Cibberton. T has been justly considered that one of the most pleasing characteristics of English scenery, on which the heart of the native loves to dwell in the contrast it presents to the peculiarities of foreign lands, is the appearance of our village churches, dotting the verdant landscape on hill and plain, and suggesting thoughts of perpetual beauty, peace, and religious repose. There they lie in the vale, snugly embosomed in the parasitic ivy, peeping forth from among solemn, aged trees, almost coeval with Christianity itself; there they are on the hill, with their tall spires pointing heavenward, a beacon to the surrounding country; there they are, where the river sweeps by green meadows on its way to the sea; there they are, nestling under the covert of deep-brown woods, in the shadow of romantic ravines, on the naked outstretched plain, or in the centre of the hamlet, every where the landmarks of our common faith, the nuclei of human residence and civilization, the centres of so many confederated groups of our species, around which the duties of social and the affections of domestic life are daily weaving their net. The parish church may be a rude and humble dwelling; its walls composed of stones of all shapes and sizes, no trace of architectural embellishment save, perhaps, the chevron rudely cut by the Norman over its principal entrance, no elaborate tracery on the windows, but a patch of plaster here and there, disputing with the lichen for a place on the consecrated pile. Yet we contemplate the little church with an affection and a veneration which the dwelling of royalty itself may not command. This is the place from whence the prayers and aspi rations of our forefathers for many a long century have ascended to that God in whose glance the lapse of ages and even the history of our little globe itself are but as momentary incidents; under yon grey old tombstones, obliterated by the tooth of Time, lie their remains; and there, too, with all that we most dearly cherish, shall we have to await in silence the final summons, while our admonitory epitaphs for a few fleeting years implore the attention of the passer-by. The sensations of pious cheerfulness (says the poet Wordsworth) which attend the celebration of the sabbath day in rural places are profitably chastened by the sight of the graves of kindred and friends, gathered together in that general home towards which the thoughtful but happy spectators themselves are journeying. Hence a parish church, in the stillness of the country, is a visible centre of a community of the living and the dead, a point to which are habitually referred the nearest concerns of both. "The dead! how peacefully they sleep Beneath those aged trees, The curfew, as it slowly blends With winds and streams its tone, Seems breathing of departed friends How time is onward flying, It wakes the spirit's secret cells, My ramble to Tibberton, in company with a worthy and venerable friend, whose heart is ever open to nature's inspiration, was a full realisation of the afore-going picture, heightened perhaps by the quietude of the sabbath and the congenial atmosphere of a September day. The humble little church of Tibberton with its modest wooden spire first catches the eye as we ascend an elevation about four miles north-east of Worcester Cross, and here the scenery on all sides is truly enchanting. Still ascending, we reach the church, which is placed on a circular mound having almost an artificial appearance, and surrounding it are some delightful specimens of genuine English lanes, cottages and gardens, orchards, cross timbered dwellings, and farmyards. The whole picture was mellowed and beautified by the early sprinkling of autumnal tints, for every where Nature was exchanging her robe of green for one in which the thousand modifications of brown, red, and yellow, were interwoven ; while here and there might be seen the varying tints of the dahlia, hollyhock, nasturtium, and the flaring sunflower. The church appears to have been erected in the thirteenth century, the east window, and several other features, belonging to the Early English period; there are some lancet lights still remaining in the side walls, but the other windows are square headed, being modern insertions. The walls are low, with tiled roof; and the tower at the west end, as well as the little spire with which it is capped, is of wood and contains two bells; the entrance is at the west end, the wooden porch and doorway on the south being stopped up. On the north side a school room has been built up against and opens into the church. There were about forty-five boys and girls belonging to this school; and there is also in the village a daily infant school with about forty scholars. The church, as I have before said, is of the humblest description, consisting only of chancel and body, accommodating perhaps but few more than a hundred persons; there are no monuments of note, but on the south of the communion table is the trace of a piscina, and on the north a square recess anciently used in the celebration of the Easter mysteries; the church is well pewed, and the walls are scrupulously whitewashed-a mode of