It was the day before the Festival of the Ascension, and Ascension Day being not only one of the greatest festivals of the Christian year, but being, moreover, the day on which the people of St. Catherine's were used to commemorate with great rejoicing the restoration of their now beautiful temple, old Matthew and the Vicar were busily engaged assisting those of the parishioners, old and young, who had the time to spare and were sufficiently skilful, in decorating the church with flowers and evergreens. "I remember, sir, when I was a boy, we used to call those twelve pillars that the ladies are putting the flowers on, the twelve Apostles," said old Matthew. "It's a common number in large churches," replied the Vicar, "and the name for them which you remember is not an unusual one. I remember one church where there are eleven pillars, and the old sexton told me they stood for eleven of the Apostles, and that there would have been twelve, but Judas was omitted. The pillars of the church, as the chief supports of the fabric, are said to represent the Apostles, Prophets, and Martyrs "I understand what you mean, sir—the stones were the preachers." "Just so, Matthew; and then the churches were always open, and people used to go and meditate and pray there at all hours; for in church they found themselves surrounded by so much that reminded them of Heaven and God's presence, and sacred things, and so little to remind them of the world and of sin, that they could think and pray there better than any where else. But in after times the old churches became neglected and dilapidated, and the new churches were so mean and cold and bare, that there was every thing to chill and nothing to warm devotion, and so people gave up the good old custom of going to hear the stones preach, and to say their daily prayers to God in His sanctuary. But the time is coming back again, I am thankful to say, and church builders are again good Churchmen, and regard the building of churches as a sacred art and a religious work; and the people are less contented to be ignorant about these things; and the churches are no longer closed from Sunday night to the next Sunday morning, as they used to be." "I haven't read my Bible right, Mr. Ambrose, if it isn't a very wicked thing to allow God's House to go to decay. In our old church people seemed to have forgotten all about the 'beauty of holiness,' both in their manner of worship and in the house where they worshipped. They had their own houses "Too true, my friend," said the Vicar: "these old pillars had become so coated over with whitewash that their rich carved work could hardly be seen at all. Whitewash was the cheapest thing they could use to hide the green damp and the plaster patches, and for that reason I suppose they used it." The work of decoration went on rapidly; the many busy hands soon effected a wonderful change in the appearance of the church, which gave it a very festive character. The choicest flowers were placed at the back of the altar, others were used in various ecclesiastical designs, or woven into wreaths of evergreens. The texts of Holy Scripture painted above the arches from pillar to pillar were neatly framed in borders of evergreens, and wreaths of the same were already twined around many of the columns The capitals of all the pillars were carved in imitation of the many wild flowers and ferns which grew in the neighbourhood "Well, my dear," said the Vicar, addressing Ellen Walton, his churchwarden's little daughter, "you have really shown great taste in arranging those ferns; they look beautiful indeed." "I deserve but little credit, sir, for any taste of my own," she replied, "for I have but copied the stone carving as near as I could." "Yes, but you do deserve great credit, as every body does who copies exactly that which is worth copying. The workman who so cleverly imitated in stone these beautiful works of God, in order to adorn God's House throughout the year with memorials of His goodness in making our summer fields so lovely, deserved much praise; and now, though yours is a lighter task, that you have given life, as it were, to his work, by your nice arrangement of leaf to leaf, and flower to flower, I must give you some praise too. But I see you are anxious to ask me a question." "Yes, sir. I was talking to Sally Strike this morning about the decorations, and she says they are all nonsense and unmeaning; she says, too, it's very wicked to put flowers about the church, for it's nothing but a heathen and idolatrous custom. Of course, I don't much notice what she says about it, but I don't very well know what to answer her, and I was going to ask you, sir, to be kind enough to tell me." "Sally Strike doesn't often say any thing very wise, my dear, and this is no exception to the rule. You had better answer her out of her own mouth. Ask her, when she gathered all the flowers her own garden could produce to decorate the little 'Rehoboth'—as they call that meeting-house on Wanderer's Heath—when they held their last 'love feast,' and had tea and cake in their chapel, did she put the flowers there to make the place look gloomy, or to make it look festive and gay? Or, why did she do the same thing a little while ago, when they gave a children's treat in their meeting-house? Was it because it was a time of sadness or of rejoicing? No doubt, she will tell you it was the latter. Well, we decorate our churches for a similar reason. We regard all the Christian "'Tis true that the heathen used flowers in decorating their temples and altars, and also their victims prepared for sacrifice "Thank you, sir, I quite understand your explanation. But Sally Strike said she didn't object to the way the church used to be decorated thirty years ago, when plain twigs of evergreen were put at the corners of the pews, and some large branches fixed here and there on the walls; but she does not like the triangles and circles and crosses, and the other designs we now use." "And yet nothing could be more silly than the dislike, though I fear it is one in which many—for mere want of
Of nicely calculated less or more: So deem'd the man who fashion'd for the sense These lofty pillars,—spread that branching roof, Self-poised, and scoped into ten thousand cells, Where light and shade repose, where music dwells Ling'ring and wand'ring on, as loth to die, Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof That they were born for immortality." Wordsworth. |