[p101]Some Famous Spires.

[p101]Some Famous Spires.By John T. Page.Itis practically impossible to point to the exact date when spires first assumed a place in the category of ecclesiastical architecture. They belong to the Gothic style, and like the pointed arch were evolved rather than created. The low pointed roof of the tower gradually gave place to a more tapering finish, but the transition was by no means progressive, and cannot be clearly traced. Some of the earliest attempts at spire-building were uncouth and ungraceful, and even in these days the addition of a spire to a modern church does not necessarily add to its beauty. This is nearly always the case where an undue regard is paid to ornamentation, either at the base, or on the surface of the spire itself. Undoubtedly the most beautiful spires are those which at once spring clear from the summit of the tower and gradually rise needle-like towards the blue vault of heaven.By far the greater number of our principal[p102]spires date from the fourteenth century—a time when spire-building appears to have reached the zenith of its glory. Splendour and loftiness combine to render the examples of this period distinguished above those of any other.Northamptonshire has been well termed the county of “Squires and Spires,” and it is probably within its borders that the largest number of really beautiful spires may be found. A journey from Northampton to Peterborough along the Nene Valley is never to be forgotten for the continually recurring spires which greet the eye of the traveller at almost every point. Rushden, Higham Ferrers, Irchester, Raunds, Stanwick, Oundle, Finedon, Aldwinckle S. Peter’s, Barnwell S. Andrew, and many others all combine to render the term “Valley of Spires” peculiarly appropriate to this district.These spires of course cover a wide area. The two finest groups of spires are those of Coventry and Lichfield. When the cathedral at Coventry, with its three spires, was in existence in immediate proximity to the churches of S. Michael’s and Holy Trinity, the group formed “a picture not to be surpassed in England,” and even now, with Christ Church added, the[p103]“Ladies of the Vale,” of Lichfield, suffer somewhat in comparison.In point of height the cathedral spires of Salisbury and Norwich hold their own, while for beauty of outline Louth must be mentioned, and for elaborateness of detail the spire of Grantham.It now remains to give a cursory glance at some of our most famous spires, and to endeavour to enumerate some of their chief characteristics.The spire of Salisbury Cathedral rises from the centre of the main transept to a height of 410 feet. This is, without doubt, the tallest of our English spires.23It is octagonal in shape, and springs from four pinnacles. The surface is enriched with three bands of quatre-foiled work, and the angles are decorated throughout with ball-flower ornament. From a storm in 1703 it received some damage, and was, under the direction of Sir Christopher Wren, braced with ironwork. It does not appear to have moved since then, but from experiments made in 1740 it was found to be out of the perpendicular 24½ inches to the south, and 16¼ inches to the west.[p104]On the 21st of June, 1741, it was struck by lightning and set on fire, but did not receive any great damage, and in 1827, by means of an ingenious wicker-work contrivance suspended from the top, extensive repairs were carried out. The name of the architect who conceived this lofty tower is unknown, but the date of its erection was probably at the beginning of the fourteenth century.The spire of Norwich Cathedral rises to a height of 315 feet, and on a clear day can be seen for a distance of twenty miles. It was probably built by Bishop Percy in the latter half of the fourteenth century. About one hundred years after, it was struck by lightning, but the damage was speedily repaired. In 1629 the upper part was blown down, and was re-built in 1633.[p104a]LOUTH CHURCH SPIRE.The three spires of Coventry are those of S. Michael’s, Holy Trinity, and Christ Church. Of these, S. Michael’s is the chief, being 303 feet high. Amongst parish churches, it is therefore the tallest. The base consists of a lantern flanked by four pinnacles, to which it is connected by flying buttresses. Its erection was commenced in the year 1373, and completed in 1394. At[p105]the restoration of the church, which took place in 1885, the tower was found to have been erected on the edge of an old quarry, and it cost no less a sum than £17,000 to add a new foundation. During the most critical period of the work the structure visibly moved, and the apex of the spire now leans 3ft. 5in. out of the perpendicular towards the north-west.Holy Trinity spire is 237 feet high, and much less ornate than S. Michael’s. During a violent tempest of “wind, thunder, and earthquake,” which occurredon the 24th of January, 1665, it was overthrown, and much injury was done to the church in consequence. The re-building was finished in 1668. It has been completely restored in recent years.The spire of Christ Church is some little distance away from the other two. It is octagonal in shape, and rises from an embattled tower to a height of 230 feet. It was restored in 1888.Lichfield Cathedral contains three spires within its precincts. The grouping is, therefore, more uniform than that of Coventry, although the general effect is not thereby accentuated. The central spire rises to a height of 258 feet,[p106]and the two which grace the west front are each 183 feet high. In the time of the great civil war, when Lichfield was besieged, the central spire was demolished. After the Restoration, it was re-built by good old Dr. Hackett.The spire of Chichester Cathedral, built in the fourteenth century over a rotten sub-structure, was destroyed by its own weight in 1861. It was 271 feet high, and has now been re-built in its original style on a slightly higher tower. The story of its fall has often been told. On the night of Wednesday, the 20th of February, 1861, a heavy gale occurred. The next day, about twenty minutes past one o’clock, the spire was observed to suddenly lean towards the south-west, and then to right itself again. Soon after, it disappeared into the body of the cathedral, sliding down like the folding of a telescope. Only the coping-stone and the weather-vane fell outside, the rest of the masonry formed a huge cairn in the centre of the edifice, which was practically cut into four portions by the wreck. The present spire was completed in 1867.In Lincolnshire there are two remarkable spires at Louth and Grantham. The one at Louth rises to a height of 294 feet. At the[p107]corners of the tower are four tall turret pinnacles to which the spire is connected by flying buttresses. In 1843 it was struck by lightning; steps were at once taken for its restoration, which was completed three years later.Grantham spire is octagonal in shape, and 285 feet in height. It is very light and graceful in appearance, and is richly ornamented with sculpture. It suffered from lightning in 1797, and again in 1882. Since the latter date sixteen feet of the masonry has been removed from the summit and re-built.The church of S. Mary Redcliffe, Bristol, has been aptly termed by the poet Chatterton, “the pride of Bristowe and the Western land.” The spire rises to a height of 300 feet, and has lately been restored at a cost of upwards of £50,000. In 1445, during a storm, the greater part of the original spire fell through the roof of the church, and for about four centuries it remained in a truncated state, although the damage done to the interior was speedily repaired.The spire of S. Mary’s, Shrewsbury, is 220 feet high, and rises from an embattled tower, the four corners of which contain crocketed[p108]pinnacles. During a gale on the night of Sunday, the 11th of February, 1894, about 50 feet of the masonry of the spire crashed through the church roof and did enormous damage. This has, however, since been repaired. A memorial stone on the west wall of the tower tells how one Thomas Cadman, was killed on the 2nd of February, 1739, when attempting to descend from the spire by a rope.For elaborateness of detail, the spire of S. Mary the Virgin, Oxford, surpasses all others in this country. Its apex is some 90 feet from the ground, and around the base of the spire clusters a mass of richly decorated pinnacles, small spirelets, and canopies containing statues. The effect is picturesque in the extreme, and lends to the town of Oxford a unique charm. Its conception dates from the fourteenth century, but it has been much restored and added to since.Of the Northamptonshire spires, Oundle is the loftiest, being 210 feet high. It bears date 1634, but this evidently refers to a re-building. It was partly taken down again and rebuilt in 1874. It is hexagonal in shape, and the angles are crocketed. Raunds church is surmounted by an[p109]octagonal broach spire 186 feet high. It was struck by lightning on the 31st of July, 1826, and about 30 feet of the masonry was shattered. This was at once rebuilt at a cost of £1,737 15s. 3d. The octagonal spire of Higham Ferrers is 170 feet high, and was rebuilt after destruction by a storm of wind in 1632. Rushden spire is an octagon 192 feet high, and richly crocketed. At its base flying buttresses connect it with pinnacles at the corners of the tower. The spire at Finedon rises from an embattled tower to a height of 133 feet; that of Stanwick is 156 feet high, and that of Irchester 152 feet.Space forbids more than a passing allusion to the fine spires of Newcastle Cathedral, S. Mary de Castro, Leicester, Ross, Herefordshire, and Olney, Bucks. The latter rises to a height of 185 feet. At its summit is a weathercock which, when taken down for regilding in 1884, was found to contain the followingtriplet—I never crow,But stand to showWhere winds do blow.Several of the spires which have been mentioned are perceptibly out of the perpendicular, but in this respect the “tall twisted spire[p110]of Chesterfield has no rival either in shape or pose.” It is no less than 230 feet high, and the wonder to many is that it has for so long maintained its equilibrium. Various conjectures have been made to account for the grotesque twist which the spire assumes; but none of these seems so likely as that which accounts for it by the combined action of age, wind, and sun. There are those who aver that it never was straight, and never will be, and one such person even goes so far as to attempt this statement in rhyme asfollows:—“Whichever way you turn your eyeIt always seems to be awry,Pray can you tell the reason why?The only reason known of weightIs that the thing was never straight,Nor know the people where to goTo find the man to make it so.”However this may be, it is satisfactory to note that a movement has recently been set on foot to collect subscriptions towards its much needed repair.When speaking of Salisbury Cathedral spire, allusion was made to the repairs being carried out from a wicker-work contrivance suspended from the top. This was not the first time that[p111]wicker-work had been used for such a purpose, for in 1787 the spire at S. Mary’s, Islington, was entirely encased in a cage composed of willow, hazel, and other sticks, while undergoing repair. An ingenious basket-maker of S. Albans, named Birch, carried out the work, and constructed a spiral staircase inside the cage. His contract was to do the work for £20 paid down, and to be allowed to charge sixpence a head to any sightseers who liked to mount to the top. It is said that in this way he gained some two or three pounds a day above his contract.People and steeple rhymes are by no means uncommon; perhaps the most spiteful is that relating to an Essexvillage:—“Ugley church, Ugley steeple,Ugley parson, Ugley people.”The Yorkshire village of Raskelfe is usually called Rascall, and an old rhymesays:—“A wooden church, a wooden steeple,Rascally church, rascally people.”Mr. William Andrews, in his “Antiquities and Curiosities of the Church” (London, 1897), gives many examples of “People and Steeple Rhymes.”There is a never-ending romance connected[p112]with the subject of spires. Every one possesses some story or legend. Spirits are supposed to inhabit their gloomy recesses, and are even credited with their construction. There is certainly an uncanny feeling connected with the interior of a spire, even on a sunny summer’s day, and given sufficient stress of howling winds and gloomy darkness, one can almost imagine a situation conducive to the acutest kind of devilry. So much for the interior of spires. What sensations may be produced by climbing the exterior is given to few to experience. The vast majority of mankind must perforce content themselves with a position onterra firma, whence they may with pleasure and safety combined behold“——thespires that glow so brightIn front of yonder setting sun.”23. The spire of Old Saint Paul’s, which dated from the thirteenth century, rose to a height of 520 feet. It was destroyed by lightning on the 4th of June, 1561. The spire of Lincoln Cathedral measured 524 feet, and was destroyed in 1548. These are the two highest spires which have ever been erected in England.

By John T. Page.

