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THAXTED is an ancient town in Essex, on the river Chelmer, six miles from Dunmow, and forty-seven from London. It was formerly a borough, incorporated by charter of Philip and Mary; but its privileges were lost in the reign of James II.

carved heads of grotesque appearance form waterspouts. The ceiling of this church exhibits abundance of carved work, with representations of martyrdoms, legends of saints, grotesque physiognomies, and animals. The pulpit and font are fine specimens of ancient workmanship.

There were numerous altars and chapels here. The chapels were that of the Holy Trinity at the It appears to have been dependent on the col- north end of the transept, that of St. Anne at the lege of St. John the Baptist, founded at Clare in opposite end, the chapel of our lady at the east Edward the Confessor's time; and was part of the end of the south aisle in the chancel, and that of lordship of Clare bestowed by the Conqueror on St. John or St. Lawrence in the north aisle. The one of his relatives, from which the family as-original windows are ornamented with tracery sumed the appellation of De Clare.

Under the patronage of this noble house and their connexions the church of Thaxted was most probably erected. It is a fine specimen of ecclesiastical architecture, consisting of a nave, chancel, transept, and a tower crowned with a spire at the west end. The dimensions are as follow: ft. in. 89 0

....

Length of the nave
Ditto of the chancel
Ditto of the transept
Ditto of the whole building
from east to west.....
Height of the tower and

spire

49 8
86 0

183 0

181 0

The different parts of this church are supposed to have been built at different times. The south aisle and the south end of the cross aisle are the oldest parts. The south aisle has no pilasters for its ornament within, and had originally no buttresses for its support without. The windows, too, are here of the most simple character. The nave and south porch were afterwards built; then the tower and spire; and subsequently the chancel, which would seem to have been completed in the reign of Edward IV. The north porch is of later date.

The whole fabric is embattled, and supported by strong buttresses, terminated by canopied niches, crowned with purfled pinnacles of curious workmanship. On each buttress, below the niches,

VOL. XXV.

and painted glass. Thus there are portraits of females in the twelve smaller lights of the great window at the south end of the cross aisle, four of which are said to be St. Mary, St. Affra, St. Katharine, and St. Petronilla. In four of the windows at the entrance of the nave are the arms of De Burgh, earl of Ulster, and in the principal window of the north side of the church are those of Edmund earl of March, son-in-law of Lionel duke of Clarence, one of the children of king Edward III. There are cognizances elsewhere of other eminent individuals, as of king Edward IV. in the chancel; and these may be taken either as showing that those to whom they pertained were benefactors of the building, or at least that the parts in which such memorials appear were erected in their times.

Thaxted church has suffered various casualties. The great window at the north end was destroyed by a storm, Dec. 2, 1763; and the opposite window was much damaged. In the summer of 1814 the spire was injured by lightning; and, when scaffolding had been erected, and the mutilated part was being taken down, a violent storm in the following December overthrew the scaffolding, and most of the remnant of the spire, damaging also the body of the church. These injuries have been completely repaired; and it may be added that a stained window at the east end a few years ago replaced the old one, which was much broken, and disfigured.

M

The manor-house of Horam Hall stands in the parish about two miles from the church. It appears to have been erected by sir John Cutts in the sixteenth century, and is a stately edifice, a valuable specimen of the style of domestic architecture which immediately succeeded the ancient castellated structures. The tower of Horam Hall was inhabited by queen Elizabeth during part of the reign of her sister Mary; and, after she succeeded to the crown, she had a pleasure in revisiting the mansion.

The population of Thaxted at the census of 1841 was 2,527*.

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YESTERDAY the corn stood thick and strong, with bright and fragrant flowers: winged insects fluttered among them, and beneath the arching grain, where such small animals seek for shelter: to-day the sickle has laid low its all of beauty and luxuriance. Not a glancing wing is seen, not a footstep heard, throughout the field. The leveret hides there no longer, nor yet the busy nibbling mouse: the female partridge warned her young away; and even the industrious bee seeks another pasture. Some take shelter in the hedge: others hasten to a neighbouring copse. One is seen darting through the long grass of the adjoining meadow: another climbs rapidly the stony bank, covered with furze and such wild flowers as afford a ready home to many an insect emigrant. Methought, while looking at them, how admirably are these wayfaring creatures endowed with capacities for enjoyment! they are rarely disturbed by adverse circumstances; but, when these occur, they cheerfully depart from their accustomed haunts to the nearest shelter, where they find subsistence, and chirp merrily, as heretofore.

