THE CHURCH IN THE VILLAGE.
TIME, which brings in its train such changes as Parish Councils, steam-rollers, and other similar boons, has not spared the village church. Square pews, where "a body med sleep comfeeble-like, wi'ont all the par'sh knawin' on't," have been swept away, whitewashed walls have been coloured, and many other modest ornaments and improvements intro- duced. Some of these caused grave misgivings in the minds of the congregation. The reredos, which was sufficiently devoid of artistic merit to have found favour in the eyes of the most rigorous Protestant, was particularly obnoxious, the Greek characters, Alpha and Omega, and the unobtrusive cross with which it was adorned, being regarded as Popish symbols that had no part nor place in "our ree-ligion." The substitution of a heating apparatus for stoves, with long black pipes soaring upward through the roof, met with no small opposition and ridicule on account of the predilection hot- water pipes are known to entertain for bursting at ill- considered moments. Subsequent experience, however, having demonstrated the falseness of this idea, the parish is now of opinion that " 'eatin' that ther' church is the best thing as par- son 'ave a-done sence a come year ! " The innovation that aroused the deepest disapproval was the institution of a har- vest festival, which was "snuff to mek the old parson turn in 'is grave, 'um wur; wotiver do us want wi' a festival then ? Yen't us allus had the harvest right anuff a-foor, wrout sich fooliehniss as a thanksgivin' P " Dressing up the church with flowers and corn forsooth ! "We've nothen to say agen a bit o' holly stuck in the pews at Christmas time, that's on'y nat'rel and seasonable-like ; but this year's a-turnin' the place into a whee-nt field an' a garden full an' wholly." Yet such is the inconstancy of man, that in these latter days the once reprobated service is the favourite of the year, the one occasion when the farm-hands are not ashamed to come in their working garb, when malcontents lay aside their differences and appear within the walls of the sacred edifice. Flowers, fruit, and vegetables are freely given by the people, and much interest is taken in the decorations, where ingenuity sometimes outstrips beauty. The writer remembers seeing in a remote village church the model of a wheat-rick; it was made of corn, was thatched, and surrounded by a miniature railing. The whole was completed by a tiny swing-gate, and evoked intense adm iration, not unmingled with envy, in the breasts of visitors from other parishes that did not boast a similar work of art among their harvest adornments. Modern services, in country as in town, are shorter and more numerous than formerly. To such an extent does the desire for "liveliness" prevail in these days of amusement, that the musical portion, formerly a plant of modest growth, has expanded until, as the rustic observed, "in a good few places 'um sings everythink 'ceptin"tis the sarmint, and mebbe a-foor long they'll sing 'e too." Unhappily in too many cases singing is synonymous with noise rather than music; this, however, adds to instead of detracting from the pleasure of assisting in its creation. The harmonium has been replaced by an organ, the playing of which is keenly criticised by the congregation. "E do mek 'an sound out strong an' loud; we can year 'un all up-strit," is high commendation; but "E just about punishes that orgin an' chucks is 'ands about," is infinitely higher. An indifferent performer is dismissed with the cutting remark that "e plays all a-one-sided," while mere mediocrity is " nothen to mek a fuss about." As may be expected, the sermon comes in for a shrewd amount of attention from these village critics. Length is not so much a matter of importance as matter and delivery; these, again, fade into insignificance before the vital question whether the discourse be written or extempore. "I can't a-be'r they sar- mints as be read," remarked an old villager to the writer, "they ben't niver worth listenin' to, an' you med just as well set a school-bwoy up in pulpit to rade 'un dame out o' a book." The "thunder and lightening" style is not objected to as an occasional dose of spiritual stimulant, provocative of
" shuckettin's and trimbles," and heart-eearchings of too slight a character to prove inconvenient, but for ordinary use a simple homily is preferred, " ea plain that a chile can un'erstand 'on, an' we old folks has narra mossel o' trouble
to foller'n." The extempore sermon, however, must be both lucid and connected, or it will draw down on the preacher more ridicule than a. written one. " Wotiver wur 'e drivin' at, then ? Aye, but that's moor'n 'e could tell 'ee leself ; a didn't aim to knaw wher' a wur goin' nor wher' a come from. 'T war all anyhow, an' text niver come in at all as I could see. Call that a sarmint! I calls 'un a kind o' wanderin' chatter, that what I does." The following is a résumé by a village mother of a discourse which appears to have aroused some resentment in the minds of herself and her friends :— "I casen't say wher' a got 'is text from, nor how a car'd it along, but toward the middle a telled we as our childern wur like a tower as wur builded all the wik and Sunday, at day- schoold an' Sunday-schoold. Then on the Saturday they bides a-twhoam, and out comes three or fower o' the bricks, so as the tower fells all down and has to be started a-fresh. That's as much as you med say, that the good things what they be teached in schoold is swep' out on 'rim by their mothers an' fathers on the Saturday, which is the m'anin' o' puffin' out the bricks, 'ee knaw. Rum kind o' sarmint I call 'un, to tell we as we be doin' the childern hurt."
