GRAY'S MONUMENT-AND ELEGY. 47 the name, age, &c. and mentions that the poet's remains sleep in the neighbouring churchyard, in the same tomb with his mother's, and bearing no other than the affectionate inscription by which he commemorated her virtues. It was so dark when I arrived at the churchyard, that I could only read the words "careful and tender mother"yet what a wealth of affection, what a world of solicitude and love, what a life of cares never to be repaid nor described, do those few words set forth! "What care It was among the last shadows of the late evening twilight that I commenced my walk homeward-if, alas! a traveller's home can be called home at all. As I left the park, one of those contrasts presented itself which "the lights and shadows" of life are so constantly depicting upon the many-coloured web of our reflections. Windsor Castle, seen in the distance, was just then lighted up for the evening. we," I said, "who built its mighty towers, compared with the interest we feel in him, who built the simple rhyme of the Elegy on this country churchyard! I had rather take my chance for fame in these few lines, which genius in its holy hour of inspiration has written, than in all that the royal masters of Windsor Castle have done, during the varied and anxious lives which have fretted themselves away, till the exclamation has arisen, as it did from the dying bed of George the Fourth, 'Oh God! this is death!'" I should have mentioned that three sides of Gray's monument bear appropriate inscriptions from his own verses; two of them were from the Elegy, the other I cannot refer to. On one side were the following stanzas: "Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, Another side bore these: "One morn I miss'd him from th' accustom'd hill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he. The next, with dirges due, in sad array, Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne- His monument, looking towards the churchyard, still seemed to be uttering the language of his living thoughts. It was long, I assure you, as I turned back from this spot, before I dropped the folded arms, and fell into the common-place gait of this worldly journey. WINDSOR CASTLE, August 15.-I found the state-rooms shut up, in preparation for fêtes about to be given on occasion of the king's birthday, next week. I could therefore only walk around the Castle, and go into St. George's Chapel; which I did during the daily morning service. I asked an attendant (a sort of sexton or keeper, several of whom are always connected with, and usually found about, all the cathedrals) whether the king was present at this daily worship; and was answered that he attended only on Sunday. The royal family pew is in a sort of screened gallery. The chapel is a beautiful specimen of showy Gothic, consisting of a nave and choir. The banners of the Knights of the Garter are hung in the choir; the carved canopies in oak are very rich, and as old as Henry the Sixth. Nothing seems to me more sad than these daily cathedral or chapel services, as I have usually seen them; a few official persons with the singers make half of the attendance; the music, the singing, always very admirable, the result of constant practice-the glorious structure, the carved work, the appurtenances, so to speak, of the service-all beautiful, all rich, all fitted to touch the imagination and move the heart: but here is the sadness-it seems all to be gone through as a form; the singing men and boys perform their part like automatons; the reading and chanting of the service (and the reading is a sort of chanting) seems not to be aided by one particle of unction. In a high state of devotional excitement, I can very well conceive of it as natural to sing out one's thoughts; but this sort of utterance without the excitement appears something dismal and distressing. Windsor Castle has an aspect of firmness and durability beyond any I have seen in England. The stone of which it is built is apparently harder for all the building stone in England is very soft. It is this, I think, that accounts for the vast amount of Gothic work-the thousands of chiselled pillars and pinnacles—which never would have been done in granite. If the buildings of England were in granite or marble, it would be far more rich in architectural treasures. Now they are, wherever exposed to the weather, fast mouldering away. Windsor Castle is surrounded on every side by gravelled walks and terraces, from which there are fine views. It looked to me like a joyless place of abode-no retirements-no bowers-no shaded walks, immediately adjoining it: a little garden is on the side of the private apartments, but its shrubbery is not high enough to furnish any screen or drapery to the fifteen or twenty statues placed in it. LONDON, August 16.-London I must leave till a future day, as I set off in a week for the Continent. In the mean time, I shall indulge here in some of the many reflections which six weeks in England have forced upon me. One of the subjects which not only the existing state of things, but which continual conversation, at the present moment, urges upon the attention of the American traveller, is the different method adopted in England and America, for the public support of religion. In England, Christianity is established and supported by law, and it is established in a particular form. With us it is sustained by the voluntary contribution of individuals, and no preference is given to any sect. The question between these two modes of proceeding is likely to become in England one of the most agitating interest, and of the most profound importance. In proportion as the people are better informed -in proportion as they read and think more, they are likely to differ from one another more widely, at least on minor points of doctrine and ritual. And with every step of this progress, the demand for religious WINDSOR CASTLE.