Itis practically impossible to point to the exact date when spires first assumed a place in the category of ecclesiastical architecture. They belong to the Gothic style, and like the pointed arch were evolved rather than created. The low pointed roof of the tower gradually gave place to a more tapering finish, but the transition was by no means progressive, and cannot be clearly traced. Some of the earliest attempts at spire-building were uncouth and ungraceful, and even in these days the addition of a spire to a modern church does not necessarily add to its beauty. This is nearly always the case where an undue regard is paid to ornamentation, either at the base, or on the surface of the spire itself. Undoubtedly the most beautiful spires are those which at once spring clear from the summit of the tower and gradually rise needle-like towards the blue vault of heaven.

By far the greater number of our principal[p102]spires date from the fourteenth century—a time when spire-building appears to have reached the zenith of its glory. Splendour and loftiness combine to render the examples of this period distinguished above those of any other.

Northamptonshire has been well termed the county of “Squires and Spires,” and it is probably within its borders that the largest number of really beautiful spires may be found. A journey from Northampton to Peterborough along the Nene Valley is never to be forgotten for the continually recurring spires which greet the eye of the traveller at almost every point. Rushden, Higham Ferrers, Irchester, Raunds, Stanwick, Oundle, Finedon, Aldwinckle S. Peter’s, Barnwell S. Andrew, and many others all combine to render the term “Valley of Spires” peculiarly appropriate to this district.

These spires of course cover a wide area. The two finest groups of spires are those of Coventry and Lichfield. When the cathedral at Coventry, with its three spires, was in existence in immediate proximity to the churches of S. Michael’s and Holy Trinity, the group formed “a picture not to be surpassed in England,” and even now, with Christ Church added, the[p103]“Ladies of the Vale,” of Lichfield, suffer somewhat in comparison.

In point of height the cathedral spires of Salisbury and Norwich hold their own, while for beauty of outline Louth must be mentioned, and for elaborateness of detail the spire of Grantham.

It now remains to give a cursory glance at some of our most famous spires, and to endeavour to enumerate some of their chief characteristics.

The spire of Salisbury Cathedral rises from the centre of the main transept to a height of 410 feet. This is, without doubt, the tallest of our English spires.23It is octagonal in shape, and springs from four pinnacles. The surface is enriched with three bands of quatre-foiled work, and the angles are decorated throughout with ball-flower ornament. From a storm in 1703 it received some damage, and was, under the direction of Sir Christopher Wren, braced with ironwork. It does not appear to have moved since then, but from experiments made in 1740 it was found to be out of the perpendicular 24½ inches to the south, and 16¼ inches to the west.[p104]On the 21st of June, 1741, it was struck by lightning and set on fire, but did not receive any great damage, and in 1827, by means of an ingenious wicker-work contrivance suspended from the top, extensive repairs were carried out. The name of the architect who conceived this lofty tower is unknown, but the date of its erection was probably at the beginning of the fourteenth century.

The spire of Norwich Cathedral rises to a height of 315 feet, and on a clear day can be seen for a distance of twenty miles. It was probably built by Bishop Percy in the latter half of the fourteenth century. About one hundred years after, it was struck by lightning, but the damage was speedily repaired. In 1629 the upper part was blown down, and was re-built in 1633.

[p104a]LOUTH CHURCH SPIRE.

The three spires of Coventry are those of S. Michael’s, Holy Trinity, and Christ Church. Of these, S. Michael’s is the chief, being 303 feet high. Amongst parish churches, it is therefore the tallest. The base consists of a lantern flanked by four pinnacles, to which it is connected by flying buttresses. Its erection was commenced in the year 1373, and completed in 1394. At[p105]the restoration of the church, which took place in 1885, the tower was found to have been erected on the edge of an old quarry, and it cost no less a sum than £17,000 to add a new foundation. During the most critical period of the work the structure visibly moved, and the apex of the spire now leans 3ft. 5in. out of the perpendicular towards the north-west.

Holy Trinity spire is 237 feet high, and much less ornate than S. Michael’s. During a violent tempest of “wind, thunder, and earthquake,” which occurredon the 24th of January, 1665, it was overthrown, and much injury was done to the church in consequence. The re-building was finished in 1668. It has been completely restored in recent years.

The spire of Christ Church is some little distance away from the other two. It is octagonal in shape, and rises from an embattled tower to a height of 230 feet. It was restored in 1888.

Lichfield Cathedral contains three spires within its precincts. The grouping is, therefore, more uniform than that of Coventry, although the general effect is not thereby accentuated. The central spire rises to a height of 258 feet,[p106]and the two which grace the west front are each 183 feet high. In the time of the great civil war, when Lichfield was besieged, the central spire was demolished. After the Restoration, it was re-built by good old Dr. Hackett.

The spire of Chichester Cathedral, built in the fourteenth century over a rotten sub-structure, was destroyed by its own weight in 1861. It was 271 feet high, and has now been re-built in its original style on a slightly higher tower. The story of its fall has often been told. On the night of Wednesday, the 20th of February, 1861, a heavy gale occurred. The next day, about twenty minutes past one o’clock, the spire was observed to suddenly lean towards the south-west, and then to right itself again. Soon after, it disappeared into the body of the cathedral, sliding down like the folding of a telescope. Only the coping-stone and the weather-vane fell outside, the rest of the masonry formed a huge cairn in the centre of the edifice, which was practically cut into four portions by the wreck. The present spire was completed in 1867.

In Lincolnshire there are two remarkable spires at Louth and Grantham. The one at Louth rises to a height of 294 feet. At the[p107]corners of the tower are four tall turret pinnacles to which the spire is connected by flying buttresses. In 1843 it was struck by lightning; steps were at once taken for its restoration, which was completed three years later.

Grantham spire is octagonal in shape, and 285 feet in height. It is very light and graceful in appearance, and is richly ornamented with sculpture. It suffered from lightning in 1797, and again in 1882. Since the latter date sixteen feet of the masonry has been removed from the summit and re-built.

The church of S. Mary Redcliffe, Bristol, has been aptly termed by the poet Chatterton, “the pride of Bristowe and the Western land.” The spire rises to a height of 300 feet, and has lately been restored at a cost of upwards of £50,000. In 1445, during a storm, the greater part of the original spire fell through the roof of the church, and for about four centuries it remained in a truncated state, although the damage done to the interior was speedily repaired.

The spire of S. Mary’s, Shrewsbury, is 220 feet high, and rises from an embattled tower, the four corners of which contain crocketed[p108]pinnacles. During a gale on the night of Sunday, the 11th of February, 1894, about 50 feet of the masonry of the spire crashed through the church roof and did enormous damage. This has, however, since been repaired. A memorial stone on the west wall of the tower tells how one Thomas Cadman, was killed on the 2nd of February, 1739, when attempting to descend from the spire by a rope.

For elaborateness of detail, the spire of S. Mary the Virgin, Oxford, surpasses all others in this country. Its apex is some 90 feet from the ground, and around the base of the spire clusters a mass of richly decorated pinnacles, small spirelets, and canopies containing statues. The effect is picturesque in the extreme, and lends to the town of Oxford a unique charm. Its conception dates from the fourteenth century, but it has been much restored and added to since.

Of the Northamptonshire spires, Oundle is the loftiest, being 210 feet high. It bears date 1634, but this evidently refers to a re-building. It was partly taken down again and rebuilt in 1874. It is hexagonal in shape, and the angles are crocketed. Raunds church is surmounted by an[p109]octagonal broach spire 186 feet high. It was struck by lightning on the 31st of July, 1826, and about 30 feet of the masonry was shattered. This was at once rebuilt at a cost of £1,737 15s. 3d. The octagonal spire of Higham Ferrers is 170 feet high, and was rebuilt after destruction by a storm of wind in 1632. Rushden spire is an octagon 192 feet high, and richly crocketed. At its base flying buttresses connect it with pinnacles at the corners of the tower. The spire at Finedon rises from an embattled tower to a height of 133 feet; that of Stanwick is 156 feet high, and that of Irchester 152 feet.

Space forbids more than a passing allusion to the fine spires of Newcastle Cathedral, S. Mary de Castro, Leicester, Ross, Herefordshire, and Olney, Bucks. The latter rises to a height of 185 feet. At its summit is a weathercock which, when taken down for regilding in 1884, was found to contain the followingtriplet—

I never crow,But stand to showWhere winds do blow.

I never crow,

But stand to show

Where winds do blow.

Several of the spires which have been mentioned are perceptibly out of the perpendicular, but in this respect the “tall twisted spire[p110]of Chesterfield has no rival either in shape or pose.” It is no less than 230 feet high, and the wonder to many is that it has for so long maintained its equilibrium. Various conjectures have been made to account for the grotesque twist which the spire assumes; but none of these seems so likely as that which accounts for it by the combined action of age, wind, and sun. There are those who aver that it never was straight, and never will be, and one such person even goes so far as to attempt this statement in rhyme asfollows:—

“Whichever way you turn your eyeIt always seems to be awry,Pray can you tell the reason why?The only reason known of weightIs that the thing was never straight,Nor know the people where to goTo find the man to make it so.”

“Whichever way you turn your eye

It always seems to be awry,

Pray can you tell the reason why?

The only reason known of weight

Is that the thing was never straight,

Nor know the people where to go

To find the man to make it so.”

However this may be, it is satisfactory to note that a movement has recently been set on foot to collect subscriptions towards its much needed repair.

When speaking of Salisbury Cathedral spire, allusion was made to the repairs being carried out from a wicker-work contrivance suspended from the top. This was not the first time that[p111]wicker-work had been used for such a purpose, for in 1787 the spire at S. Mary’s, Islington, was entirely encased in a cage composed of willow, hazel, and other sticks, while undergoing repair. An ingenious basket-maker of S. Albans, named Birch, carried out the work, and constructed a spiral staircase inside the cage. His contract was to do the work for £20 paid down, and to be allowed to charge sixpence a head to any sightseers who liked to mount to the top. It is said that in this way he gained some two or three pounds a day above his contract.

People and steeple rhymes are by no means uncommon; perhaps the most spiteful is that relating to an Essexvillage:—

“Ugley church, Ugley steeple,Ugley parson, Ugley people.”

“Ugley church, Ugley steeple,

Ugley parson, Ugley people.”

The Yorkshire village of Raskelfe is usually called Rascall, and an old rhymesays:—

“A wooden church, a wooden steeple,Rascally church, rascally people.”

“A wooden church, a wooden steeple,

Rascally church, rascally people.”

Mr. William Andrews, in his “Antiquities and Curiosities of the Church” (London, 1897), gives many examples of “People and Steeple Rhymes.”

There is a never-ending romance connected[p112]with the subject of spires. Every one possesses some story or legend. Spirits are supposed to inhabit their gloomy recesses, and are even credited with their construction. There is certainly an uncanny feeling connected with the interior of a spire, even on a sunny summer’s day, and given sufficient stress of howling winds and gloomy darkness, one can almost imagine a situation conducive to the acutest kind of devilry. So much for the interior of spires. What sensations may be produced by climbing the exterior is given to few to experience. The vast majority of mankind must perforce content themselves with a position onterra firma, whence they may with pleasure and safety combined behold

“——thespires that glow so brightIn front of yonder setting sun.”

“——thespires that glow so bright

In front of yonder setting sun.”

23. The spire of Old Saint Paul’s, which dated from the thirteenth century, rose to a height of 520 feet. It was destroyed by lightning on the 4th of June, 1561. The spire of Lincoln Cathedral measured 524 feet, and was destroyed in 1548. These are the two highest spires which have ever been erected in England.

