"Ah, Mr. Beeland, I'm so glad to see you!" said the Vicar, as, on leaving the church, he met his neighbour the newly-appointed Vicar of Droneworth. "I have been much grieved to hear of the sad opposition you have had to encounter in restoring your fine old church; but this was sure to be the case in a parish like yours, which has been so long neglected; indeed it must be so, more or less, in every parish, so long as there are people who honour themselves much more than they honour God; and such, I suppose, there will be till the end of the world. You may be sure, my friend, the woe of universal commendation[97] never yet fell upon any church restorer."

"Never, certainly. But what makes our position often so difficult and so painful is the fact that, whilst we are fully sensible of the rectitude of our own course, we cannot help, to some extent, sympathizing in the feelings of those who blame us. For instance, in almost every case of church restoration it is necessary to disturb a large number of human bones, and yet we can but sympathize in that feeling of respect for the departed, which sometimes expresses itself in the most strenuous opposition to any work involving this painful necessity. Then, you see, there is the rooting up of long-cherished associations. We have a case in point close at hand. There's the grand old church of Rainsborough will be left in its miserable condition so long as the present Vicar lives, and for no other reason than this:—ten years since he lost a favourite daughter, and she had always been accustomed to sit in one particular corner of their large pew." Now the Vicar fears (and no doubt justly) that should the church be altered, the old pew with its fond associations would be swept away—and so the church will never be improved as long as he lives[98]. We must respect the old man's tender love for the spot sacred to the memory of his dear child, yet we plainly see it is all wrong that for the sake of the private feelings (however praiseworthy) of any one person, God's house should remain in a state of neglect, and the poor should be uncared for therein. This, however, is an oft-told tale. But most of all, we have to contend against wounded pride in its most cherished strong-hold—alas!—the Church of God; and the enemy is all the more fierce because it is prostrate.

"My two great opponents, Sir John Adamley and Mr. Parvener, are to meet me this evening, and I am come to ask you and Mr. Acres to walk back with me to Droneworth, so that I may have the benefit of your support. You see these two gentlemen had pews in the nave of our church, lined, cushioned, and carpeted in dazzling crimson; each pew was as large as a good-sized room, and the two occupied nearly half the nave. Mr. Parvener was generally at church once on a Sunday, and then he sat not only in luxurious ease, but also in solitary dignity. Sir John never came to church, as there was some old feud respecting the right owner of his pew; but the door was always locked, and a canvas cover was stretched over the top. These precautions, however, failed to keep out an occasional intruder, and at last the door was securely nailed up[99]. The worst of it was, that all this time there was not a seat in the church which a poor man could occupy with any chance of either seeing or hearing the ministering Priest. Now people talk about proper distinctions in church between the high and the low, and we sometimes hear much about old ancestral pews. Believe me, it's all nonsense, my dear sir; the distinction is solely between riches and poverty. If a man has plenty of money, he may (or rather, till lately he might) secure the biggest pew in England; and if he has not money, though he be entitled to quarter the royal arms on his escutcheon, he will get no pew at all. Mr. Parvener is an exact instance of this. But a few years since he was working for half-a-crown a day. No sooner did he become wealthy than he obtained a large pew at our church, whilst its former owner, whose fall had been as complete and rapid as was the rise of his successor, was driven to a remote corner of the church allotted to degraded poverty."

The walk to Droneworth was soon accomplished, but the Rector with his two friends only reached the Parsonage a few moments before the arrival of the two aggrieved parishioners. It was evident from the first greeting that they had come in no friendly spirit. But few words passed before Sir John came direct to the object of the interview.

"The purpose of our visit," said Sir John, "you are aware, is to protest against the removal of our pews at church, and to declare our determination to have them replaced if it is possible."

"But, gentlemen, you are aware that we have provided good accommodation for you in the restored church," replied the Vicar.

"Good accommodation, sir!" exclaimed Sir John. "Why, you have given us nothing but low wooden benches to sit upon; and, to add to the insult, sir, there is not the semblance of a door; so that our devotions may at any time be interrupted by the presence of an inferior. Why, sir, the very labourers, who earn their half-crown a day, have seats in the church just as good as ours!"

