IX.
A Southdown Village.
(Golden Hours, 1874.)
Symbol of the power that made us a nation, there is no symbol of the unity of its successive generations like an ancient church.
In Seaford Church—dedicated, by the way, to the popular ecclesiastical hero of Sussex, St Leonard—I attended an interesting service, one that in many ways smacked of "the good old times." It was club day. As Mr Barnes, the learned and humorous poet of Dorsetshire, says:—
By ten
O'clock the pleace wer vull o' men
A-dressed to goo to church, and dine
An' walk about the pleace in line."
When I reached the church the procession had already filed in, and the members were all seated, their banners and badges making the aisles look quite gay. The preacher on this occasion was honest and brave, but gave the impression that he cared much more for his own notions than anything else. "Christianity," he said, "had produced the true feeling of brotherhood; the cry we heard so much about now-a-days, 'Liberty, Equality, Fraternity!' was all bosh. They did well in coming to church, but they would do better if, like the old guilds, they had a prayer for every occasion. The members of these guilds were pious as well as provident." Gradually he drew them on to his own belief. "You call your vicar a Ritualist," he said; "why, you are the Ritualists. What else is the meaning of your banners, and badges, and processions? If I did not approve of it, I should not allow you to bring these things into the house of God; but I do, for Ritualism