Surely it is pleasant to watch the reapers at their work, to hear the rustling of the ripe grain, and the sweep of the rapid sickle. Thoughts of thankfulness arise within the mind; deep feelings, too, as the mental view, back glancing through long ages, sees in the time of harvest one of those vast links in the continuous chain of blessings which have remained unbroken amid the wreck of nations. Antediluvian husbandmen rejoiced as they cut down the ripe grain that rustled on the harvest-fields of the ancient earth: corn sprung up when the family of Noah trod again firm land, and hailed the glorious sunbeams bursting from among the darkly retreating clouds, and again their gleaming sickles laid prostrate the ripened grain. Jewish mothers gleaned with their children, in fields which the Lord had blessed, when their wanderings during forty years had ceased, and they saw once more fields of wheat, with their beauteous garniture of flowers.

Ruth

*For several particulars here mentioned, this notice is indebted to Wright's "History of the County of Essex."

gathered after the reapers on the plains of Bethlehem at the time of harvest, and Jewish maids and matrons among the rich brown sheaves of Dedan.

Thus are generations bound together by the coming round of seasons, and by observances that remain unchanged.

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Those who like to watch the putting forth of strength with unity may find much to interest What quietthem during the time of harvest. ness and steadiness are obvious! what oneness of purpose! The reapers, ranged in a line, bend as one man as one they fill their arms with the full ears; and then is heard the rustling sound of the rapid sickle sweeping through the grain; other movement, and the corn is laid upon the stubble. Next comes the binding of the sheaves, and the placing them in shocks open to the wind; and how beautiful they look when ranged across the field, like mimic tents, gloriously shone upon by a bright September sun! But, instead of tiny warriors, such as the belated peasant dreams he sees, doffing the targe and spear, and resting in the shadow of their tents, groups of merry children collect the fallen flowers, and bind them into posies; often, too, are small toddling "wee things" laid to sleep beneath the shelter of the stacks which their careful mothers have piled together. Next come the gleaners, all glee and gossip. You may hear their voices in the green lane, or beside the wood, long before they reach the field; but, when the stile is tumbled over by the children, and the slamming of the gate, with a long swing, by some unruly urchin, calls forth a reprimand from his mother, the business of gleaning steadily begins. And very important is this ancient usage to the cottagers. A woman, assisted by two or three active children, generally collects at least three clear bushels of wheat. When, too, showers are abroad, and the loaded waggon is hurried through narrow lanes to the farmer's yard, the rambling branches on either side lay the waggon under contribution. I have often seen large handfuls of grain dangling from the branches, or strewed upon the banks; and not more quickly than the waggon lumbers on its way, down some steep stony lane, hurry the women and children, with loud laughs and ready hands, filling their blue aprons, as they run,

with the scattered ears.

September is the time of barley-harvest. From field to field resounds the whetting of the scythe, and merrily are heard the voices of the barleymowers, as they work and sing:

Barley-mowers, here we stand,
One, two, three, a steady band:
True of heart, and stout of limb,
Ready in our harvest trim:
All a-row, with spirits blithe,
Now we whet the gleaming scythe.
Side by side, all bending low,
Down the swaths of barley go:
Stroke by stroke, as true as chime
Of the bells, we keep in time;
Then we whet the ringing scythe,
Standing mid the barley lithe.

Barley-mowers must be true,
Keeping still the end in view;
One with all, and all with one,
Working on, till set of sun;
Bending all, with spirits blithe,
Whetting all at once the scythe.

Day and night, and night and day,
Time, the mower, will not stay:
We may hear him in our path,
By the falling barley-swath :
While we sing with spirits blithe,
We may hear his ringing scythe.

Time, the mower, cuts down all,
High and low, and great and small:
Fear him not; for we will grow
Ready, like the field we mow-
Like the bending barley, lithe,

Ready for Time's whetted scythe.

