of Queen Anne, of the 19th century. The Pulpit of the Abbots, 1 marbles of Queen Anne follows the development of classical art in that our Augustan age. The plaster restoration of the original Screen by Bernasconi, in 1824, indicates the first faint rise of the revival of Gothic art. At its elevation was present a young architect, whose name has since been identified with the full development of the like taste in our own time, and who in the design of the new Screen and new altar, erected in 1867, has united the ancient forms of the fifteenth century with the simpler and loftier faith of the nineteenth. And now the contrast of its newness and youth with the venerable mouldering forms around it, is but the contrast of the perpetual growth of the soul of religion with the stationary or decaying memories of its external accompaniments. We sometimes think that it is the Transitory alone which changes-the Eternal which stands still. Rather the Transitory stands still, fades, and falls to pieces: the Eternal continues, by changing its form in accordance with the movement of advancing ages. The successive Pulpits of the Abbey, if not equally expressive of the changes which it has witnessed, carry on the This Altarpiece, once at White- 1824. It was then given by Dr. Mr. Gilbert Scott has told me partments in the new Screen are after the model of those representing the scenes of the Confessor's life at the other side; but have been beautifully filled by Mr. Armstead with groups representing the Life of our Lord. The mosaic of the Last Supper is by Salviati, from a design of Messrs. Clayton and Bell. The cedar table was carved by Farmer and Brindley, with biblical subjects suggested by Archdeacon Wordsworth. The black marble slab (originally ordered March 23, 1824, and apparently then taken from the tomb of Anne of Cleves) is the only part of the former structure remaining. The whole work was erected chiefly from the payments of the numerous visitors at the Great Exhibition of 1862. dor Divines, of the Ca vines, of the 18th sound of many voices, heard with delight and wonder in their time. No vestige remains of the old medieval platform whence the Abbots urged the reluctant court of Henry III. to the Crusades. But we have still the fragile structure from which of the TuCranmer must have preached at the coronation and funeral of his royal godson; and the more elaborate carving of that which resounded with the passionate appeals, at one time of roline DiBaxter, Howe, and Owen, at other times of Heylin, Williams, South, and Barrow. That from which was poured forth the oratory of the Deans of the eighteenth century, from Atter- century, bury to Horsley, is now in Trotterscliffe church near Maidstone. The marble pulpit in the Nave, given in 1859 to commemorate the beginning of the Special Services, through which Westminster led the way in re-animating the silent naves of so many of our Cathedrals, has thus been the chief vehicle of the varied teaching of those who have been well called 'the People's Preachers:''Vox quidem dissona, sed una 'religio.'4 may It be said that these sacred purposes are shared by the Abbey with the humblest church or chapel in the kingdom. But there is a peculiar charm added to the thought here, by the reflection that on it, as on a thin (at times almost invisible) thread, has hung every other interest which has accumulated round the building. Break that thread; and the whole structure becomes an unmeaning labyrinth. Extinguish that sacred fire; and the arched vaults and soaring pillars would assume the sickly hue of a cold artificial Valhalla, and the rows of warriors and the walks of kings' would be transformed into the conventional galleries of a lifeless museum. By the secret nurture of individual souls, which have 1 Now in Henry VII.'s Chapel. 2 Now in the Triforium. 3 In its stead, in 1827, was erected in the Choir another, which in 1851 was removed to Shoreham, to give St. Jerome, Opp. i. p. 82. of the 19th century in the Nave. found rest in its services or meditated 2 in its silent nooks: by the devotions of those who in former times—it may be in much ignorance—have had their faith kindled by dubious shrine or relic; or, in afterdays, caught here the impassioned words of preachers of every school; or have drunk in the strength of the successive forms of the English Liturgy:— by these and such as these, one may almost say, through all the changes of language and government, this giant fabric has been sustained, when the leaders of the ecclesiastical or political world would have let it pass away. It was the hope of the Founder, and the belief of his age, that on St. Peter's Isle of Thorns was planted a ladder on which angels might be seen ascending and descending from the courts of heaven. What is fantastically expressed in that fond dream has a solid foundation in the brief words in which the most majestic of English divines has described the nature of Christian worship. What,' he says, ' is the assem'bling of the Church to learn, but the receiving of angels 'descended from above-what to pray, but the sending of 'angels upwards? His heavenly inspirations and our holy 'desires are so many angels of intercourse and commerce 'between God and us. As teaching bringeth us to know 'that God is our Supreme Truth, so prayer testifieth that we ' acknowledge Him our Sovereign Good.'3 Such a description of the purpose of the Abbey, when understood at once in its fulness and simplicity, is, we may humbly trust, not a mere illusion. Not surely in vain did the architects of successive generations raise this consecrated edifice in its vast and delicate proportions, more keenly appreciated in this our day than in any other since it first was built; designed, if ever were any forms on earth, to lift the soul heavenward to things unseen. Not surely in vain has our English language grown to meet the highest ends of devotion with a force which the rude native dialect and barbaric Latin of the Confessor's age could never attain. Not surely for idle waste has a whole world of sacred music been created, which no ear of Norman or Plantagenet ever heard, nor skill of Saxon harper or Celtic minstrel ever conceived. Not surely for nothing has the knowledge of the will of God almost steadily increased, century by century, through the better understanding of the Bible, of history, and of nature. Not in vain, surely, has the heart of man kept its freshness whilst the world has been waxing old, and the most restless and enquiring intellects clung to the belief that 'the 'Everlasting arms are still beneath us,' and that 'prayer is 'the potent inner supplement of noble outward life.' Here, if anywhere, the Christian worship of England may labour to meet both the strength and the weakness of succeeding ages, to inspire new meaning into ancient forms, and embrace within itself each rising aspiration after all greatness, human and Divine. So considered, so used, the Abbey of Westminster may become more and more a witness to that one Sovereign Good, to that one Supreme Truth-a shadow of a great rock in a weary land, a haven of rest in this tumultuous world, a breakwater for the waves upon waves of human hearts and souls which beat unceasingly around its island shores. |