I am not prepared to say they were true to their first principles — no corporate society ever was, and least of all a religious corporation — but at starting the Cistercians were decidedly opposed to the alienating of tithes and appropriating them to the endowment of their abbeys, and this was probably one among other causes why the Cistercians prospered so wonderfully as they did during the first hundred years or so after their first coming here; people believed that the new order was not going to live by robbing parsons, as the older orders had done without remorse. The swindler always thinks his victim a fool, and the victim never forgives the smarter man who has taken him in. Accordingly the monks always pretended to think scorn of the clergy, and when the monasteries fell the clergy were the very last people to lament their fall. And this brings us to the question of the moral condition of the monasteries. Professor Stubbs has called the thirteenth century “the golden age of English Churchmanship.” Subject to correction from that greatest of England’s great historians — and subject to correction too from others, who, standing in a rank below his unapproachable eminence, are yet very much my superiors in their knowledge of this subject — I venture to express my belief that the thirteenth century was also the golden age of English monachism. Certainly we know much more about the monasteries and their inner life during this period than at any other time. The materials ready to our hand are very voluminous, and the evidence accessible to the inquirer is very various. I do not believe that any man of common fairness and candor who should give some years to the careful study of those materials and that evidence could rise from his examination with any other impression than that, as a body, the monks of the thirteenth century were better than their age. Vicious and profligate, drunken and unchaste, as a class, they certainly were not. Of course there were scandalous brethren. Here and there — but rarely, very rarely — there was a wicked abbot or prior. Of course there were instances of abominations on which one cannot dwell; of course there are stories which are bad to read; stories which find their way into the chronicles because they were strange or startling; but these stories are always told with hor

means wished to be put off with salt-fish- compare the most inexcusable and the

ror, and commented upon with severity and scorn. Excuse for wickedness or any palliation of it you simply never find. On the other hand, the intense esprit de corps of a convent of monks went beyond anything that we can now realize, and led to grave sins against truth and honesty. The forgeries of charters, bulls, and legal instruments of all kinds for the glorification of a monastery by its members was at least condoned only too frequently. It can hardly be doubted that the scriptorium of many a religious house must have been turned to very discreditable uses by unscrupulous and clever scribes, with the connivance if not with the actual knowledge of the convent, for such things were not done in a corner. If the forgeries succeeded — and that they often did succeed we know — the monastery got all the advantage of the rascality; no inquiry was made, and it was tacitly assumed that where so much was gained, and the pride of “our house” was gratified, the end justified the means. There remains one question which may suggest itself to our minds as it has often suggested itself to others. From what class or classes in society were the monks for the most part taken? This is one of the most difficult questions to answer. The late Dr. Maitland, who perhaps knew more, and had read more, about monks and monasteries than any Englishman of his time, professed himself unable to answer it; and my friend Dr. Luard— whose labors in this field of research have gained for him a European reputation, and whose wonderful industry, carefulness, and profound knowledge qualify him to speak with authority on such a point, if any one might pronounce upon it — hesitates to give a decided opinion. The impression that is left upon my own mind is, that the thirteenth-century monk, as a rule, was drawn from the gentry class, as distinguished from the aristocracy on the one hand, or the artisans on the other — in fact, mutatis mutandis, that the representatives of the monks of the thirteenth century were the fellows of colleges of the nineteenth before the recent alteration of university and college statutes came into force. An ignorant monk was certainly a rarity, an absolutely unlettered or uneducated one was an impossibility, and an abbot or prior who could not talk and write Latin with facility, who could not preach with tolerable fluency on occasion, and hold his own as a debater and man of business, would have found himself sooner or later in a very ridiculous and very uncomfortable position, from which he might be glad to escape by resignation.

Three centuries after the time we have been considering, the religious houses were suppressed — to use that euphonious term which has become universally accepted — only after they had existed in these islands in one form or another for at least a thousand years. Century after century monasteries continued to spring up, and there never was much difficulty in finding devout people who were ready to befriend a new order, to endow it with lands, and to give it a fair start. In other words, there was always a demand for new monasteries, and the first sure sign that that demand had been met, and more than met, was when the supply of monks began to fall short, and when, as was the case before the end of the fifteenth century, the religious houses could not fill up their full complement of brethren. Is it conceivable that this constant demand could have gone on, if the common sense of the nation had not been profoundly convinced, and continuously convinced, that the religious orders gave back some great equivalent for all the immense surrenders of wealth which generation after generation of Englishmen had made — some equivalent for all the vast stream of benefactions which flowed on from age to age so strongly that kings and statesmen had to interfere and check, if it might be, the dangerous prodigality of lavish benefactors 2 What that equivalent was, what the real work of the monasteries was, what great functions they discharged in the body politic, what the nation at large gained by their continuance and lost by their fall — these are questions which on this occasion I am not concerned with, and with which I scrupulously forbear from dealing. But there are moments when a great horror comes upon some men’s minds, and a vision of a lonely and childless old age rises before them in the gloom of a dreary twilight, or when the mists of autumn hide the sunbeams, and they think, “If desolation were to come upon our homes, where could we hide the stricken head and broken heart 2 ” To that question — a morbid question if you will — I have never found an answer. The answer was possible once, but it was in an age which has passed away.

Yes, that age has passed away forever. History repeats itself, it is true, but history will not bear mimicry. In every melody that wakes the echoes there is repetition of this note and that, the same

single sound is heard again and again ; but the glorious intertwinings of the several parts, the subtle fingers and merry peals of laughter that “flash along the chords and go,” the wail of the minor, as if crying for the theme that has vanished and yet will reappear—“like armies whispering where great echoes be ” — these things are not mere repetition; they are messages from the Eternal Father to the sons of men, reminding them that the world moves on. Merely to ape the past, and to attempt to reproduce in the nineteenth century the tree that had taken a millennium to grow into its maturity in the thirteenth and was rudely cut down root and branch in the sixteenth, is about as wise as it would be to try and make us sing the Hallelujah Chorus in unison Let the dead bury their dead. Meanwhile the successors of the thirteenth-century monasteries are rising up around us each after their kind; Pall Mall swarms with them, hardly less splendid than their progenitors, certainly not less luxurious. Our modern monks look out of the windows of the Carlton and the Athenaeum with no suspicion that they are at all like the monks of old. Nor are they. They lack the old faith, the old loyalty to their order, and with the old picturesqueness something else that we can less afford to miss — the old enthusiasm. We look back upon the men of the thirteenth century with much complacency. A supercilious glance at the past seems to give the moderns an excellent opinion of themselves. But suppose the men of the thirteenth century could turn the tables upon us, and, from their point of view, pass their judgment upon the daily life of the conventuals of St. James’s, who are, after all, only survivals, but just conceivably not quite survivals of the fittest; would the monks of old find all things quite up to the highest ideal 2 or would they hide their heads in shame and confusion of face compelled to acknowledge that the new was in all things so much better than the old 2 AUGUSTUS JESSOP.