In the shadow of Westminster Abbey stands a homely-looking edifice of Churchwarden’s Gothic. Uninviting as is the exterior of St. Margaret’s, its interior is most interesting and suggestive. Restored not many years ago with excellent taste and reserve, it has been gradually beautified under the direction and encouragement of the rector, Archdeacon Farrar; so that, small and unpretending as it seems, a couple of hours may be profitably spent in viewing it. The interior is of the collegiate pattern, with a flat panelled roof supported by airy and elegant columns with delicate mouldings. The walls have been judiciously allowed to display the outlines of their stones, which furnish good detail and background. No church of its size, perhaps, is so rich in tombs and tablets, all of which are more or less interesting; and they are disposed so as to heighten the general effect. Some are fitted on to the light columns, shield-like, and bent to the mouldings. Most of the memorials are of one formal kind; a bust or medallion in the middle, a pediment above, and below a black marble slab or tablet with the inscription. The marbles are mostly of rich russet tones, or of a plum tint.
The idea of making the painted windows illustrate the story of eminent persons connected with the place or parish is a happy one; for it enriches as well as beautifies the church. The legends, moreover, have been supplied by distinguished poets. One great window, which displays its brown and amber glories in honour of Queen Elizabeth and Sir Walter Raleigh, is a present from the Americans; and Mr. Lowell has written these lines for it:—
The New World’s sons, from England’s breast we drew
Such milk as bids remember whence we came;
Proud of the Past from which our Present grew,
This window we erect to Raleigh’s name.
The window is a handsome one, and is richer and deeper in its tones than its fellows. Long ago a meagre white tablet with a bold inscription was placed here by “The Roxburghe Club,” to commemorate Caxton. Over the tablet a painted window has recently been fitted, the gift of the printers of London—a happy and becoming tribute; while the Laureate, who has given abundant work to printers all over the globe, has supplied these lines:—
Thy prayer was “light, more light while time shall last;”
Thou sawest a glory growing on the night,
But not the shadows which that light will cast
Till shadows vanish in the light of light.
Some of the side windows are poor and thin in tone, as if done in water-colour; but the rich depth and gorgeousness of the great window—as of old wine seen deep down in the glass—eclipses the rest. There is also a window to the memory of the ill-fated Lord Frederick Cavendish. The inscription is not particularly happy, and his fellow-victim is described as “Mr. T. N. Burke.” Another commemorative window which seems prosaic is that of the Jubilee, the Queen in the centre, in full view of her great ancestor Elizabeth. Here Mr. Browning furnished the verse:—
Fifty years’ flight! Where should he rejoice
Who hailed their birth, who as they die decays?
This—England echoes his attesting voice,
Wondrous and well, thanks, Ancient Thou of days!
A regular riddle or crux, which strains the wit, as we ponder over the meaning. Merriment and wonder were alike excited by the last line, with its odd punctuation:—
“Wondrous and well, thanks, Ancient Thou of days!”
There is also the Milton window—the Poet’s wife and daughter are buried here—given by another amiable American, Mr. Childs, with an inscription by Whittier:—