the olden time, bells were baptized—rantized I presume—and wore posies on their collars. They were first cast in England, in the reign of Edmund I., and the first tunable set, or peal, for Croyland Abbey, was cast AD 960. Weever tells us, in his Funeral Monuments, that, in 1501, the bells of the Priory of Little Dunmow, in Essex, were baptized, by the names of St. Michael, St. John, Virgin Mary, &c. As late as 1816, the great bell of Notre Dame, in Paris, was baptized, by the name of the Duke of Angouleme. Bells were supposed to be invested with extraordinary powers. They were employed, not only to call the congregation together, to give notice of conflagrations, civil commotions, and the approach of an enemy, and to ring forth the merry holiday peal—but to quell tempests, pacify the restless dead, and arrest the very lightning. Bells often bore inscriptions like these:
Laudo Deum verum, plebem voco, conjugo clerum,
Defunctos ploro, pestem fugo, festa decoro.
Funera plango; Fulgura frango; Sabbata pango;
Excito lentos; Dissipo ventos; Paco cruentos.
The passing bell was the bell, which announced to the people, according to Mabillon, that a spirit was taking its flight, or passing away, and demanding their prayers. Bells were also used to frighten away evil spirits, that were supposed to be on the watch, for their customers. The learned Durandus affirms, that all sorts of devils have a terror of bells. This, of course, can only be true of bells, that have been received into the flock, that is, baptized. Such was the Popish belief, and that the very devil, himself, cared not a fig, for an unbaptized bell. De Worde, in his Golden Legend, sayeth “it is said the evill spirytes that ben in the regyon of the ayre doubte moche, when they here the belles rongen, and this is the cause why the belles ben rongen, whan it thondreth, and when grate tempests and outrages of wether happen, to the ende that the feinds and wycked spirytes should be abashed and flee, and cease of the movinge of tempests.”
Compared with the big bells of the earth—ours—the very largest—are cowbells, at best. The great bell of St. Paul’s weighs 8400 pounds—a small affair; Great Tom of Lincoln, 9894—Great Tom of Oxford, 17,000. This is precisely the weight of the bell of the Palazzo, at Florence;—St. Peter’s at Rome, 18,607—the great bell at Erfurth, 28,224—St. Joan’s bell, at Moscow, 127,836—the bell of the Kremlin, 443,772. The last is the marvel of travellers, and its metal, at a low estimate, is valued at £66,565. During the fusion of this bell, considerable quantities of gold and silver were cast in, the pious contribution of the people. This enormous mass has never been suspended.
There was a bell—parvis componere magna—a very little bell indeed—very—a perfect tintinabulum. It made a most ridiculous noise. An account of this bell may be found, in a pamphlet, entitled Historical Notices, &c., of the New North Religious Society, in the town of Boston, 1822. It weighed, says the writer, “between three and four hundred.” Twelve or thirteen hundred such bells, therefore, would just about counterpoise the bell of the Kremlin. “Its tone,” says the writer, “was unpleasant.” The preposterous clatter of this bell was, nevertheless, the gathering cry of the worshippers, at the New North Church, for the term of eighty-three years, from 1719 to 1802, when it was purchased by the town of Charlton, in the county of Worcester; probably to frighten the evyll spirytes, in the shape of wolves and foxes, abounding there, that would be likely to doubte moche, when this bell was ben rongen. Not to look a gift horse in the mouth is a proverb—not to criticise the tone of a gift bell may be another. This bell, which a stout South Down wether might almost have carried off, was the gift of Mr. John Frizzell, a merchant of Boston, to the New North Church, on the island of North Boston, as all that portion of the town was then called, lying North of Mill Creek. On the principle which gave the title of Bell the Cat to the famous Archibald, Frizzell should have borne the name of Bell the Church. Let it pass: Frizzell and his little bell are both translated. The tongue of the former is still; that of the latter still waggeth, I believe, in the town of Charlton.
The authenticity of the statements in the pamphlet to which I have referred, admits not of a doubt. The name of its highly respectable author, though not upon the title-page, appears in the certificate of copyright; and, in the range of my limited reading, I have met with nothing, more curious and grotesque, than his account of the installation of the Rev. Peter Thacher, over the New North Church, Jan. 27, 1720. Upon no less respectable evidence, would I have believed, that our amiable ancestors could have acted so much like evil spirytes, upon such an occasion. I have not elbow room for the farce entire—one or two touches must suffice. After agreeing upon a mode of choosing a colleague, for the Rev. Mr. Webb, and pitching upon Mr. Thacher, a quarrel arose, among the people. The council met, on the day of installation, at the house of the Rev. Mr. Webb, at the corner of North Bennet and Salem Streets. The aggrieved assembled, at the house of Thomas Lee, in Bennet Street, next to the Universal meeting-house. A knowledge of these points is necessary, for a correct understanding of the subsequent strategy. If the Council attempted to go to the New North Church, through the street, in the usual way, they must necessarily pass Lee’s house. The aggrieved waited on the Council, by a committee, requesting them not to proceed with the installation of Mr. Thacher; and assuring them, that, if they persisted, force would be used, to prevent their occupation of the church.
Instead, therefore, of proceeding through the street, the Rev. Mr. Webb led the Council, by his back gate, through Love Lane, and a little alley, leading to the meeting-house, and thus got possession of the pulpit. Thus, by a knowledge of by-ways, so important in the petite guerre, the worthy clergyman outwitted the malcontents. A mob, to whom an installation, in such sort, was highly acceptable, had already gathered. The party at Lee’s house, being apprised of the ruse, and perceiving they were in danger of the council, flew to the rescue. They rushed into the church; vociferously forbade the proceedings, and were “indecent,” says the writer, “almost beyond credibility.” “However incredible,” continues the narrator, “it is a fact, that some of the most unruly did sprinkle a liquor, which shall be nameless, from the galleries, upon the people below.” The wife of Josiah Langdon used to tell, with great asperity, of her being a sufferer by it. This good lady retained her resentment to old age—the filthy creatures entirely spoiled a new velvet hood, which she had made for the occasion, and she could not wear it again.
In the midst of this uproar, Mr. Thacher was installed. “The malcontents,” says the writer, “went off in a bad humor. They proceeded to the gathering of another church. In the plenitude of their zeal, they first thought of denominating it the Revenge Church of Christ; but they thought better of it, and called it the New Brick Church. However, the first name was retained, for many years, among the common people. Their zeal was great, indeed, and descended to puerility. They placed the figure of a cock, as a vane, upon the steeple, out of derision of Mr. Thacher, whose Christian name was Peter. Taking advantage of a wind, which turned the head of the cock towards the New North Meeting-house, when it was placed upon the spindle, a merry fellow straddled over it, and crowed three times, to complete the ceremony.” The solemn, if not the sublime, and the ridiculous, seem, not unfrequently, to have met together at ordinations, in the olden time. “I could mention an ordination,” says the Rev. Leonard Woods, of Andover, in a letter, written and published, a few years since, “that took place about twenty years ago, at which I, myself, was ashamed and grieved, to see two aged ministers literally drunk; and a third indecently excited with strong drink. These disgusting and appalling facts I should wish might be concealed. But they were made public, by the guilty persons; and I have thought it just and proper to mention them, in order to show how much we owe to a compassionate God, for the great deliverance he has wrought.” Legitimate occasion for a Te Deum this, most certainly.
No. XXXVIII.
The