- 49 freedom must grow stronger. And with the growth of this demand, and of juster ideas of religion, it will be more and more felt, that the voluntary and the impartial plan of supporting religious institutions, is, in principle, the most reasonable, the most tolerant, and the most congenial with the spirit of Christianity. So that the only question will be, whether religion can be supported in this manner. This particular question is becoming, at the present moment, one of great interest in England. The Dissenters are demanding to be relieved from their burdens. Petitions to Parliament, either for an entire abolition of the union between church and state, or for an essential modification of that union, have, it is well known, become matters of almost every-day occurrence. There is a determination on this point, which must at length succeed; and I must say, indeed, from my own impressions about the hardship of the case, that if the Dissentersif those whose consciences, and property, and personal respectability, are alike invaded by the church establishment, will not cause their voice and the voice of justice to be heard, they deserve to be oppressed! It is in vain to talk about the revenues of the church as a bequest from former times, sacred from all profane hands. It is true; but it is nothing to the purpose. It is true; but whose are the profane hands? If the church endowments were a bequest for the benefit of any particular class of Christians, it was for the Catholics. The largest portion of them were actually Catholic endowments. If it is proper that they should be diverted from that original design at all, it ought at least to be done in aid and furtherance of the whole religion of the country. Is one half of the people to be visited with the forfeiture of these advantages, for their honest dissent? Suppose that the attendants on the episcopal churches should dwindle away to a tenth part of the population. Suppose that its adherents should number but a thousand persons in the kingdom. Would it be right that these persons should monopolize all the immense revenues of the church? Would the country endure such a body of ecclesiastical princes, presiding over deserted cathedrals? or would it endure the argument that should undertake to sustain them in such a position? I would not advocate the abolition of tithes, but their distribution among all the religious sects of the country, in the proportion of their numbers. This, of course, would leave much to be done by the voluntary principle; and cannot that principle be trusted to do much, in a country where half of the population are nobly supporting their own pastors, and paying tithes to pastors of another flock? And what now is the reward of this noble behaviour? I am a stranger in the country, and may err; but it appears to me that there is a good deal of church scorn here. No man, I think, can travel through this country without knowing that the Dissenters are frequently treated in a manner amounting to absolute indignity? As to the injustice of the system, it is well known. The Dissenter is excluded from the universities. In fact, he can neither be born, nor baptized, nor married, nor buried, but under the opprobrium of the law. And now, what is alleged in defence of this state of things? no prin * That is to say, there can be no legal registration of his birth; his baptismal certificate does not entitle him to legal marriage; and he can receive neither marriage nor burial from the hands of his own pastor. Ꭰ ciple or pretence of justice that ever I have heard, but only the principle of expediency. It is said, that monopoly and exclusion here are necessary. It is said, that religion cannot be supported in dignity and honour, without ample endowments and rich benefices. It is said, that no reliance whatever can be placed upon the voluntary principle. It is constantly alleged, that America has failed in the attempt to sustain religion upon that basis. This question will make our religious statistics-an account, that is to say, of the number of our churches, and the number of their attendants, and of the salaries of their pastors-a matter of very great importance. When this account is made out, I have no doubt that it will redound to the triumph of the voluntary principle. I have no doubt it will appear, that, in proportion to the population, more people attend church in America, and larger funds are raised for the support of public worship and instruction, than in any other country. I have no doubt it will appear that religion may be left for its support to the feelings which it inspires in the world; that it needs, no more than science or literature, the patronage of governments; that it may, in fine, be safely confided to the care of Heaven, and to the piety of its children. But it is not enough to say, that religion does not want the state; it is injured by the state. It always suffers from its union with the state. State patronage tends to give religion a mercenary and a mechanical character. Religion is liable to lose something of its vital character, when it is made to depend on a compulsory support. And it ceases, moreover, to be a common interest, when its affairs are managed, when its institutions are regulated, and its officers are appointed, by a few. Government has no business to intermeddle with religion. It may extend a general countenance and fostering care to it, as it may to learning and the arts. But it might as well, as fitly, undertake to prescribe what men shall think about