[p113]The Five of Spades and the Church of Ashton-under-Lyne.By John Eglington Bailey,F.S.A.Onthe old tower of the church of Ashton-under-Lyne there was formerly an old inscription, which incidently testifies to the popularity of cards in England at a period when the notices of that fascinating means of diversion are both few and of doubtful import. Cards were given to Europe by the Saracens at the end of the fourteenth century, and the knowledge of their use extended itself from France to Greece. The French clergy were so engrossed by the pastime that the Synod of Langres, 1404, forbad it as unclerical. At Bologna, in 1420, S. Bernardin of Sienna preached with such effect against the gambling which was indulged in, that his hearers made on the spot a large bonfire with packs of cards taken out of their pockets. Under the wordΧαρτιαDu Cange quotes extracts from two Greek writers, which show that cards were popular in Greece before 1498. Chaucer, who died in 1400, and who indirectly depicted much[p114]of the every-day life of his countrymen, does not once mention cards. But they begin to be noticed about the time of Edward IV. and Henry VI. The former king prohibited the importation of “cards for playing,” in order to protect the English manufacture of them. An old ale-wife or brewer, in one of the Chester plays or mysteries, is introduced in a scene in Hell, when one of the devils thus addressesher:—Welcome, deare darlinge, to endless bale,Usinge cardes, dice, and cuppes smaleWith many false other, to sell thy aleNow thou shalte have a feaste.A more interesting notice of cards occurs in thePaston Letters, where Margery Paston, writing on “Crestemes Evyn” of the year 1484, tells her husband that she had sent their eldest son to Lady Morley (the widow of William Lovel, Lord Morley), “to hav knolage wat sports wer husyd [used] in her hows in Kyrstemesse next folloyng aftyr the decysse of my lord, her husbond [who died 26th July, 1476]; and sche sayd that ther wer non dysgysyngs [guisings], ner harpyng, ner lutyng, ner syngyn, ner non lowde dysports; but pleyng at the tabyllys, and[p115]schesse, and cards: sweche dysports sche gaue her folkys leve to play and non odyr.” The lady adds that the youth did his errand right well, and that she sent the like message by a younger son to Lady Stapleton, whose lord had died in 1466. “Sche seyd according to my Lady Morlees seyng in that, and as sche hadde seyn husyd in places of worschip [i.e., of distinction: good families] ther as [= where] sche hath beyn.” This letter opens up an interesting view of the amusements which at the time were introduced into the houses of the nobility and gentry during Christmas-tide. At that festival cards from the first formed one of the chief amusements. Henry VII., who was a great card player, forbad cards to be used except during the Christmas holidays. Their ancient association with Christmas is seen in the kindness of Sir Roger de Coverley, who was in the habit of sending round to each of his cottagers “a string of hogs’-puddings and a pack of cards,” that good old squire being doubtless of the opinion of Dr. Johnson, who, with a deeper human insight than S. Bernardin and Henry VII., could see the usefulness of such a pastime: “It generates kindness and consolidates society.”[p116]The inscription I have alluded to takes us back to the reign of an earlier English king than those named—Henry V., who reigned 1413–1422. In his time, it seems, viz., in 1413, the steeple of Ashton Church was a-building; when a certain butcher, Alexander Hyll, playing at noddy with a companion, doubtless in the neighbourhood of the church, swore that if the dealer turned upthe five of spadeshe would build a foot of the steeple. The very card was turned up! Hyll, like a good Catholic, performed his promise, and had his name carved, a butcher’s cleaver being put beforeAlexander, and the five of spades beforeHyll. A new tower was erected in 1516, when the church was enlarged; but the stone containing the curious inscription was somewhere retained, for it was visible in the time of Robert Dodsworth, the industrious Yorkshire antiquary, and the projector and co-worker with Dugdale of theMonasticon. Dodsworth, being at Ashton on the 2nd of April, 1639, copied the inscription, stating that it was on the church steeple. He wrote down the tradition, adding that its truth was attested by Henry Fairfax, then rector there, second son of Thomas Fairfax, Baron de Cameron (Dodsworth’s MSS. in Bibl. Bodl.,[p117]vol. 155, fol. 116). The eldest son of Lord Fairfax was Ferdinando, the celebrated general of the Commonwealth, and the generous patron of Dodsworth. Henry, the younger son, at whose rectory-house Dodsworth was entertained on the occasion of his Lancashire visit, is described by Oley (in his preface to George Herbert’sCountry Parson) as “a regular and sober fellow of Trinity College in Cambridge, and afterwards rector of Bolton Percy in Yorkshire.” He held, besides, the rectory of Ashton from, at least, 1623 till 1645, when he was forcibly ejected; and that of Newton Kyme. He was a correspondent of Daniel King, author ofThe Vale Royal, for he had antiquarian tastes like his brother. He died at Bolton Percy 6th April, 1665. The tower of Ashton Church, as Rector Fairfax knew it, was taken down and re-built in 1818, by which time all recollection of that ancient piece of cartomancy in connection with the steeple had passed out of mind. Let it be hoped that while the tradition was lively, pleasanter things were said of Hyll, when the five of spades was thrown upon the card tables of Ashton, than assailed the name of Dalrymple when the nine of diamonds—the curse of[p118]Scotland—came under the view of Tory Scotchmen. We may bestow on Hyll the card-player’sepitaph:—His card is cut—long days he shuffled throughThe game of life—he dealt as others do:Though he by honours tells not its amount,When the last trump is played his tricks will count.“Noddy” is, of course, the very attractive game of “cribbage.” A great aunt of mine still living at Ashbourne, with whom I used to play when a boy, always called it by that name. It is one of the Court games,temp.James I., noticed by Sir JohnHarrington:—Now noddy followed next, as well it might,Although it should have gone before of right;At which I say, I name not anybody,One never had the knave yet laid for noddy.The same is also alluded to in a satirical poem, 1594, entitled,Batt upon Batt:—Shew me a man can turn up Noddy still,And deal himself three fives, too, when he will;Conclude with one and thirty, and a pair,Never fail ten in Hock, and yet play fair;If Batt be not that night, I lose my aim.

By John Eglington Bailey,F.S.A.

Onthe old tower of the church of Ashton-under-Lyne there was formerly an old inscription, which incidently testifies to the popularity of cards in England at a period when the notices of that fascinating means of diversion are both few and of doubtful import. Cards were given to Europe by the Saracens at the end of the fourteenth century, and the knowledge of their use extended itself from France to Greece. The French clergy were so engrossed by the pastime that the Synod of Langres, 1404, forbad it as unclerical. At Bologna, in 1420, S. Bernardin of Sienna preached with such effect against the gambling which was indulged in, that his hearers made on the spot a large bonfire with packs of cards taken out of their pockets. Under the wordΧαρτιαDu Cange quotes extracts from two Greek writers, which show that cards were popular in Greece before 1498. Chaucer, who died in 1400, and who indirectly depicted much[p114]of the every-day life of his countrymen, does not once mention cards. But they begin to be noticed about the time of Edward IV. and Henry VI. The former king prohibited the importation of “cards for playing,” in order to protect the English manufacture of them. An old ale-wife or brewer, in one of the Chester plays or mysteries, is introduced in a scene in Hell, when one of the devils thus addressesher:—

Welcome, deare darlinge, to endless bale,Usinge cardes, dice, and cuppes smaleWith many false other, to sell thy aleNow thou shalte have a feaste.

Welcome, deare darlinge, to endless bale,

Usinge cardes, dice, and cuppes smale

With many false other, to sell thy ale

Now thou shalte have a feaste.

A more interesting notice of cards occurs in thePaston Letters, where Margery Paston, writing on “Crestemes Evyn” of the year 1484, tells her husband that she had sent their eldest son to Lady Morley (the widow of William Lovel, Lord Morley), “to hav knolage wat sports wer husyd [used] in her hows in Kyrstemesse next folloyng aftyr the decysse of my lord, her husbond [who died 26th July, 1476]; and sche sayd that ther wer non dysgysyngs [guisings], ner harpyng, ner lutyng, ner syngyn, ner non lowde dysports; but pleyng at the tabyllys, and[p115]schesse, and cards: sweche dysports sche gaue her folkys leve to play and non odyr.” The lady adds that the youth did his errand right well, and that she sent the like message by a younger son to Lady Stapleton, whose lord had died in 1466. “Sche seyd according to my Lady Morlees seyng in that, and as sche hadde seyn husyd in places of worschip [i.e., of distinction: good families] ther as [= where] sche hath beyn.” This letter opens up an interesting view of the amusements which at the time were introduced into the houses of the nobility and gentry during Christmas-tide. At that festival cards from the first formed one of the chief amusements. Henry VII., who was a great card player, forbad cards to be used except during the Christmas holidays. Their ancient association with Christmas is seen in the kindness of Sir Roger de Coverley, who was in the habit of sending round to each of his cottagers “a string of hogs’-puddings and a pack of cards,” that good old squire being doubtless of the opinion of Dr. Johnson, who, with a deeper human insight than S. Bernardin and Henry VII., could see the usefulness of such a pastime: “It generates kindness and consolidates society.”

[p116]The inscription I have alluded to takes us back to the reign of an earlier English king than those named—Henry V., who reigned 1413–1422. In his time, it seems, viz., in 1413, the steeple of Ashton Church was a-building; when a certain butcher, Alexander Hyll, playing at noddy with a companion, doubtless in the neighbourhood of the church, swore that if the dealer turned upthe five of spadeshe would build a foot of the steeple. The very card was turned up! Hyll, like a good Catholic, performed his promise, and had his name carved, a butcher’s cleaver being put beforeAlexander, and the five of spades beforeHyll. A new tower was erected in 1516, when the church was enlarged; but the stone containing the curious inscription was somewhere retained, for it was visible in the time of Robert Dodsworth, the industrious Yorkshire antiquary, and the projector and co-worker with Dugdale of theMonasticon. Dodsworth, being at Ashton on the 2nd of April, 1639, copied the inscription, stating that it was on the church steeple. He wrote down the tradition, adding that its truth was attested by Henry Fairfax, then rector there, second son of Thomas Fairfax, Baron de Cameron (Dodsworth’s MSS. in Bibl. Bodl.,[p117]vol. 155, fol. 116). The eldest son of Lord Fairfax was Ferdinando, the celebrated general of the Commonwealth, and the generous patron of Dodsworth. Henry, the younger son, at whose rectory-house Dodsworth was entertained on the occasion of his Lancashire visit, is described by Oley (in his preface to George Herbert’sCountry Parson) as “a regular and sober fellow of Trinity College in Cambridge, and afterwards rector of Bolton Percy in Yorkshire.” He held, besides, the rectory of Ashton from, at least, 1623 till 1645, when he was forcibly ejected; and that of Newton Kyme. He was a correspondent of Daniel King, author ofThe Vale Royal, for he had antiquarian tastes like his brother. He died at Bolton Percy 6th April, 1665. The tower of Ashton Church, as Rector Fairfax knew it, was taken down and re-built in 1818, by which time all recollection of that ancient piece of cartomancy in connection with the steeple had passed out of mind. Let it be hoped that while the tradition was lively, pleasanter things were said of Hyll, when the five of spades was thrown upon the card tables of Ashton, than assailed the name of Dalrymple when the nine of diamonds—the curse of[p118]Scotland—came under the view of Tory Scotchmen. We may bestow on Hyll the card-player’sepitaph:—

His card is cut—long days he shuffled throughThe game of life—he dealt as others do:Though he by honours tells not its amount,When the last trump is played his tricks will count.