Autre temps, autres mcezirs, and with the old-fashioned ser- vice the Sunday that matched it has vanished also. Working in the allotments, which have passed from the parson's hands to those of the Parish Council, visiting or receiving friends, now occupy the day. The church that used to be full is, in many rural districts, half empty, the bond of outward obser- vance sitting especially loosely on the present generation. The majority of the small tenant farmers attend with praise- worthy assiduity if there is any profit to be made thereby ; otherwise they are conspicuous by their absence. The men, taking their cue from their employers, come when there is nothing more exciting to do ; many say that they " cassn't see as it meks a lot o' difference wher' a body sez their prayers and reads their Bible ; you med just as well do't a-twhoam as at church"; other absentees take great credit to themselves for abstaining entirely. "Well, if I dwun't goo to church, parson cassn't say as I goos to chapel ! " To this class belong those who perform their religious duties by proxy, as in the case of a father who, though he never enters a place of worship himself, insists on his children being present at both services. Dire are the thrashings he administers to a boy convicted of playing truant :—" 1 knaws how childern did ought to be brought up, an though I yen't much of a hand at church-goin' myself, I'll take keer as they has plenty. I holds by church, I does, an' wun't have 'urn carryin' on wi' any o' they fancy ree-ligions." The last is an allusion to the Salvation Army, which for some years maintained a footing in the village. At first it enjoyed great popularity, the pleasure and profit of beholding a neighbour seated on the stool of repentance far outweighing the inconvenience of a collection at every meeting. Gradually, however, the excitement faded, while the plate remained. The people either returned to their former careless ways, or to the church's fold, where " 'ten't all take an' no give," and the Salvation detachment was eventually compelled to strike tents and seek a more responsive locality. Side by side with this neglect of divine worship there exists in the minds of the people an almost superstitions belief in the efficacy of regular attendance as a means of salvation. "Whey' do I expec' to goo when I dies ?" exclaimed a rustic with indignant surprise when questioned as to his future hopes by an over-curious friend. " Wher' do I expec' to goo? why to heaven a-cooree ; I've niver done nothink wrong an' I 'tends church reglar ! " A wife speaking of a sickly husband remarked that "Iwucl be much better, as I tells 'un, if 'e'd goo now, 'cause 'e'll be fast to goo, 'ee knew, when ie's car'd ther'."
The occasional services of the church are highly prized; it is seldom that a marriage takes place at the registrar's office, and the most rigid Nonconformist looks forward to being buried in the churchyard with the Prayer-book read over him, not by
his own minister, but by the parson himself. Baptism is regarded as a kind of moral prophylactic,—a ceremony which no self-respecting parent would suffer his child to miss ; not only does it safeguard the latter against the consequences of all the sins it may commit before confirmation, but it ensures Christian burial in case of death. That this is no slight con- sideration the following anecdote will show. One night, in the darkness of mid-winter, a big, awkward ploughboy stole up to the vicarage and asked to see the parson. With many blushes and much shamefacedness he explained that he wished to be baptised, that his mother had never "had it done" to him, and that "'tother young chaps meks game o' I, end calls arter ma down-strit as narra bell wun't goo fur I when I dies." The thought had evidently weighed on his mind, for it required no small amount of courage thus to interview the clergyman, and to brave the ridicule of his companions at being " chris'ened same a-sif a wur a baby." Confirmation is in some respects a more serious matter than baptism, for then the children take upon themselves the sins which hitherto their sponsors have borne for them, this being the use of god-parents. Any one dying before confir- mation goes straight to heaven. " Ther's no sin belongin' to Bich as they ; their god-faythers an' god-mothers has to take it all ; bless 'ee, it dwun't matter what they li'le childern does, whether 'tun swe'rs or tells lies, ther' yen't no sin in 'urn whatsoever." It might be inferred that, this being their belief, parents and children would alike regard confirmation as a highly undesirable consummation ; this, however, is not the case. For a candidate to be rejected on account of ignorance or bad behaviour is considered almost a misfortune, certainly a disgrace. The writer remembers seeing the mother of a large family busy at the wash-tub with a Prayer. book propped on the window-ledge before her ; while her carter-boys ate their dinner she taught them the Catechism, because, as she said, "Parson telled 'um they didn't knew their saeree-ments, an' I dwun't want my sons ig'orant o' what they did ought to knaw." Notwithstanding the fore- going, there is much simple childlike piety to be found among the village poor, particularly among those whose span of life is drawing to a close. They face death with absolute peace, and, which is a far deeper test, they bear suffering with wondrous patience. It is not long since an old woman re- marked " The pain be hard to put up wi' "—she was labouring under a mortal disease—" but when it sims a'most too bad I prays to the Lord and it passes off, for He niver sends we moor'n we can be'r if we looks to Him to help we."
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