matters of science, or what shall be the laws of criticism and taste, as to prescribe religious creeds and the methods of enforcing them. The proper business of government is to take charge of the political and civil interests of a kingdom. The moment they enter into the interior departments of the mind-those interior regions of thought and feeling, where the mind for itself, and in perfect freedom, must work out its own welfare-they show that they are entirely out of their sphere, by their complete inefficiency to do good, and their powerful efficiency to do evil. Is not this one reason, in fact, why Christianity has failed to set up that empire in the minds of men, which it was evidently designed and destined to obtain? Is it not, in part, because its pure, simple, solemn authority has been enfeebled by the intervention of political patronage and influence? Has it not been ambitious to make itself strong, not in men's consciences, but in establishments, and enactments, and creeds, and forms? Has it not thus been made a worldly interest, rather than a spiritual conviction? a due observance of rites, rather than a strict practice of virtues? a creed rather than a faith, and an institution rather than an action-the great action of life? Has not the effect of state interposition been, in fact, to sever religion from the heart-since it has taken religion into its own keeping, and will not trust it to the care, or free examination, of individual minds; since it has RELIGIOUS ESTABLISHMENTS.-RAMMOHUN ROY. 51 mystified and disguised the simple matter of keeping the heart, which is the whole matter of Christianity, with tests and prescriptions, and with state machinery of all sorts; so that inward virtue has been accounted nothing, by the temporal power, in comparison with outward compliance; so that the former, if it chance to be coupled with dissent, has been marked out for injury and disgrace, while the latter, however unprincipled, has been the passport to the highest honours, privileges, and trusts! However this may be, there certainly is an amazing insensibility in the world to the spiritual character of Christianity, which seems to require some special reasons to account for it. And I must venture to say, that, bad as the case is with us in America, it seems to me considerably worse in this country. Whoever shall visit this, the most religious nation in Europe, will find an acknowledged neglect of religion and laxity of morals among the higher classes, an acknowledged ignorance of religion, and inattention to its rites among the lower classes; yes, and an acknowledged coldness and mercenary spirit among many of the established clergy of this country, that will fill his mind with painful emotions, if not with painful questions.* * I can never forget the effect of this spectacle, as I observed it upon the mind of that celebrated Indian philosopher and Christian, who, instead of being permitted to fulfil the hopes of multitudes in a life of eminent usefulness, was destined to fall in the midst of his philanthropic labours, and to leave his remains to sleep far from his kindred, in the bosom of a strange land. There was something I may say here, since it is not altogether foreign to my purpose in introducing him-there was something touching in the very appearance, and certainly in the fate of this distinguished stranger, when viewed in contrast with the climate and country which he came to visit, and in which, as it proved, he came to die. A child of the soft Indian clime, with all the guileless simplicity and tenderness of a child; with a mind and frame flexible and swayed to each gentler impulse, as if it were to the soft, luxurious, Asiatic breeze of his own native valleys; with an all-embracing philanthropy, of which his oriental manners, all freedom and tenderness, were the fit expression-he appeared to me, amid the cold regions and cold manners alike of the North, as a being dragged from some more genial sphere; and there was something touching, almost as if it were cruel, in the fâte, by which such a being was destined to sink beneath a clime, and to mingle his dust with a country, that were not his, nor, in any respect, like his own. I must not, however, here linger upon the person and manners of this great and good man, but hasten to observe, that one of the most interesting private purposes with which Rammohun Roy came to Europe, was to witness a practical illustration of Christianity. He had revolved the truths of this pure and sublime system in his mind at home-the beautiful theory, the perfect model was in his thoughts, and it was not yet brought down to be reconciled, and partly identified with an unworthy practice, unworthily called Christian-and what now, will it be supposed, were Rammohun Roy's impressions, on surveying the religion of Christendom? I may further premise, that his interest in Christianity seemed as earnest and as vital as any I ever witnessed. It was evidently far more than a speculative faith with him. It seemed to be the absorbing feeling of his whole mind and heart. With such views and feelings, then, his impressions on witnessing the illustration which Christians are actually giving of their religion, were those of the deepest disappointment and the most profound sadness. There was nothing in him of that peevish or angry complaint, still less of that haughty reproach, which is so often found to accompany a depreciatory estimate of the virtues of Christians; but it was a pure, philanthropic, generous, Christian sadness. It was the sadness of sympathy, and disappointment, and wonder. He spoke of the spiritual lives that Christians ought to lead, and of the sacred and dear ties between them, and of the office |