His card is cut—long days he shuffled through

The game of life—he dealt as others do:

Though he by honours tells not its amount,

When the last trump is played his tricks will count.

“Noddy” is, of course, the very attractive game of “cribbage.” A great aunt of mine still living at Ashbourne, with whom I used to play when a boy, always called it by that name. It is one of the Court games,temp.James I., noticed by Sir JohnHarrington:—

Now noddy followed next, as well it might,Although it should have gone before of right;At which I say, I name not anybody,One never had the knave yet laid for noddy.

Now noddy followed next, as well it might,

Although it should have gone before of right;

At which I say, I name not anybody,

One never had the knave yet laid for noddy.

The same is also alluded to in a satirical poem, 1594, entitled,Batt upon Batt:—

Shew me a man can turn up Noddy still,And deal himself three fives, too, when he will;Conclude with one and thirty, and a pair,Never fail ten in Hock, and yet play fair;If Batt be not that night, I lose my aim.

Shew me a man can turn up Noddy still,

And deal himself three fives, too, when he will;

Conclude with one and thirty, and a pair,

Never fail ten in Hock, and yet play fair;

If Batt be not that night, I lose my aim.

[p119]Bells and their Messages.By Edward Bradbury.Donot imagine that this is an essay on campanology, on change-ringing, grandsires, and triple bob-majors. Do not fancy that it will deal with carillons, the couvre-feu, or curfew bell, with the solemn Passing bell, the bell of the public crier, the jingling sleigh bell, the distant sheep bell, the noisy railway bell, the electric call bell, the frantic fire bell, the mellow, merry marriage peal, the sobbing muffled peal, the devout Angelus, or the silvery convent chimes that ring for prime and tierce, sext, nones, vespers, and compline. Do not conclude that it will describe bell-founding; and deal with the process of casting, with technical references to cope, and crook, and moulding, drawing the crucible, or tuning.It is of bells and their associations and inscriptions that we would write, the bells that are linked with our lives, and record the history of towns, communities, and nations; announcing feasts and fasts and funerals, interpreting with[p120]metal tongue rejoicings and sorrowings, jubilees and reverses; pæans for victories by sea and land; knells for the death of kings and the leaders of men. As we write, the bells of our collegiate church are announcing with joyous clang the arrival of Her Majesty’s Judge of Assize. Before many days have passed another bell in the same town will tell with solemn toll of the short shrift given by him to a pinioned culprit, the only mourner in his own funeral procession.Bells are sentient things. They are alike full of humour and pathos, of laughter and tears, of mirth and sadness, of gaiety and grief. One may pardon Toby Veck, in Charles Dickens’goblin story, for investing the bells in the church near his station with a strange and solemn character, and peopling the tower with dwarf phantoms, spirits, elfin creatures of the bells, of all aspects, shapes, characters, and occupations. “They were so mysterious, often heard and never seen, so high up, so far off, so full of such a deep, strong melody, that he regarded them with a species of awe; and sometimes, when he looked up at the dark, arched windows in the tower, he half expected to be beckoned to by[p121]something which was not a bell, and yet was what he had heard so often sounding in the chimes.” The bells! The word carries sound and suggestion with it. It fills the air with waves of cadence. “Those Evening Bells” of Thomas Moore’s song swing out undying echoes from Ashbourne Church steeple; Alfred Tennyson’s bells “ring out the false, ring in the true” across the old year’s snow, and his Christmas bells answer each other from hill to hill. There are the tragic bells that Sir Henry Irving hears as the haunted Mathias; “Les Cloches de Corneville” that agitate the morbid mind of the miser Gaspard; and the wild bells that Edgar Allen Poe has set ringing in Runic rhyme.“Bell,” says the old German song, “thou soundest merrily when the bridal party to the church doth hie; thou soundest solemnly when, on Sabbath morn, the fields deserted lie; thou soundest merrily at evening, when bed-time draweth nigh; thou soundest mournfully, telling of the bitter parting that hath gone by! Say, how canst thou mourn or rejoice, that art but metal dull? And yet all our sorrowings and all our rejoicings thou art made to express!” In[p122]the words of the motto affixed to many old bells, they “rejoice with the joyful, and grieve with the sorrowful”; or, in the original Latin,Gaudemus gaudentibus,Dolemus dolentibus.An old monkish couplet makes the bell thus describe itsuses—Laudo Deum verum, plebem voco, congrego clerum:Defuncto ploro, pestum fugo, festa decoro.“I praise the true God, call the people, convene the clergy; I mourn for the dead, drive away pestilence, and grace festivals.” Who that possesses—to quote from Cowper—a soul “in sympathy with sweet sounds,” can listen unmoved to——themusic of the village bellsFalling at intervals upon the ear,In cadence sweet—now dying all away,Now pealing loud again, and louder still,Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on.The same poet makes Alexander Selkirk lament on his solitaryisle—The sound of the church going bellThese valleys and rocks never heard,Ne’er sigh’d at the sound of a knell,Or smiled when a Sabbath appeared.Longfellow has several tender references to[p123]church bells. He sets the Bells of Lynn to ring a requiem of the dying day. He mounts the lofty tower of “the belfry old and brown” in the market place ofBruges—Not a sound rose from the city at that early morning hour,But I heard a heart of iron beating in the ancient tower.From their nests beneath the rafters sang the swallows wild and high;And the world, beneath me sleeping, seemed more distant than the sky.Then most musical and solemn, bringing back the olden times,With their strange unearthly changes rang the melancholy chimes.Like the psalms from some old cloister, when the nuns sing in the choir;And the great bell tolled among them, like the chanting of a friar.Visions of the days departed, shadowy phantoms filled my brain;They who live in history only seemed to walk the earth again.Who does not remember Father Prout’s lyric on “The Bells of Shandon”? We venture to quote the four delicious versesin extenso—With deep affection and recollectionI often think of the Shandon bells,Whose sounds so wild would, in days of childhood,Fling round my cradle their magicspells—[p124]On this I ponder where’er I wander,And thus grow fonder, sweet Cork, of thee;With thy bells of Shandon,That sound so grand onThe pleasant waters of the River Lee.I have heard bells chiming, full many a chime inTolling sublime in cathedral shrine;While at a glib rate brass tongues would vibrate,But all their music spoke naught to thine;For memory dwelling on each proud swellingOf thy belfry knelling its bold notes free,Made the bells of ShandonSound far more grand onThe pleasant waters of the River Lee.I have heard bells tolling “old Adrian’s mole” inTheir thunder rolling from the Vatican,With cymbals glorious, swinging uproariousIn the gorgeous turrets of Notre Dame;But thy sounds were sweeter than the dome of PeterFlings o’er the Tiber, pealing solemnly.Oh! the bells of ShandonSound far more grand onThe pleasant waters of the River Lee.There’s a bell in Moscow, while on tower and kiosko,In St. Sophia the Turkman gets,And loud in air, calls men to prayer,From the tapering summits of tall minarets,Such empty phantom I freely grant them,But there’s an anthem more dear tome—It’s the bells of ShandonThat sound so grand onThe pleasant waters of the River Lee.[p125]“The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,” in Gray’s “Elegy,” the best known, and, in itsown line, the best poem in the English language. More dramatic is Southey’s story of the warning bell that the Abbot of Aberbrothock placed on the Inchcape Rock. James Russell Lowell has a beautiful thought in his little poem“Masaccio”—Out clanged the Ave Mary bells,And to my heart this message came;Each clamorous throat among them tellsWhat strong-souled martyrs died in flame,To make it possible that thouShould’st here with brother sinners bow.· · · · ·Henceforth, when rings the health to thoseWho live in story and in song,O, nameless dead, who now reposeSafe in Oblivion’s chambers strong,One cup of recognition trueShall silently be drained to you!In the belfry of Tideswell and of Hathersage, in the Peak of Derbyshire, are a set of rhymed bell-ringing laws. Those at Hathersage we give below; the Tideswell ones are almost word for word similar.You gentlemen that here wish to ring,See that these laws you keep in everything;[p126]Or else be sure you must without delayThe penalty thereof to the ringers pay.First, when you do into the bellhouse come,Look if the ringers have convenient room,For if you do be an hindrance unto them,Fourpence you forfeit unto these gentlemen.Next, if here you do intend to ring,With hat or spur do not touch a string;For if you do, your forfeit is for thatJust fourpence down to pay, or lose your hat.If you a bell turn over, without delayFourpence unto the ringers you must pay;Or, if you strike, miscall, or do abuse,You must pay fourpence for the ringers’ use.For every oath here sworn, ere you go hence,Unto the poor then you must pay twelve pence;And if that you desire to be enrolledA ringer here these orders keep and hold.But whoso doth these orders disobey,Unto the stocks we will take him straight way,There to remain until he be willingTo pay his forfeit, and the clerk a shilling.Churchwardens’ accounts abound with bell charges. We have before us the accounts of the churchwardens of Youlgreave, in the Peak of Derbyshire, for a period of a century and a half. Under the year 1604 we have “Item to the ringers on the Coronation Day (James I.), 2s. 6d.; for mending the Bels agaynst that day, 1s.; and for fatchinge the great bell yoke at Stanton hall,[p127]6d.” In 1605 there is “Item for a rope for a little bell, 5d.” In the following year is “Item to the Ringers the 5th day of August, when thanks was given to God for the delyvering of King James from the conspiracye of the Lord Gowyre, 5s.” In 1613 we find the sum of 6d. expended in purchasing “a stirropp for the fyrst bell wheele, 8d.” The year 1614 is prolific in charges connected with the belfry, as the following enumeration will show: “Item for the bellefonder, his dinner, and his sonnes, with other chargs at the same time, 10d.; at the second coming of the sayd bellfonder, 9d.; at the taking downe of the bell, 6d.; for castyng the fyrst bell, £4; for the surplus mettall which wee bought of the bellfounder because the new bell waeghed more than ye old, £3 15s. 10d.; to the bellfounder’s men, 4d.; for the carryage of our old bell to Chesterfield, 3s.; for carrying the great bell clapper to Chesterfield, 4d.; for carrying the new bell from Chesterfield, 2s. 8d.; to Nicholos Hibbert, for hanging the said bell, 1s. 1d.; to Nicholas Hibbert the younger, for amending the great bell yoke and wheele, 6d.; spent at Gybs house at the bellfounder’s last coming, 3d.; for amending the great bell clapper, 10d.”[p128]The inscriptions on church bells would make an interesting chapter. On the second bell at Aston-on-Trent appears in Lombardic capitals, the words, “Jhesus be our spede, 1590,” and on the fourth bell is inscribed, “All men that heare my mournful sound, repent before you lye in ground, 1661.” The fourth bell of S. Werburgh’s at Derby isinscribed—My roaring sounde doth warning geveThat men cannot heare always lyve.—1605.The third bell at Allestree bears thewords—I to the church the living call,And to the grave do summons all.—1781.The second bell on the old peal at Ashbourne wasinscribed—Sweetly to sing men do callTo feed on meats that feed the soul.The fifth bell at Dovebridge has the words: “Som rosa polsata monde Maria vocata, 1633.” This is—according to the Rev. Dr. John Charles Cox—a corrupt reading of “Sum Rosa pulsata mundi Maria vocata,” a legend occasionally found on pre-Reformation bells, and which may be thusEnglished—Rose of the world, I soundMary, my name, around.[p129]A similar inscription—similarly mis-spelt—occurs on the third bell at Ibstock, Leicestershire, the date of which is 1632. Mr. Sankey, of Marlborough College, gives it a graceful Frenchrendering—Ici je sonne et je m’appelle,Marie, du monde la rose plus belle.The fourth bell at Coton-in-the-Elms has theinscription—The bride and groom we greetIn holy wedlock joined,Our sounds are emblems sweetOf hearts in love combined.The sixth bell isinscribed—The fleeting hours I tell,I summon all to pray,I toll the funeral knell,I hail the festal day.The seventh bell at Castleton has the followinglegend—When of departed hours we toll the knell,Instruction take, and spend the future well.James Harrison, Founder, 1803.The second bell at Monyash is inscribed: “Sca Maria o. p. n.” (Sancta Maria ora pro nobis.)The old curfew custom is still kept up in the[p130]Peak district of Derbyshire, notably at Winster, where the bell is rung throughout November, December, January, and February at eight o’clock every work day evening, except on Saturdays, when the hour is seven. There are Sanctus bells at Tideswell, Hathersage, Beeley, Ashover, and other Derbyshire churches. All Saints’ Church, at Derby (“All Saints,”i.e., “the unknown good”), has a melodious set of chimes. They play the following tunes: Sunday, “Old One Hundred and Fourth” (Hanover); Monday, “The Lass of Patie’s Mill”; Tuesday, “The Highland Lassie”; Wednesday, “The Shady Bowers”; Thursday, “The National Anthem”; Friday, Handel’s “March in Scipio”; Saturday, “The Silken Garter.” They all date from the last century.Church bells have the subtle charm of sentiment. When they swing in the hoary village tower, and send their mellifluous message across the country side and down the deep and devious valley, or when they make musical with mellow carillon the dreamy atmosphere of moss grown cathedral closes, they have a poetical influence. How pleasant it is to listen to the chimes which ring out from time to time from the towers of[p131]Notre Dame, in the city of Rubens, and from the Campanile at Venice!Through the balmy air of nightHow they ring out their delight!From the molten golden notes,And all in tune,What a liquid ditty floatsTo the turtle dove that listens, while she gloatsOn the moon!Church bells in large towns, where one section of the community are night workers and seek their rest in the day-time, are by no means invested with sentiment. We have in our mind a church which is set in a dense population of railwaymen, engine drivers, stokers, guards, porters, &c. It possesses a particularly noisy peal of bells. They begin their brazen tintinnabulations at breakfast time, and ring on, at intervals, until past the supper hour. Sometimes the sound is a dismal monotone, as if the bellman had no heart for his work. At other times a number of stark mad Quasimodos seem to be pulling at the ropes to frighten the gilded cock on the vane into flapping flight. Sunday only brings an increase of the din, distracting all thought, destroying all conversation, defying all study, turning the blessed sense of hearing into a[p132]curse, and making you envy the deaf. It is well known that upon many persons in health the clangour of bells has a very depressing effect; but at night, when narcotics are given and the sick are wearied out, it is very easy to imagine how irritating these bells must be both to the invalids and their attendants. One is inclined to exclaim with theFrenchman—Disturbers of the human race,Whose charms are always ringing,I wish the ropes were round your necks,And you about them swinging.How very wise those Spanish innkeepers were who, in the olden time, used to make “ruido” an item in their bills, charging their guests with the noise they made!