When the stubble-fields are cleared, and the loaded waggon is driven, with loud shouts, into the farmer's yard; when, too, the sheaves are safely housed in the barn, where the bright warm sun tints them with a golden hue, then comes the harvest-home. Harvest-home! What pleasing associations are blended with those words! They bring, perchance, before the mental view of many a lone dweller in crowded cities the same old farm-house, with its gable end and rows of pigeon-holes, its crowded elms, and the ceaseless cawing of the sable brotherhood. And what more cheerful than the reality of such a wellremembered scene! Busy, bustling troops of fowls and turkeys, geese and pintadoes, throng around the open door, where the farmer's wife and merry damsels scrub and sing, and make all ready for the promised feast: village children return from out the fields, with baskets filled with poppies, and meadow-sweets, marjorams, and wild bazils, golden-coloured corn, sow-thistles, and yellow goats'-beards, with which to deck the hearth-stone. Lastly come the harvest-men, accompanied by their wives and children, passing in due order through the ample door-way, and ranging on either side the long oak tables. This ancient festivity, still honoured in its observance through many parts of Britain, is one to which the farming-men look forward throughout the year, and concerning which old people love to speak when their work is done; eras in the peasant's unvaried life-way-marks, from which to reckon marriages, and births, and christenings, and the laying to rest of aged ones beneath the shadow of the old grey church. Often, too, are higher thoughts awakened in the reapers' minds, when listening to the harvest-shout, which tells that the grain is sheltered in the garner. This ancient custom prevails in the west of England. Equally solemn and affecting, it recalls to mind the admonition of the prophet, to beware lest any should remain ungathered when the shouting for the summer fruits and for the harvest is fallen. The gathering of apples and making them into eyder forms another era in the history of September. An apple orchard is beautiful both in spring and autumn. The pure white or delicate pink of its early blossoms is unrivalled; and, when the drooping branches are covered with ripe fruit, how goodly is the appearance which they present! Brown russets and spice apples, with bright streaks, golden pippins and winter rennets, hang ready to the hand; and often do the loaded boughs require propping with strong stakes, lest they should break down with their own weight. Passing, some years since, through that part of Devonshire which abounds with orchards, at the time of apple gathering, our

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way led through green lanes, bordered on either side by noble trees, loaded with ripe fruit of various tints and hues apples lay in heaps upon the ground, ready for removing to the cyder-mill; and, though neither cottages nor farm-houses met the view for a considerable distance, so plentiful were they that none remained to watch them. At length a turn in the road brought us within view of one of those cottage-homes which are the pride of England, where a range of bee-hives and a garden filled with flowers tell of plenty and security. An orchard adjoined the garden; and the cottager, having climbed a richly-laden tree, was carefully gathering the choicest fruit, while his wife assisted her boys in shaking the branches of contiguous trees, with long poles. Down came the apples in showers upon the grass; and, when they had ceased falling, young children came joyfully to collect them into heaps. This simple wayside scene was one of exceeding beauty: it brought to my remembrance days long past, when I watched with childish glee the shaking down of apples, and the carrying them in large baskets to a rustic cyder-mill, which stood on the verge of a large orchard; and I remember it the more vividly because that mill was worked by a dumb man, with whom a kind of mysterious awe was connected, in consequence of a wild and terrible story that pertained to his young days. Few among the village children liked to go near him-no, not even the most dauntless youths, such even as boasted that they could pass through the churchyard when the tall white tombstones stood forth in the bright moonbeams; and I question whether the finest fruit would not have been perfectly safe, though laid in heaps beside the mill, when worked by old Robin.

Look towards the church tower, should you have one contiguous, but, if not, to some cottageroof, for the assembling of the swallow people. The swift went hence in August; and now, when additional constellations are added to those of last month, and stars seen dimly heretofore begin to sparkle in the immensity of space, the hirundines are all in motion. Their arrival in the spring was hailed with joy; and a feeling of regret mingles with their going hence, although their nimble evolutions form an interesting feature in the present month, and none are more amusing in the little world of rural sights by which we are surrounded. They congregate as if in serious consultation: a looker-on might almost fancy that the older and more experienced were giving counsel to the younger; but in a moment resound loud twitterings; and away they fly, wheeling in sportive circles, or darting to some distance, and then perching on the roof. Thus they deliberate and exercise their wings, till he who rises in the morning, and goes forth to observe their agile movements, sees them no more in their accustomed places of resort. The old church tower is deserted, and lonely looks the cottage roof where their jet wings were contrasted with the yellow lichens and bright houseleek. They pass unseen from the shores of Britain-for no one has yet observed them-traversing the fields, and speeding over the wide sea, without chart or compass. No trees grow beside their course, neither shrubs nor Howers to serve as way-marks remembered in their beauty and uprising; nor yet the mellow tints of

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