The last sentence made poor Mr. Parvener writhe a little; and that indeed was its real intention, for the two neighbours had, in truth, little love for each other. The words, however, accomplished another and a better purpose; they broke up at once any thing like united action on the part of the opposition.

"Let me ask you, gentlemen, a very simple question," said the Vicar. "Why should not the labourer have as good a place in God's house as yourselves?"

"You might as well ask," said the Baronet, "why they should not have as good houses as we have."

"The cases are in no way similar. You live in better houses than the poor, simply because your worldly means enable you to do so; but I have yet to be taught that in the Church wealth is to be exalted and poverty degraded. No, Sir John, be sure this distinction is out of place there. We go to church to worship and to learn, and if favour is shown to any class, no doubt it should be to the ignorant and the poor; but this is a matter on which we are not left to our own judgment. There are not many instructions in our Bibles as to the manner of arranging our churches, but here the direction is plain and unmistakable."

"Indeed, sir! I had no idea that any thing about church seats was to be found in the Bible."

"Oh, but indeed there is. The passage to which I refer is in St. James' Epistle; and it is this: 'My brethren, have not the faith of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Lord of Glory, with respect of persons. For if there come unto your assembly a man with a gold ring, in goodly apparel, and there come in also a poor man in vile raiment; and ye have respect to him that weareth the gay clothing, and say unto him, Sit thou here in a good place; and say to the poor, Stand thou there, or sit here under my footstool: are ye not then partial in yourselves, and are become judges of evil thoughts[100]?'"

"If those words are in the Bible, I must confess the Bible is against me; but I had no idea that they were there."

"I assure you they are the exact words of Holy Scripture."

"It's clear enough to me," interposed Mr. Parvener, "that the labourer ought to have as good a place at church as the lord. I don't think the church is the place to show off aristocratic pride. Why, for that matter, there's many a man that doesn't know who was his grandfather doing more for the glory of God and the good of his fellow-creatures than your grandest aristocrats." This was intended as a counter-thrust, and it created a wider breach in the enemy's camp. "But," continued he, "I don't see why, if all have good places in the church, we should not make our own seats as comfortable as we can."

"Ah, but there comes in just what St. James tells us we ought to keep out: the distinction between riches and poverty, distinctions which among our fellow-men have their advantages, but not before God in His house. Just hear what St. James says again: 'Hearken, my beloved brethren, Hath not God chosen the poor of this world rich in faith, and heirs of the kingdom which He hath promised to them that love Him? But ye have despised the poor[101].' I was much struck with a sermon I heard the other day on this subject. The preacher said, 'If our Lord Jesus Christ were to enter some of our churches just as He went to the temple at Jerusalem, do you think He would take His seat in the luxuriously furnished pew of the rich, or in the open bench of the poor[102]?' Now, let me ask you too, Mr. Parvener (for this is, after all, the sum and substance of the matter), do you think that He 'who was rich, yet for our sakes became poor[103],' and whose life was a perfect pattern of humility, would sanction the distinctions which either pride of station, or pride of riches, would create in the House of Prayer?"

"Well, sir, I must say that's a solemn question, and it sets one a-thinking more than I have thought before about this."

"But, Mr. Beeland," said Sir John, interrupting, for he saw the ground of his arguments was slipping from under him, "you will acknowledge that these open benches in church are a novelty, and you often talk to us about keeping to the old paths. Now, here you are teaching us to strike out a new way altogether. I wish I knew something more than I do about the history of these pews."

"I anticipated some such remark from you, and knowing that my friend Mr. Ambrose is more learned than I am in all these subjects, I induced him to join us this evening, and if he will kindly give us the benefit of his information, he will, I am sure, convince you that pews, and not benches, are the modern innovation."

"If you can have patience to listen to me," said the Vicar of St. Catherine's, "I will gladly give you the history of pews, as far I know it."

CHAPTER XIX

---

THE NAVE

>"Take theses things hence; make not My Father's house a house of merchandise."

John ii. 16.