By Edward Bradbury.

Donot imagine that this is an essay on campanology, on change-ringing, grandsires, and triple bob-majors. Do not fancy that it will deal with carillons, the couvre-feu, or curfew bell, with the solemn Passing bell, the bell of the public crier, the jingling sleigh bell, the distant sheep bell, the noisy railway bell, the electric call bell, the frantic fire bell, the mellow, merry marriage peal, the sobbing muffled peal, the devout Angelus, or the silvery convent chimes that ring for prime and tierce, sext, nones, vespers, and compline. Do not conclude that it will describe bell-founding; and deal with the process of casting, with technical references to cope, and crook, and moulding, drawing the crucible, or tuning.

It is of bells and their associations and inscriptions that we would write, the bells that are linked with our lives, and record the history of towns, communities, and nations; announcing feasts and fasts and funerals, interpreting with[p120]metal tongue rejoicings and sorrowings, jubilees and reverses; pæans for victories by sea and land; knells for the death of kings and the leaders of men. As we write, the bells of our collegiate church are announcing with joyous clang the arrival of Her Majesty’s Judge of Assize. Before many days have passed another bell in the same town will tell with solemn toll of the short shrift given by him to a pinioned culprit, the only mourner in his own funeral procession.

Bells are sentient things. They are alike full of humour and pathos, of laughter and tears, of mirth and sadness, of gaiety and grief. One may pardon Toby Veck, in Charles Dickens’goblin story, for investing the bells in the church near his station with a strange and solemn character, and peopling the tower with dwarf phantoms, spirits, elfin creatures of the bells, of all aspects, shapes, characters, and occupations. “They were so mysterious, often heard and never seen, so high up, so far off, so full of such a deep, strong melody, that he regarded them with a species of awe; and sometimes, when he looked up at the dark, arched windows in the tower, he half expected to be beckoned to by[p121]something which was not a bell, and yet was what he had heard so often sounding in the chimes.” The bells! The word carries sound and suggestion with it. It fills the air with waves of cadence. “Those Evening Bells” of Thomas Moore’s song swing out undying echoes from Ashbourne Church steeple; Alfred Tennyson’s bells “ring out the false, ring in the true” across the old year’s snow, and his Christmas bells answer each other from hill to hill. There are the tragic bells that Sir Henry Irving hears as the haunted Mathias; “Les Cloches de Corneville” that agitate the morbid mind of the miser Gaspard; and the wild bells that Edgar Allen Poe has set ringing in Runic rhyme.

“Bell,” says the old German song, “thou soundest merrily when the bridal party to the church doth hie; thou soundest solemnly when, on Sabbath morn, the fields deserted lie; thou soundest merrily at evening, when bed-time draweth nigh; thou soundest mournfully, telling of the bitter parting that hath gone by! Say, how canst thou mourn or rejoice, that art but metal dull? And yet all our sorrowings and all our rejoicings thou art made to express!” In[p122]the words of the motto affixed to many old bells, they “rejoice with the joyful, and grieve with the sorrowful”; or, in the original Latin,

Gaudemus gaudentibus,Dolemus dolentibus.

Gaudemus gaudentibus,

Dolemus dolentibus.

An old monkish couplet makes the bell thus describe itsuses—

Laudo Deum verum, plebem voco, congrego clerum:Defuncto ploro, pestum fugo, festa decoro.

Laudo Deum verum, plebem voco, congrego clerum:

Defuncto ploro, pestum fugo, festa decoro.

“I praise the true God, call the people, convene the clergy; I mourn for the dead, drive away pestilence, and grace festivals.” Who that possesses—to quote from Cowper—a soul “in sympathy with sweet sounds,” can listen unmoved to

——themusic of the village bellsFalling at intervals upon the ear,In cadence sweet—now dying all away,Now pealing loud again, and louder still,Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on.

——themusic of the village bells

Falling at intervals upon the ear,

In cadence sweet—now dying all away,

Now pealing loud again, and louder still,

Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on.

The same poet makes Alexander Selkirk lament on his solitaryisle—

The sound of the church going bellThese valleys and rocks never heard,Ne’er sigh’d at the sound of a knell,Or smiled when a Sabbath appeared.

The sound of the church going bell

These valleys and rocks never heard,

Ne’er sigh’d at the sound of a knell,

Or smiled when a Sabbath appeared.

Longfellow has several tender references to[p123]church bells. He sets the Bells of Lynn to ring a requiem of the dying day. He mounts the lofty tower of “the belfry old and brown” in the market place ofBruges—

Not a sound rose from the city at that early morning hour,But I heard a heart of iron beating in the ancient tower.From their nests beneath the rafters sang the swallows wild and high;And the world, beneath me sleeping, seemed more distant than the sky.Then most musical and solemn, bringing back the olden times,With their strange unearthly changes rang the melancholy chimes.Like the psalms from some old cloister, when the nuns sing in the choir;And the great bell tolled among them, like the chanting of a friar.Visions of the days departed, shadowy phantoms filled my brain;They who live in history only seemed to walk the earth again.

Not a sound rose from the city at that early morning hour,But I heard a heart of iron beating in the ancient tower.

Not a sound rose from the city at that early morning hour,

But I heard a heart of iron beating in the ancient tower.

From their nests beneath the rafters sang the swallows wild and high;And the world, beneath me sleeping, seemed more distant than the sky.

From their nests beneath the rafters sang the swallows wild and high;

And the world, beneath me sleeping, seemed more distant than the sky.

Then most musical and solemn, bringing back the olden times,With their strange unearthly changes rang the melancholy chimes.

Then most musical and solemn, bringing back the olden times,

With their strange unearthly changes rang the melancholy chimes.

Like the psalms from some old cloister, when the nuns sing in the choir;And the great bell tolled among them, like the chanting of a friar.

Like the psalms from some old cloister, when the nuns sing in the choir;

And the great bell tolled among them, like the chanting of a friar.

Visions of the days departed, shadowy phantoms filled my brain;They who live in history only seemed to walk the earth again.

Visions of the days departed, shadowy phantoms filled my brain;

They who live in history only seemed to walk the earth again.

Who does not remember Father Prout’s lyric on “The Bells of Shandon”? We venture to quote the four delicious versesin extenso—

With deep affection and recollectionI often think of the Shandon bells,Whose sounds so wild would, in days of childhood,Fling round my cradle their magicspells—[p124]On this I ponder where’er I wander,And thus grow fonder, sweet Cork, of thee;With thy bells of Shandon,That sound so grand onThe pleasant waters of the River Lee.I have heard bells chiming, full many a chime inTolling sublime in cathedral shrine;While at a glib rate brass tongues would vibrate,But all their music spoke naught to thine;For memory dwelling on each proud swellingOf thy belfry knelling its bold notes free,Made the bells of ShandonSound far more grand onThe pleasant waters of the River Lee.I have heard bells tolling “old Adrian’s mole” inTheir thunder rolling from the Vatican,With cymbals glorious, swinging uproariousIn the gorgeous turrets of Notre Dame;But thy sounds were sweeter than the dome of PeterFlings o’er the Tiber, pealing solemnly.Oh! the bells of ShandonSound far more grand onThe pleasant waters of the River Lee.There’s a bell in Moscow, while on tower and kiosko,In St. Sophia the Turkman gets,And loud in air, calls men to prayer,From the tapering summits of tall minarets,Such empty phantom I freely grant them,But there’s an anthem more dear tome—It’s the bells of ShandonThat sound so grand onThe pleasant waters of the River Lee.

With deep affection and recollection

I often think of the Shandon bells,

Whose sounds so wild would, in days of childhood,

Fling round my cradle their magicspells—

[p124]On this I ponder where’er I wander,

And thus grow fonder, sweet Cork, of thee;

With thy bells of Shandon,

That sound so grand on

The pleasant waters of the River Lee.

