"Well, you see, sir, my wife says to me, 'William, you might turn your time to better account than going up to the church with Richard Atkinson to-day. You'd be able to earn five shillings, and that would just pay for the new ribbon for my bonnet, which indeed I do want very much.' 'I really believe you do, my dear,' says I, 'and so I must just alter my plans a little. I thought I wanted a new Sunday hat very much indeed, and I was just going to buy one at Master Dole's the other day, when thinks I to myself—no, I mustn't buy it, because I shall lose a day's earnings at church next week, so I'll give the new hat to the church, and have one for myself six months hence. But that's no reason why you should lose your ribbons, so I'll over-work for a few days, and earn the ribbons that way.' You see, Mr. Ambrose, I was thinking of that text, 'God forbid that I should offer to the Lord my God of that which doth cost me nothing.' Well, sir, them words softened her a good deal; but then she says to me, 'William, what's the use of all them ornaments at the church? I really do call it waste of time and money.' 'My dear,' says I, 'there's something better than use, I mean as you and I talk of use, there is such a thing as doing things out of love and reverence for God, and for nothing else, and that's what I should like to do if I can. There wasn't no more use in the precious ointment which the good woman poured on our Saviour's head, than in these ornaments we put up in His church. And you know who it was that called that a waste, and you know who it was too that praised her for what she did[183].' 'I think you're right,' says she; and so I came away."
"And so you were, my friend. But it's hard to persuade people that there is such a thing as a worship of adoration, prompted simply by a sense of love, gratitude, veneration, entirely apart from all idea of benefit, advantage, or use to ourselves in any way. As you rightly say, however, there is.—But I see the children have finished the frames for the clerestory[184] windows, so you had better put them up."
"You mean the windows just under the roof, sir?"
"Yes; it is not safe for them to climb so high."
"I suppose you won't attempt to carry your decorations higher than that, Mr. Vicar?" said the Squire, as he approached to see how the work was going on.
"No, that must satisfy us. Indeed, this roof is so rich in colour and carving that we could hardly make it look more festive than it does."
"It is, indeed, a grand old roof; but I rather prefer the high-pitched roof of the chancel to this flatter one of the nave, though certainly nothing can be more beautiful than its carving. The figures of angels on the corbels[185] supporting the principal timbers are exceedingly well done. What do you imagine to be the dates of these two roofs?"
"I should say that that in the chancel was built about A.D. 1350, and this in the nave about A.D. 1500. These flatter roofs of our perpendicular period do not any of them date much farther back than A.D. 1500[186]."
"I quite agree with you in preferring the older high-pitch for our timber roofs. By-the-bye, it is a curious conception that this particular kind of roof has a likeness to the inverted keel of the ark[187]—itself an emblem of the Christian Church. But I prefer to regard it, as I do the windows, and doors, and arches of pointed architecture, as an emblem of the incompleteness of our worship here. As I look up through the intricate multitude of timbers, and my gaze becomes lost amid the dark top beams of the roof, my thoughts are insensibly led higher still[188]. There is something in these lofty open roofs that always seems to invite one's thoughts above them—so different from the flat ceilings of most dissenting meeting-houses, and some of our churches built a hundred years ago. To me these flat ceilings are very depressing."
"Yes; and not a little irritating too, when you consider what splendid timber roofs in old churches, they often conceal. Ugly, however, and objectionable as they are, they have the one merit of being unpretending; and give me any thing rather than a sham—a lath-and-plaster roof with papier-maché or stucco bosses, and all sorts of painting and shading in perspective, in imitation of wood or stone, making the poor roof guilty of a perpetual lie. I do own that tries my temper immensely!"