Perhaps, gentle reader (all readers are supposed to be "gentle,"—they ought to be), if you live in a retired village, you will find that in the course of many years, your village annals present little or nothing worthy of record, as matter of general interest or importance; you will, therefore, understand how that the past six years at the little village of St. Catherine's have been so uneventful as to be noticed only by a blank in our narrative. But now, on this twenty-sixth day of June, in the year 1866, an event of no common interest in a country parish is about to take place.

Since their first meeting, four years ago, at the vicarage of Droneworth, a close intimacy had grown up between the families of Mr. Acres and his neighbour Sir John Adamley; the upright integrity and manly candour which marked both their characters soon begat a deep mutual respect, which, in course of time, ripened into a warm friendship, now about to be sealed in the marriage of the Baronet's eldest son Egbert with Mr. Acres' eldest daughter Constance.

The place is all astir betimes. Early in the morning a merry peal is sounding from the old church tower, and many hands are busy in decorating with flowers and evergreens arches placed at intervals between the church and the Hall. It is by no order of the Squire or his steward that these arches—erected at no slight cost of money and labour—are put up; they are the spontaneous expression of the interest which the villagers themselves take in the day's rejoicing. There are William Hardy, Robert Atkinson, Mr. Dole, even old Matthew and his grandson, and indeed half the village, as busy as bees in and out of the church, vying with each other in their endeavour to make every thing look bright and joyful. Every one has put on something gay and cheerful, purchased specially for the occasion; there is the light of honest gladness on every face; and now that the children with their baskets of fresh flowers stand ranged on either side of the pathway that leads from the main road to the lich-gate, the scene is one of the most picturesque that can be imagined....

"Does Mr. Ambrose particularly wish that the first part of the service should take place near the chancel screen?" inquires Sir John.

"Yes," answers the Squire; "it is always the custom here, and I think you will afterwards acknowledge that this arrangement is very fitting and appropriate; and, indeed, adds not a little to the impressiveness of the ceremony."

"I can quite imagine that; but what authority has the Vicar for the practice?"

"Oh, that is very plain. If you just look at your Prayer Book, you will see this rubric at the commencement of the Marriage Service: 'At the time appointed for the solemnization of matrimony, the persons to be married shall come into the body of the church with their friends and neighbours, and there standing, the priest shall say'—then follows the address to the congregation assembled, and the rest of the service, till the priest pronounces the first blessing; and after that, the priests and clerks, 'going to the Lord's Table,' are directed to say or sing one of the Psalms, and it is evidently intended that the newly-married persons should accompany them, for when the Psalm is ended they are mentioned as 'kneeling before the Lord's Table.' This procession to the altar of course loses much of its meaning and impressiveness when there is no celebration of Holy Communion. But, then, this ought not to be omitted, except in very extreme cases."

"I quite see now that Mr. Ambrose is following the rule of the Church. I certainly never read the directions in the Service before. I suppose, however, there is no particular part of the body of the church named?"

"No; I believe it is only ancient custom which decides upon the chancel screen; it is, too, the most convenient part of the church for this purpose." ...

Why is it that all those young eyes are so bright with love, as from each ready hand falls the gay flowers at the feet of the happy pair? Why is each knee bent during every prayer in that solemn service? And, now, when the hands of Mr. Ambrose rest on the heads of Constance and her husband, as he pronounces over them the last blessing of the Church, why does the deep Amen sound from every lip? Why is there that breathless silence as those happy ones kneel before the altar to bind themselves yet more closely together, and to God, in Holy Communion? And now, as they come forth from God's House, how is it that there is no faltering voice in all that assembly as the glad shout of Christian joy rings up through the air to heaven? I'll tell you. It is because the priest and the Squire have ever recognized their joint duties in that parish; because Constance has been a sister of charity and mercy among the poor; because they have striven with all their might to do the work God gave them to do; and now they have their reward in the hearty affection and respect of all their neighbours.

There were but two exceptions to this general manifestation of good feeling among the villagers, and they were the last evil growth of the old Anabaptist schism in the parish. At the same time that Egbert and Constance were breathing their mutual vows beneath the old chancel screen of St Catherine's, William Strike and Sally Sowerby were being "married" by Mr. Gallio at the new register-office at Townend....

"There is something very touching," said the Squire to Mr. Ambrose, as they walked back together to the Hall, "in that old custom preserved in our village of hanging a white glove on the chancel screen[132]. That was the very glove my dear Mary wore when she promised to be the wife of Edward Markland, and poor Edward himself placed it there. I saw Constance's eyes fill with tears to-day as she ventured to give one look at the sad memento."

"The custom is fast dying out, and only survives in a few rural parishes. Indeed, the very screens themselves have, you know, in most churches been swept away[133]. The finer carving is often to be found worked up into pews, and the large timbers have been used in building galleries. Where these screens were made of stone[134], they have generally been preserved unharmed. In some cases, alas! people have not been contented with demolishing the screen, but have actually in their place built a gallery[135] for a family pew, extending all across the front of the chancel, but I am thankful to say such instances are very rare."

"Will you kindly tell me the origin of the chancel screen?"

"It was formerly called the rood screen, or rood gallery, and where the rood has been restored, it is still properly so called. The Gospel used to be read from this gallery, and sometimes the psalms were sung there by the priests and choristers. The custom of reading the Gospel from this position was evidently intended to express a special respect for this portion of God's Word; and so, for the same reason, now the Gospel is read from the north side of the chancel, whilst the Epistle is read from the south. The rood[136], which consisted of a crucifix with the figure of the Blessed Virgin on one side, and of St. John on the other, was placed at the top of the screen. Over this, and between the chancel arch and the roof, the wall was painted, the subject usually being the Doom, or representation of the Last Judgment. To replace this, it would seem that, at the Reformation, the Commandments were ordered to be painted at the east end of the church."

"You think, then," said the Squire, "that the order in the canons does not refer to the east end of the chancel?"

"It is a disputed point, but I think not. Had the chancel been intended, I think it would have been so stated. Besides, it was ordered that they should be so placed that the 'people could best see and read the same,' and certainly they could not do the latter if they were painted at the east end of the chancel. Indeed, I regard that as the least convenient and appropriate place in the whole church for them. If we have them any where, the east end of the nave or aisles is the best place for them; but, really, the need to have them at all is now passed away, as those who can read, can read the Commandments in their Bibles and Prayer Books; and for those who cannot, it is useless placing them on the walls of the church[137]. However, it is far better to have the Commandments over the chancel arch than the royal arms. It is wonderful how silly people become when they have a superstitious dread of superstition. For instance, I know a church where the congregation were offended by an old painting in the church, the subject of which was at least calculated to inspire solemn thoughts, yet could be contented that the most conspicuous object in the church should be a hideous representation of the royal arms, with this sentence below it in large characters: 'Mrs. Jemima Diggs, widow, gave this painting of the Queen's arms, A.D. 1710[138].' I should like to know what there is in that to remind us that we are in the House of God?"

CHAPTER XXIII

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THE CHANCEL

"In this place is One greater than the temple."

S. Matt. xii. 6.