I have heard bells chiming, full many a chime inTolling sublime in cathedral shrine;While at a glib rate brass tongues would vibrate,But all their music spoke naught to thine;For memory dwelling on each proud swellingOf thy belfry knelling its bold notes free,Made the bells of ShandonSound far more grand onThe pleasant waters of the River Lee.

I have heard bells chiming, full many a chime in

Tolling sublime in cathedral shrine;

While at a glib rate brass tongues would vibrate,

But all their music spoke naught to thine;

For memory dwelling on each proud swelling

Of thy belfry knelling its bold notes free,

Made the bells of Shandon

Sound far more grand on

The pleasant waters of the River Lee.

I have heard bells tolling “old Adrian’s mole” inTheir thunder rolling from the Vatican,With cymbals glorious, swinging uproariousIn the gorgeous turrets of Notre Dame;But thy sounds were sweeter than the dome of PeterFlings o’er the Tiber, pealing solemnly.Oh! the bells of ShandonSound far more grand onThe pleasant waters of the River Lee.

I have heard bells tolling “old Adrian’s mole” in

Their thunder rolling from the Vatican,

With cymbals glorious, swinging uproarious

In the gorgeous turrets of Notre Dame;

But thy sounds were sweeter than the dome of Peter

Flings o’er the Tiber, pealing solemnly.

Oh! the bells of Shandon

Sound far more grand on

The pleasant waters of the River Lee.

There’s a bell in Moscow, while on tower and kiosko,In St. Sophia the Turkman gets,And loud in air, calls men to prayer,From the tapering summits of tall minarets,Such empty phantom I freely grant them,But there’s an anthem more dear tome—It’s the bells of ShandonThat sound so grand onThe pleasant waters of the River Lee.

There’s a bell in Moscow, while on tower and kiosko,

In St. Sophia the Turkman gets,

And loud in air, calls men to prayer,

From the tapering summits of tall minarets,

Such empty phantom I freely grant them,

But there’s an anthem more dear tome—

It’s the bells of Shandon

That sound so grand on

The pleasant waters of the River Lee.

[p125]“The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,” in Gray’s “Elegy,” the best known, and, in itsown line, the best poem in the English language. More dramatic is Southey’s story of the warning bell that the Abbot of Aberbrothock placed on the Inchcape Rock. James Russell Lowell has a beautiful thought in his little poem“Masaccio”—

Out clanged the Ave Mary bells,And to my heart this message came;Each clamorous throat among them tellsWhat strong-souled martyrs died in flame,To make it possible that thouShould’st here with brother sinners bow.· · · · ·Henceforth, when rings the health to thoseWho live in story and in song,O, nameless dead, who now reposeSafe in Oblivion’s chambers strong,One cup of recognition trueShall silently be drained to you!

Out clanged the Ave Mary bells,

And to my heart this message came;

Each clamorous throat among them tells

What strong-souled martyrs died in flame,

To make it possible that thou

Should’st here with brother sinners bow.

· · · · ·

Henceforth, when rings the health to those

Who live in story and in song,

O, nameless dead, who now repose

Safe in Oblivion’s chambers strong,

One cup of recognition true

Shall silently be drained to you!

In the belfry of Tideswell and of Hathersage, in the Peak of Derbyshire, are a set of rhymed bell-ringing laws. Those at Hathersage we give below; the Tideswell ones are almost word for word similar.

You gentlemen that here wish to ring,See that these laws you keep in everything;[p126]Or else be sure you must without delayThe penalty thereof to the ringers pay.First, when you do into the bellhouse come,Look if the ringers have convenient room,For if you do be an hindrance unto them,Fourpence you forfeit unto these gentlemen.Next, if here you do intend to ring,With hat or spur do not touch a string;For if you do, your forfeit is for thatJust fourpence down to pay, or lose your hat.If you a bell turn over, without delayFourpence unto the ringers you must pay;Or, if you strike, miscall, or do abuse,You must pay fourpence for the ringers’ use.For every oath here sworn, ere you go hence,Unto the poor then you must pay twelve pence;And if that you desire to be enrolledA ringer here these orders keep and hold.But whoso doth these orders disobey,Unto the stocks we will take him straight way,There to remain until he be willingTo pay his forfeit, and the clerk a shilling.

You gentlemen that here wish to ring,

See that these laws you keep in everything;

[p126]Or else be sure you must without delay

The penalty thereof to the ringers pay.

First, when you do into the bellhouse come,

Look if the ringers have convenient room,

For if you do be an hindrance unto them,

Fourpence you forfeit unto these gentlemen.

Next, if here you do intend to ring,

With hat or spur do not touch a string;

For if you do, your forfeit is for that

Just fourpence down to pay, or lose your hat.

If you a bell turn over, without delay

Fourpence unto the ringers you must pay;

Or, if you strike, miscall, or do abuse,

You must pay fourpence for the ringers’ use.

For every oath here sworn, ere you go hence,

Unto the poor then you must pay twelve pence;

And if that you desire to be enrolled

A ringer here these orders keep and hold.

But whoso doth these orders disobey,

Unto the stocks we will take him straight way,

There to remain until he be willing

To pay his forfeit, and the clerk a shilling.

Churchwardens’ accounts abound with bell charges. We have before us the accounts of the churchwardens of Youlgreave, in the Peak of Derbyshire, for a period of a century and a half. Under the year 1604 we have “Item to the ringers on the Coronation Day (James I.), 2s. 6d.; for mending the Bels agaynst that day, 1s.; and for fatchinge the great bell yoke at Stanton hall,[p127]6d.” In 1605 there is “Item for a rope for a little bell, 5d.” In the following year is “Item to the Ringers the 5th day of August, when thanks was given to God for the delyvering of King James from the conspiracye of the Lord Gowyre, 5s.” In 1613 we find the sum of 6d. expended in purchasing “a stirropp for the fyrst bell wheele, 8d.” The year 1614 is prolific in charges connected with the belfry, as the following enumeration will show: “Item for the bellefonder, his dinner, and his sonnes, with other chargs at the same time, 10d.; at the second coming of the sayd bellfonder, 9d.; at the taking downe of the bell, 6d.; for castyng the fyrst bell, £4; for the surplus mettall which wee bought of the bellfounder because the new bell waeghed more than ye old, £3 15s. 10d.; to the bellfounder’s men, 4d.; for the carryage of our old bell to Chesterfield, 3s.; for carrying the great bell clapper to Chesterfield, 4d.; for carrying the new bell from Chesterfield, 2s. 8d.; to Nicholos Hibbert, for hanging the said bell, 1s. 1d.; to Nicholas Hibbert the younger, for amending the great bell yoke and wheele, 6d.; spent at Gybs house at the bellfounder’s last coming, 3d.; for amending the great bell clapper, 10d.”

[p128]The inscriptions on church bells would make an interesting chapter. On the second bell at Aston-on-Trent appears in Lombardic capitals, the words, “Jhesus be our spede, 1590,” and on the fourth bell is inscribed, “All men that heare my mournful sound, repent before you lye in ground, 1661.” The fourth bell of S. Werburgh’s at Derby isinscribed—

My roaring sounde doth warning geveThat men cannot heare always lyve.—1605.

My roaring sounde doth warning geve

That men cannot heare always lyve.—1605.

The third bell at Allestree bears thewords—

I to the church the living call,And to the grave do summons all.—1781.

I to the church the living call,

And to the grave do summons all.—1781.

The second bell on the old peal at Ashbourne wasinscribed—

Sweetly to sing men do callTo feed on meats that feed the soul.

Sweetly to sing men do call

To feed on meats that feed the soul.

The fifth bell at Dovebridge has the words: “Som rosa polsata monde Maria vocata, 1633.” This is—according to the Rev. Dr. John Charles Cox—a corrupt reading of “Sum Rosa pulsata mundi Maria vocata,” a legend occasionally found on pre-Reformation bells, and which may be thusEnglished—

Rose of the world, I soundMary, my name, around.

Rose of the world, I sound

Mary, my name, around.

[p129]A similar inscription—similarly mis-spelt—occurs on the third bell at Ibstock, Leicestershire, the date of which is 1632. Mr. Sankey, of Marlborough College, gives it a graceful Frenchrendering—

Ici je sonne et je m’appelle,Marie, du monde la rose plus belle.

Ici je sonne et je m’appelle,

Marie, du monde la rose plus belle.

The fourth bell at Coton-in-the-Elms has theinscription—

The bride and groom we greetIn holy wedlock joined,Our sounds are emblems sweetOf hearts in love combined.

The bride and groom we greet

In holy wedlock joined,

Our sounds are emblems sweet

Of hearts in love combined.

The sixth bell isinscribed—

The fleeting hours I tell,I summon all to pray,I toll the funeral knell,I hail the festal day.

The fleeting hours I tell,

I summon all to pray,

I toll the funeral knell,

I hail the festal day.

The seventh bell at Castleton has the followinglegend—

When of departed hours we toll the knell,Instruction take, and spend the future well.James Harrison, Founder, 1803.

When of departed hours we toll the knell,

Instruction take, and spend the future well.

James Harrison, Founder, 1803.

The second bell at Monyash is inscribed: “Sca Maria o. p. n.” (Sancta Maria ora pro nobis.)

The old curfew custom is still kept up in the[p130]Peak district of Derbyshire, notably at Winster, where the bell is rung throughout November, December, January, and February at eight o’clock every work day evening, except on Saturdays, when the hour is seven. There are Sanctus bells at Tideswell, Hathersage, Beeley, Ashover, and other Derbyshire churches. All Saints’ Church, at Derby (“All Saints,”i.e., “the unknown good”), has a melodious set of chimes. They play the following tunes: Sunday, “Old One Hundred and Fourth” (Hanover); Monday, “The Lass of Patie’s Mill”; Tuesday, “The Highland Lassie”; Wednesday, “The Shady Bowers”; Thursday, “The National Anthem”; Friday, Handel’s “March in Scipio”; Saturday, “The Silken Garter.” They all date from the last century.

Church bells have the subtle charm of sentiment. When they swing in the hoary village tower, and send their mellifluous message across the country side and down the deep and devious valley, or when they make musical with mellow carillon the dreamy atmosphere of moss grown cathedral closes, they have a poetical influence. How pleasant it is to listen to the chimes which ring out from time to time from the towers of[p131]Notre Dame, in the city of Rubens, and from the Campanile at Venice!

Through the balmy air of nightHow they ring out their delight!From the molten golden notes,And all in tune,What a liquid ditty floatsTo the turtle dove that listens, while she gloatsOn the moon!

Through the balmy air of night

How they ring out their delight!

From the molten golden notes,

And all in tune,

What a liquid ditty floats

To the turtle dove that listens, while she gloats

On the moon!

Church bells in large towns, where one section of the community are night workers and seek their rest in the day-time, are by no means invested with sentiment. We have in our mind a church which is set in a dense population of railwaymen, engine drivers, stokers, guards, porters, &c. It possesses a particularly noisy peal of bells. They begin their brazen tintinnabulations at breakfast time, and ring on, at intervals, until past the supper hour. Sometimes the sound is a dismal monotone, as if the bellman had no heart for his work. At other times a number of stark mad Quasimodos seem to be pulling at the ropes to frighten the gilded cock on the vane into flapping flight. Sunday only brings an increase of the din, distracting all thought, destroying all conversation, defying all study, turning the blessed sense of hearing into a[p132]curse, and making you envy the deaf. It is well known that upon many persons in health the clangour of bells has a very depressing effect; but at night, when narcotics are given and the sick are wearied out, it is very easy to imagine how irritating these bells must be both to the invalids and their attendants. One is inclined to exclaim with theFrenchman—

Disturbers of the human race,Whose charms are always ringing,I wish the ropes were round your necks,And you about them swinging.