decoration which, while it gave this little primitive place of worship an air of extreme neatness and purity, was not open to the objections I have heretofore advanced against whitewash and plaster being made the hiding cloak of elaborate mouldings and other architectural beauties. When care and attention are bestowed on a sacred edifice, it may be generally taken as a guarantee of the worth and usefulness of the clergyman; I have rarely seen a due respect for the conservation of the material fabric disunited from an earnest anxiety for the welfare of the spiritual church. The present instance confirms the truth of the observation. And how pleasing it is to witness an united parish going up with a beloved minister to worship, on the regular recurrence of Sabbath or holy day, at that much cherished spot more venerated, but not dilapidated, through age-where their forefathers offered up their religious adoration. Some years ago the then waggish churchwarden of Tibberton suggested a rhyming couplet to be placed over the door of this church "A stone church, a wooden steeple A drunken parson, a wicked people." However suggestive of the former condition of Tibberton the churchwarden's jingle may have been, internal evidence, as well as the unanimous concurrence of the parishioners, would give it a direct refutation since the beginning of the present incumbency, the worthy vicar having left no available resources unemployed to improve the condition of his flock, to extend the blessing of education, to render his church a fitting place for the decent celebration of divine worship, and generally to earn for himself, by quiet and unassuming deportment, the affections of all who have the good fortune to associate with him. The repairs and improvements which he has promoted at Bredicot church (the rectory of which has been united with Tibberton into one living), are, I am informed, still more pleasing and appropriate.* There is but little if any dissent in the parish of Tibberton, and the school formerly belonging to the Countess of Huntingdon's persuasion is now merged into that connected with the church. This is one proof of the exercise of that assiduous care and Christian benevolence by a pastor *The example so worthily set has not been lost upon other clergymen in the neighbourhood, and I may perhaps instance the case of Broughton Hackett. A respectable farmer with whom I dined on the day of my visit to Tibberton told an anecdote by way of illustrating the condition of Broughton church some years ago. The then curate, a Mr. Grice, was in the habit of dining occasionally on a Sunday at the house of my agricultural friend; walking over from Broughton, which is an easy distance, for that purpose. One Sunday the farmer waited dinner for the clergyman till his goose was almost spoiled, and then thinking he would not come, he and his family set-to without him. At length his reverence appeared, puffing and blowing, and apologised for his unpunctuality by alleging that he had lost a great deal of time that morning through turning the pigs out of church! over his flock which truly "maketh men to be of one mind in a house," and endears the church establishment and her ministers to the great bulk of the people. Would that such instances were less rare! No less pleasing to me were the services of the day: the quietude of the spot, the neatness of that little unadorned but ancient place of worship, the chaste simplicity of our beautiful liturgy, and the reverent earnestness of the rustic band who attuned their untaught energies to sacred praise, all were harmoniously blended-a concurrent tribute to the great Author of our faith; and insensible indeed must he be who values not the privilege of living in a country where, unmolested, he may worship in temples such as these. The worthy curate who officiated was formerly Principal of Codrington College, Barbadoes there was much in his aspect and manner like a missionary: his countenance bore witness of the sweltering heats of other climates, and his voice was harsh and loud, as though haranging, from beneath a plantain tree, a large body of the dark tribes of Jamaica or of the yet remaining descendants of the aborigines of Trinidad or St. Vincent. His sermon was a good elucidation of the parable contained in Matthew, c. 21, v. 28 to 31; and so well was the subject treated of, that I saw but one member of the congregation inclined to "steep his senses in forgetfulness." The parish of Tibberton makes no very prominent figure in the history of this country. The only two notable circumstances that I know of are those contained in the MS. of Mr. Fellows, under master of the college school at Worcester, and vicar of Tibberton (temp. 1708), who says that he was credibly informed by some ancient men of the parish (although he does not vouch for the fact) that one Roger Tandy, who held the Boverium, being part of the demesne lands of the Dean and Chapter, was so very strong, that in the reign of James I., being at Sir John Pakington's, at Westwood, he took up a hogshead full of beer, and having drunk out of the bunghole, set it down again on the ground by the mere strength of his arms, without U |