THE COUNTRY CHURCH.
A gentleman! What o' the woolpack? or the sugar-chest? Or lists of velvet? which is 't, pound, or yard, You vend your gentry by? BEGGAR'S BUSH.
THERE are few places more favorable to the study of character than anEnglish country church. I was once passing a few weeks at the seat ofa friend who resided in, the vicinity of one the appearance of whichparticularly struck my fancy. It was one of those rich morsels of quaintantiquity, which gives such a peculiar charm to English landscape.It stood in the midst of a country filled with ancient families, andcontained within its cold and silent aisles the congregated dust of manynoble generations. The interior walls were encrusted with monumentsof every age and style. The light streamed through windows dimmed witharmorial bearings, richly emblazoned in stained glass. In various partsof the church were tombs of knights, and highborn dames, of gorgeousworkmanship, with their effigies in colored marble. On every side, theeye was struck with some instance of aspiring mortality, some haughtymemorial which human pride had erected over its kindred dust in thistemple of the most humble of all religions.
The congregation was composed of the neighboring people of rank, who satin pews sumptuously lined and cushioned, furnished with richly-gildedprayer-books, and decorated with their arms upon the pew doors; of thevillagers and peasantry, who filled the back seats and a small gallerybeside the organ; and of the poor of the parish, who were ranged onbenches in the aisles.
The service was performed by a snuffling, well-fed vicar, who had a snugdwelling near the church. He was a privileged guest at all the tablesof the neighborhood, and had been the keenest fox-hunter in the country,until age and good living had disabled him from doing anything more thanride to see the hounds throw off, and make one at the hunting dinner.
Under the ministry of such a pastor, I found it impossible to get intothe train of thought suitable to the time and place; so, having, likemany other feeble Christians, compromised with my conscience, by layingthe sin of my own delinquency at another person's threshold, I occupiedmyself by making observations on my neighbors.
I was as yet a stranger in England, and curious to notice the mannersof its fashionable classes. I found, as usual, that there was the leastpretension where there was the most acknowledged title to respect. I wasparticularly struck, for instance, with the family of a nobleman of highrank, consisting of several sons and daughters. Nothing could be moresimple and unassuming than their appearance. They generally came tochurch in the plainest equipage, and often on foot. The young ladieswould stop and converse in the kindest manner with the peasantry, caressthe children, and listen to the stories of the humble cottagers. Theircountenances were open and beautifully fair, with an expression ofhigh refinement, but at the same time a frank cheerfulness and engagingaffability. Their brothers were tall, and elegantly formed. They weredressed fashionably, but simply--with strict neatness and propriety, butwithout any mannerism or foppishness. Their whole demeanor was easyand natural, with that lofty grace and noble frankness which bespeakfree-born souls that have never been checked in their growth by feelingsof inferiority. There is a healthful hardiness about real dignity, thatnever dreads contact and communion with others, however humble. It isonly spurious pride that is morbid and sensitive, and shrinks from everytouch. I was pleased to see the manner in which they would converse withthe peasantry about those rural concerns and field-sports in which thegentlemen of the country so much delight. In these conversations therewas neither haughtiness on the one part, nor servility on the other, andyou were only reminded of the difference of rank by the habitual respectof the peasant.
In contrast to these was the family of a wealthy citizen, who hadamassed a vast fortune, and, having purchased the estate and mansion ofa ruined nobleman in the neighborhood, was endeavoring to assume all thestyle and dignity of an hereditary lord of the soil. The family alwayscame to church en prince. They were rolled majestically along in acarriage emblazoned with arms. The crest glittered in silver radiancefrom every part of the harness where a crest could possibly be placed.A fat coachman, in a three-cornered hat richly laced and a flaxen wig,curling close round his rosy face, was seated on the box, with a sleekDanish dog beside him. Two footmen in gorgeous liveries, with hugebouquets, and gold-headed canes, lolled behind. The carriage rose andsunk on its long springs with a peculiar stateliness of motion. The veryhorses champed their bits, arched their necks, and glanced their eyesmore proudly than common horses; either because they had caught a littleof the family feeling, or were reined up more tightly than ordinary.
I could not but admire the style with which this splendid pageantwas brought up to the gate of the churchyard. There was a vast effectproduced at the turning of an angle of the wall--a great smacking of thewhip, straining and scrambling of the horses, glistening of harness, andflashing of wheels through gravel. This was the moment of triumph andvainglory to the coachman. The horses were urged and checked, until theywere fretted into a foam. They threw out their feet in a prancing trot,dashing about pebbles at every step. The crowd of villagers saunteringquietly to church opened precipitately to the right and left, gaping invacant admiration. On reaching the gate, the horses were pulled up witha suddenness that produced an immediate stop, and almost threw them ontheir haunches.