Disturbers of the human race,

Whose charms are always ringing,

I wish the ropes were round your necks,

And you about them swinging.

How very wise those Spanish innkeepers were who, in the olden time, used to make “ruido” an item in their bills, charging their guests with the noise they made!

[p133]Stories about Bells.By J. Potter Briscoe,F.R.H.S.Onthe eve of the feast of Corpus Christi the choristers of Durham Cathedral ascend the tower, and, clad in their fluttering robes of white, sing theTe Deum. This custom is performed to commemorate the miraculous extinguishing of a conflagration on that night in the year 1429. The legend goes that, whilst the monks were engaged in prayer at midnight, the belfry was struck by the electric current and set on fire. Though the flames continued to rage until the middle of the next day, the tower escaped serious damage, and the bells were uninjured—an escape which was imputed to the special interference of the incorruptible S. Cuthbert, who was enshrined in that cathedral. These are not the bells which now reverberateamong the housetops on the steep banks of the Wear, they having been cast by Thomas Bartlett during the summer of 1631.The fine peal of bells in Limerick Cathedral were originally brought from Italy, having been[p134]manufactured by a young native, who devoted himself enthusiastically to the work, and who, after the toil of many years, succeeded in finishing a splendid peal, which answered all the critical requirements of his own musical ear. Upon these bells the artist greatly prided himself, and they were at length bought by the prior of a neighbouring convent at a very liberal price. With the proceeds of that sale the young Italian purchased a little villa, where, in the stillness of the evening, he could enjoy the sound of his own melodious bells from the convent cliff. Here he grew old in the bosom of his family and of domestic happiness. At length, in one of those feuds common to the period, the Italian became a sufferer amongst many others. He lost his all. After the passing of the storm, he found himself preserved alone amid the wreck of fortune, friends, family, and home. The bells too—his favourite bells—were carried off from the convent, and finally removed to Ireland. For a time their artificer became a wanderer over Europe; and at last, in the hope of soothing his troubled spirit, he formed the resolution of seeking the land to which those treasures of his memory had been conveyed. He sailed for Ireland. Proceeding[p135]up the Shannon one beautiful evening, which reminded him of his native Italy, his own bells suddenly struck upon his ear! Home, and all its loving ties, happiness, early recollections, all—all were in the sound, and went to his heart. His face was turned towards the cathedral in the attitude of intently listening. When the vessel reached its destination the Italian bellfounder was found to be a corpse!Odoceus, Bishop of Llandaff, removed the bells from his cathedral during a time of excommunication. Earlier still they are assumed to have been in use in Ireland as early as the time of S. Patrick, who died in 493. In those days much superstitious feeling, as in later ages, hung around the bells, and many sweetly pretty and very curious legends are known respecting them. Thus it is said S. Odoceus, of Llandaff, being thirsty after undergoing labour, and more accustomed to drink water than anything else, came to a fountain in the vale of Llandaff, not far from the church, that he might drink. Here he found women washing butter after the manner of the country. Sending to them his messengers and disciples they requested that they would accommodate them with a vessel that their[p136]pastor might drink therefrom. These mischievous girls replied, “We have no other cup besides that which we hold in our hands,” namely, the butter. The man of blessed memory taking it, formed one piece into the shape of a small bell, and drank from it. The story goes that it permanently remained in that form, so that it appeared to those who beheld it to consist altogether of the purest gold. It is preserved in the church at Llandaff, and it is said that, by touching it, health is given to the diseased.The bell of S. Mura was formerly regarded with superstitious reverence in Ireland, and any liquid drunk from it was believed to have peculiar properties in alleviating human suffering; hence the peasant women of the district in which it was long preserved particularly used it in cases of child-birth, and a serious disturbance was excited on a former attempt to sell it by its owner. Its legendary history relates that it descended from the sky ringing loudly, but as it approached the concourse of people who had assembled at the miraculous warning, the tongue detached itself and returned towards the skies; hence it was concluded that the bell was never to be profaned by sounding on earth, but was to be kept for[p137]purposes more holy and beneficent. This is said to have happened on the spot where once stood the famous Abbey of Fahan, near Innishowen, in county Donegal, founded in the seventh century by S. Mura, or Muranus.Mr. Robert Hunt,F.R.S., tells us that, in days long ago, the inhabitants of the parish of Forrabury—which does not cover a square mile, but which now includes the chief part of the town of Bocastle and its harbour—resolved to have a peal of bells which should rival those of the neighbouring church of Tintagel, which are said to have rung merrily at the marriage, and tolled solemnly at the death of Arthur. The bells were cast. The bells were blessed. The bells were shipped for Forrabury. Few voyages were more favourable. The ship glided, with a fair wind, along the northern shores of Cornwall, waiting for the tide to carry her safely into the harbour of Bottreaux. The vesper bells rang out at Tintagel. When he heard the blessed bell, the pilot devoutly crossed himself, and bending his knee, thanked God for the safe and quick voyage which they had made. The captain laughed at the superstition, as he called it, of the pilot, and swore that they had only to thank themselves for[p138]the speedy voyage, and that, with his own arm at the helm, and his judgment to guide them, they would soon have a happy landing. The pilot checked this profane speech. The wicked captain—and he swore more impiously than ever, that all was due to himself and his men—laughed to scorn the pilot’s prayer. “May God forgive you,” was the pilot’s reply. Those who are familiar with the northern shores of Cornwall will know that sometimes a huge wave, generated by some mysterious power in the wide Atlantic, will roll on, overpowering everything by its weight and force. While yet the captain’s oaths were heard, and while the inhabitants on the shore were looking out from the cliffs, expecting within an hour to see the vessel charged with their bells safe in their harbour, one of those vast swellings of the ocean was seen. Onward came the grand billow in all the terror of its might! The ship rose not upon the waters as it came onward! She was overwhelmed, and sank in an instant close to the land. As the vessel sank, the bells were heard tolling with a muffled sound, as if ringing the death knell of the ship and sailors, of whom the good pilot alone escaped with life. When storms are coming, and only[p139]then, the bells of Forrabury, with their dull muffled sound, are heard from beneath the heaving sea, a warning to the wicked. The tower has remained silent to this day.Passing through Massingham, in Lincolnshire, a long time ago, a traveller noticed three men sitting on a stile in the churchyard, and saying, “Come to church, Thompson!” “Come to church, Brown!” and so on. Surprised at this, the traveller asked what it meant. He was told that, having no bells, this was how they called folk to church. The traveller, remarking that it was a pity so fine a church should have no bells, asked the men if they could make three for the church, promising to pay for them himself. This they undertook to do. They were a tinker, a carpenter, and a shoemaker respectively. When the visitor came round that way again, he found the three men ringing three bells, which said “Ting, Tong, Pluff,” being made respectively of tin, wood, and leather.There is a tradition that John Barton, the donor of the third bell at Brigstock, Northamptonshire, was one of several plaintiffs against Sir John Gouch to recover their rights of common upon certain lands in the neighbouring parish of[p140]Benefield, and that Sir John threatened to ruin him if he persisted in claiming his right. John Barton replied that he would leave a cow which, being pulled by the tail, would low three times a day, and would be heard all over the common when he (Sir John) and his heirs would have nothing to do there. Hence the gift of the bell, which was formerly rung at four in the morning, and at eleven at morning and at night. He is also said to have left means for paying for this daily ringing.One Christmas Eve the ringers of Witham-on-the-Hill left the bells standing for the purpose of partaking of refreshments at a tavern that stood opposite the church. One of their number, a little more thirsty than the rest, insisted that before going back to ring they should have another pitcher of ale. This being at length agreed to by his brother bell-ringers, the party remained to duly drain the last draught. Whilst they were drinking, the steeple fell. Whether this is merely a tapster’s tale, or the sober statement of a remarkable fact, we are not in a position to state.From a curious and rare pamphlet on “Catholic Miracles,” published in 1825, we[p141]learn that a band of sacrilegious robbers, having broken into a monastery, proceeded out of bravado to ring a peal of bells, when, through prayers offered up by the “holy fathers,” a miracle was wrought, and the robbers were unable to leave their hold on the ropes. This state of affairs was depicted by the inimitable George Cruikshank in a woodcut, impressions of which are given in our “Curiosities of the Belfry,” (Hamilton).In the village of Tunstall, a few miles distant from Yarmouth, there is a clump of alder trees, familiarly known as “Hell Carr.” Not far from these trees there is a pool of water having a boggy bottom, that goes by the name of “Hell Hole.” A succession of bubbles are frequently seen floating on the surface of the water in summer time, a circumstance (as Mr. Glyde, the Norfolk antiquarian author, truly states) that can be accounted for very naturally; but the natives of the district maintain that these bubbles are the result of supernatural action, the cause of which is thus described. The tower of the church is in ruins. Tradition says that it was destroyed by fire, but that the bells were not injured by the calamity. The parson and the[p142]churchwarden each claimed the bells. While they were quarrelling, his Satanic Majesty carried out the disputed booty. The clergyman, however, not desiring to lose the booty, pursued and overtook the devil, who, in order to evade his clerical opponent, dived through the earth to his appointed dwelling-place, taking the bells with him. Tradition points to “Hell Hole” as the spot where this hurried departure took place. The villagers believe that the bubbles on the surface of the pool are caused by the continuous descent of the waters to the bottomless pit.THE BELL OF ST. FILLAN.In 1778 there was a bell belonging to the chapel of S. Fillan, which was in high reputation among the votaries of that saint in olden times. It was of an oblong shape, about a foot high, and was usually laid on a gravestone in the churchyard. Mad people were brought to it to effect a cure. They were first dipped into the “Saint’s Pool,” where certain ceremonies were performed, which partook of the character of Druidism and Roman Catholicism. The bell was placed in the chapel, where it remained, bound with ropes, all night. Next day it was placed upon the heads of the lunatics with great solemnity, but with what results “deponent sayeth not.” It was the[p143]popular opinion that, if stolen, this bell would extricate itself from the hands of the thief and return home ringing all the way! The bell had ultimately to be kept under lock and key to prevent its being used for superstitious purposes. This old time relic is now in the National Museum, Edinburgh, of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, and it is described as follows in the catalogue: “The ‘Bell of S. Fillan,’ of cast bronze, square shaped, and with double-headed, dragonesque handle. It lay on a gravestone in the old churchyard at Strathfillan, Perthshire, where it was superstitiously used for the cure of insanity and other diseases till 1798, when it was removed by a traveller to England. It was returned to Scotland in 1869, and deposited in the Museum by Lord Crawford and the Bishop of Brechin, with the consent of the[p144]Heritors and Kirk-Session of S. Fillans.” Near Raleigh there is a valley which is said to have been caused by an earthquake several hundred years ago, which convulsion of nature swallowed up a whole village, together with the church. Formerly it was the custom of the people to assemble in this valley every Christmas Day morning to listen to the ringing of the bells of the church beneath them. This, it was positively asserted, might be heard by placing the ear to the ground and listening attentively. As late as 1827 it was usual on this morning for old men and women to tell their children and young friends to go to the valley, stoop down, and hear the bells ring merrily. The villagers really heard the ringing of the bells of a neighbouring church, the sound of which was communicated by the surface of the ground, the cause being misconstrued through the ignorance and credulity of the listeners.

