Stones of the Temple; Or, Lessons from the Fabric and Furniture of the Church

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Field Walter. Stones of the Temple; Or, Lessons from the Fabric and Furniture of the Church

PREFACE

CHAPTER I. THE LICH-GATE

CHAPTER II. LICH-STONES

CHAPTER III. GRAVE-STONES

CHAPTER IV. GRAVE-STONES

CHAPTER V. THE PORCH

CHAPTER VI. THE PORCH

CHAPTER VII. THE PAVEMENT

CHAPTER VIII. THE PAVEMENT

CHAPTER IX. THE PAVEMENT

CHAPTER X. THE PAVEMENT

CHAPTER XI. THE WALLS

CHAPTER XII. THE WALLS

CHAPTER XIII. THE WINDOWS

CHAPTER XIV. A LOOSE STONE IN THE BUILDING. A DIGRESSION

CHAPTER XV. THE FONT

CHAPTER XVI. THE PULPIT

CHAPTER XVII. THE PULPIT

CHAPTER XVIII. THE NAVE

CHAPTER XIX. THE NAVE

CHAPTER XX. THE AISLES

CHAPTER XXI. THE TRANSEPTS

CHAPTER XXII. THE CHANCEL SCREEN

CHAPTER XXIII. THE CHANCEL

CHAPTER XXIV. THE ALTAR

CHAPTER XXV. THE ORGAN-CHAMBER

CHAPTER XXVI. THE VESTRY

CHAPTER XXVII. THE PILLARS

CHAPTER XXVIII. THE ROOF

CHAPTER XXIX. THE TOWER

CHAPTER XXX. THE HOUSE NOT MADE WITH HANDS

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"Any port in a storm, Mr. Ambrose," said old Matthew Hutchison, as with tired feet, and scant breath, he hastened to share the shelter which Mr. Ambrose, the Vicar of the Parish, had found under the ancient and time-worn Lich-gate of St. Catherine's Churchyard. For a few big drops of rain that fell pattering on the leaves around, had warned them both to seek protection from a coming shower. "Ah, yes, my old friend," the Vicar replied, "and here we are pretty near the port to which we must all come, when the storm of life itself is past."

"I've known this place, – man and boy, – Mr. Ambrose, for near eighty years; and on yonder bit of a hill, under that broken thorn, I sit for hours every day watching my sheep; but my eye often wanders across here, and then the thought takes me just as you've said it, sir. Ah! it can't be long before Old Matthew will need some younger limbs than these to bring him through the churchyard gate; – that's what the old walls always seem to say to me; – but God's will be done." And as the old Shepherd reverently lifted his broad hat, his few white hairs, stirred by the rising gale, seemed to confirm the truth of his words.

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"Ah! sir," said the shepherd, "many's the poor heart-bowed mourner that's been comforted here with those words! They always remind me of Jesus saying to the widow of Nain, 'Weep not,' when he stopped the bier on which was her only son, and the bearers, and all the mourners, at the gate of the city."

"Yes! and all this makes us look on the old Lich-Gate as no gloomy object, but rather as a 'Beautiful Gate of the Temple' which is eternal, – a glorious arch of hope and triumph, hung all round with trophies of Christian victory. But I see the rain is over, and the sun is shining! so good-bye, Mr. Acres, we two shepherds must not stay longer from our respective flocks: – old Matthew's is spread over the mountains, mine is folded in the village below." The old shepherd soon took his accustomed seat under the weather-beaten thorn, the Vicar was soon deep in the troubles of a poor parishioner, and the young Squire went to the village by another way.

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