There was an extraordinary hurry of the footmen to alight, pull down thesteps, and prepare everything for the descent on earth of this augustfamily. The old citizen first emerged his round red face from out thedoor, looking about him with the pompous air of a man accustomed to ruleon 'Change, and shake the Stock Market with a nod. His consort, a fine,fleshy, comfortable dame, followed him. There seemed, I must confess,but little pride in her composition. She was the picture of broad,honest, vulgar enjoyment. The world went well with her; and she likedthe world. She had fine clothes, a fine house, a fine carriage, finechildren--everything was fine about her: it was nothing but drivingabout and visiting and feasting. Life was to her a perpetual revel; itwas one long Lord Mayor's Day.
Two daughters succeeded to this goodly couple. They certainly werehandsome, but had a supercilious air that chilled admiration anddisposed the spectator to be critical. They were ultrafashionable indress, and, though no one could deny the richness of their decorations,yet their appropriateness might be questioned amidst the simplicity ofa country church. They descended loftily from the carriage, and moved upthe line of peasantry with a step that seemed dainty of the soil it trodon. They cast an excursive glance around, that passed coldly over theburly faces of the peasantry, until they met the eyes of the nobleman'sfamily, when their countenances immediately brightened into smiles, andthey made the most profound and elegant courtesies, which were returnedin a manner that showed they were but slight acquaintances.
I must not forget the two sons of this inspiring citizen, who came tochurch in a dashing curricle with outriders. They were arrayed in theextremity of the mode, with all that pedantry of dress which marksthe man of questionable pretensions to style. They kept entirely bythemselves, eying every one askance that came near them, as if measuringhis claims to respectability; yet they were without conversation, exceptthe exchange of an occasional cant phrase. They even moved artificially,for their bodies, in compliance with the caprice of the day, had beendisciplined into the absence of all ease and freedom. Art had doneeverything to accomplish them as men of fashion, but Nature had deniedthem the nameless grace. They were vulgarly shaped, like men formed forthe common purposes of life, and had that air of supercilious assumptionwhich is never seen in the true gentleman.
I have been rather minute in drawing the pictures of these two families,because I considered them specimens of what is often to be met with inthis country--the unpretending great, and the arrogant little. I have norespect for titled rank, unless it be accompanied with true nobilityof soul; but I have remarked, in all countries where artificialdistinctions exist, that the very highest classes are always the mostcourte
ous and unassuming. Those who are well assured of their ownstanding are least apt to trespass on that of others; whereas, nothingis so offensive as the aspirings of vulgarity, which thinks to elevateitself by humiliating its neighbor.
As I have brought these families into contrast, I must notice theirbehavior in church. That of the nobleman's family was quiet, serious,and attentive. Not that they appeared to have any fervor of devotion,but rather a respect for sacred things, and sacred places, inseparablefrom good-breeding. The others, on the contrary, were in a perpetualflutter and whisper; they betrayed a continual consciousness of finery,and the sorry ambition of being the wonders of a rural congregation.
The old gentleman was the only one really attentive to the service. Hetook the whole burden of family devotion upon himself; standing boltupright, and uttering the responses with a loud voice that might beheard all over the church. It was evident that he was one of thesethorough Church-and-king men, who connect the idea of devotion andloyalty; who consider the Deity, somehow or other, of the governmentparty, and religion "a very excellent sort of thing, that ought to becountenanced and kept up."
When he joined so loudly in the service, it seemed more by way ofexample to the lower orders, to show them that, though so great andwealthy, he was not above being religious; as I have seen a turtle-fedalderman swallow publicly a basin of charity soup, smacking his lips atevery mouthful and pronouncing it "excellent food for the poor."
When the service was at an end, I was curious to witness the severalexits of my groups. The young noblemen and their sisters, as the daywas fine, preferred strolling home across the fields, chatting with thecountry people as they went. The others departed as they came, in grandparade. Again were the equipages wheeled up to the gate. There was againthe smacking of whips, the clattering of hoofs, and the glittering ofharness. The horses started off almost at a bound; the villagers againhurried to right and left; the wheels threw up a cloud of dust, and theaspirin family was rapt out of sight in a whirlwind.