By J. Potter Briscoe,F.R.H.S.

Onthe eve of the feast of Corpus Christi the choristers of Durham Cathedral ascend the tower, and, clad in their fluttering robes of white, sing theTe Deum. This custom is performed to commemorate the miraculous extinguishing of a conflagration on that night in the year 1429. The legend goes that, whilst the monks were engaged in prayer at midnight, the belfry was struck by the electric current and set on fire. Though the flames continued to rage until the middle of the next day, the tower escaped serious damage, and the bells were uninjured—an escape which was imputed to the special interference of the incorruptible S. Cuthbert, who was enshrined in that cathedral. These are not the bells which now reverberateamong the housetops on the steep banks of the Wear, they having been cast by Thomas Bartlett during the summer of 1631.

The fine peal of bells in Limerick Cathedral were originally brought from Italy, having been[p134]manufactured by a young native, who devoted himself enthusiastically to the work, and who, after the toil of many years, succeeded in finishing a splendid peal, which answered all the critical requirements of his own musical ear. Upon these bells the artist greatly prided himself, and they were at length bought by the prior of a neighbouring convent at a very liberal price. With the proceeds of that sale the young Italian purchased a little villa, where, in the stillness of the evening, he could enjoy the sound of his own melodious bells from the convent cliff. Here he grew old in the bosom of his family and of domestic happiness. At length, in one of those feuds common to the period, the Italian became a sufferer amongst many others. He lost his all. After the passing of the storm, he found himself preserved alone amid the wreck of fortune, friends, family, and home. The bells too—his favourite bells—were carried off from the convent, and finally removed to Ireland. For a time their artificer became a wanderer over Europe; and at last, in the hope of soothing his troubled spirit, he formed the resolution of seeking the land to which those treasures of his memory had been conveyed. He sailed for Ireland. Proceeding[p135]up the Shannon one beautiful evening, which reminded him of his native Italy, his own bells suddenly struck upon his ear! Home, and all its loving ties, happiness, early recollections, all—all were in the sound, and went to his heart. His face was turned towards the cathedral in the attitude of intently listening. When the vessel reached its destination the Italian bellfounder was found to be a corpse!

Odoceus, Bishop of Llandaff, removed the bells from his cathedral during a time of excommunication. Earlier still they are assumed to have been in use in Ireland as early as the time of S. Patrick, who died in 493. In those days much superstitious feeling, as in later ages, hung around the bells, and many sweetly pretty and very curious legends are known respecting them. Thus it is said S. Odoceus, of Llandaff, being thirsty after undergoing labour, and more accustomed to drink water than anything else, came to a fountain in the vale of Llandaff, not far from the church, that he might drink. Here he found women washing butter after the manner of the country. Sending to them his messengers and disciples they requested that they would accommodate them with a vessel that their[p136]pastor might drink therefrom. These mischievous girls replied, “We have no other cup besides that which we hold in our hands,” namely, the butter. The man of blessed memory taking it, formed one piece into the shape of a small bell, and drank from it. The story goes that it permanently remained in that form, so that it appeared to those who beheld it to consist altogether of the purest gold. It is preserved in the church at Llandaff, and it is said that, by touching it, health is given to the diseased.

The bell of S. Mura was formerly regarded with superstitious reverence in Ireland, and any liquid drunk from it was believed to have peculiar properties in alleviating human suffering; hence the peasant women of the district in which it was long preserved particularly used it in cases of child-birth, and a serious disturbance was excited on a former attempt to sell it by its owner. Its legendary history relates that it descended from the sky ringing loudly, but as it approached the concourse of people who had assembled at the miraculous warning, the tongue detached itself and returned towards the skies; hence it was concluded that the bell was never to be profaned by sounding on earth, but was to be kept for[p137]purposes more holy and beneficent. This is said to have happened on the spot where once stood the famous Abbey of Fahan, near Innishowen, in county Donegal, founded in the seventh century by S. Mura, or Muranus.

Mr. Robert Hunt,F.R.S., tells us that, in days long ago, the inhabitants of the parish of Forrabury—which does not cover a square mile, but which now includes the chief part of the town of Bocastle and its harbour—resolved to have a peal of bells which should rival those of the neighbouring church of Tintagel, which are said to have rung merrily at the marriage, and tolled solemnly at the death of Arthur. The bells were cast. The bells were blessed. The bells were shipped for Forrabury. Few voyages were more favourable. The ship glided, with a fair wind, along the northern shores of Cornwall, waiting for the tide to carry her safely into the harbour of Bottreaux. The vesper bells rang out at Tintagel. When he heard the blessed bell, the pilot devoutly crossed himself, and bending his knee, thanked God for the safe and quick voyage which they had made. The captain laughed at the superstition, as he called it, of the pilot, and swore that they had only to thank themselves for[p138]the speedy voyage, and that, with his own arm at the helm, and his judgment to guide them, they would soon have a happy landing. The pilot checked this profane speech. The wicked captain—and he swore more impiously than ever, that all was due to himself and his men—laughed to scorn the pilot’s prayer. “May God forgive you,” was the pilot’s reply. Those who are familiar with the northern shores of Cornwall will know that sometimes a huge wave, generated by some mysterious power in the wide Atlantic, will roll on, overpowering everything by its weight and force. While yet the captain’s oaths were heard, and while the inhabitants on the shore were looking out from the cliffs, expecting within an hour to see the vessel charged with their bells safe in their harbour, one of those vast swellings of the ocean was seen. Onward came the grand billow in all the terror of its might! The ship rose not upon the waters as it came onward! She was overwhelmed, and sank in an instant close to the land. As the vessel sank, the bells were heard tolling with a muffled sound, as if ringing the death knell of the ship and sailors, of whom the good pilot alone escaped with life. When storms are coming, and only[p139]then, the bells of Forrabury, with their dull muffled sound, are heard from beneath the heaving sea, a warning to the wicked. The tower has remained silent to this day.

Passing through Massingham, in Lincolnshire, a long time ago, a traveller noticed three men sitting on a stile in the churchyard, and saying, “Come to church, Thompson!” “Come to church, Brown!” and so on. Surprised at this, the traveller asked what it meant. He was told that, having no bells, this was how they called folk to church. The traveller, remarking that it was a pity so fine a church should have no bells, asked the men if they could make three for the church, promising to pay for them himself. This they undertook to do. They were a tinker, a carpenter, and a shoemaker respectively. When the visitor came round that way again, he found the three men ringing three bells, which said “Ting, Tong, Pluff,” being made respectively of tin, wood, and leather.

There is a tradition that John Barton, the donor of the third bell at Brigstock, Northamptonshire, was one of several plaintiffs against Sir John Gouch to recover their rights of common upon certain lands in the neighbouring parish of[p140]Benefield, and that Sir John threatened to ruin him if he persisted in claiming his right. John Barton replied that he would leave a cow which, being pulled by the tail, would low three times a day, and would be heard all over the common when he (Sir John) and his heirs would have nothing to do there. Hence the gift of the bell, which was formerly rung at four in the morning, and at eleven at morning and at night. He is also said to have left means for paying for this daily ringing.

One Christmas Eve the ringers of Witham-on-the-Hill left the bells standing for the purpose of partaking of refreshments at a tavern that stood opposite the church. One of their number, a little more thirsty than the rest, insisted that before going back to ring they should have another pitcher of ale. This being at length agreed to by his brother bell-ringers, the party remained to duly drain the last draught. Whilst they were drinking, the steeple fell. Whether this is merely a tapster’s tale, or the sober statement of a remarkable fact, we are not in a position to state.

From a curious and rare pamphlet on “Catholic Miracles,” published in 1825, we[p141]learn that a band of sacrilegious robbers, having broken into a monastery, proceeded out of bravado to ring a peal of bells, when, through prayers offered up by the “holy fathers,” a miracle was wrought, and the robbers were unable to leave their hold on the ropes. This state of affairs was depicted by the inimitable George Cruikshank in a woodcut, impressions of which are given in our “Curiosities of the Belfry,” (Hamilton).

In the village of Tunstall, a few miles distant from Yarmouth, there is a clump of alder trees, familiarly known as “Hell Carr.” Not far from these trees there is a pool of water having a boggy bottom, that goes by the name of “Hell Hole.” A succession of bubbles are frequently seen floating on the surface of the water in summer time, a circumstance (as Mr. Glyde, the Norfolk antiquarian author, truly states) that can be accounted for very naturally; but the natives of the district maintain that these bubbles are the result of supernatural action, the cause of which is thus described. The tower of the church is in ruins. Tradition says that it was destroyed by fire, but that the bells were not injured by the calamity. The parson and the[p142]churchwarden each claimed the bells. While they were quarrelling, his Satanic Majesty carried out the disputed booty. The clergyman, however, not desiring to lose the booty, pursued and overtook the devil, who, in order to evade his clerical opponent, dived through the earth to his appointed dwelling-place, taking the bells with him. Tradition points to “Hell Hole” as the spot where this hurried departure took place. The villagers believe that the bubbles on the surface of the pool are caused by the continuous descent of the waters to the bottomless pit.

THE BELL OF ST. FILLAN.

In 1778 there was a bell belonging to the chapel of S. Fillan, which was in high reputation among the votaries of that saint in olden times. It was of an oblong shape, about a foot high, and was usually laid on a gravestone in the churchyard. Mad people were brought to it to effect a cure. They were first dipped into the “Saint’s Pool,” where certain ceremonies were performed, which partook of the character of Druidism and Roman Catholicism. The bell was placed in the chapel, where it remained, bound with ropes, all night. Next day it was placed upon the heads of the lunatics with great solemnity, but with what results “deponent sayeth not.” It was the[p143]popular opinion that, if stolen, this bell would extricate itself from the hands of the thief and return home ringing all the way! The bell had ultimately to be kept under lock and key to prevent its being used for superstitious purposes. This old time relic is now in the National Museum, Edinburgh, of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, and it is described as follows in the catalogue: “The ‘Bell of S. Fillan,’ of cast bronze, square shaped, and with double-headed, dragonesque handle. It lay on a gravestone in the old churchyard at Strathfillan, Perthshire, where it was superstitiously used for the cure of insanity and other diseases till 1798, when it was removed by a traveller to England. It was returned to Scotland in 1869, and deposited in the Museum by Lord Crawford and the Bishop of Brechin, with the consent of the[p144]Heritors and Kirk-Session of S. Fillans.” Near Raleigh there is a valley which is said to have been caused by an earthquake several hundred years ago, which convulsion of nature swallowed up a whole village, together with the church. Formerly it was the custom of the people to assemble in this valley every Christmas Day morning to listen to the ringing of the bells of the church beneath them. This, it was positively asserted, might be heard by placing the ear to the ground and listening attentively. As late as 1827 it was usual on this morning for old men and women to tell their children and young friends to go to the valley, stoop down, and hear the bells ring merrily. The villagers really heard the ringing of the bells of a neighbouring church, the sound of which was communicated by the surface of the ground, the cause being misconstrued through the ignorance and credulity of the listeners.

Back to Index Next