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about 1372. In the sixteenth century not only the effigies themselves but the whole monument, with a canopy and other decoration, were made of wood as in the case—a very beautiful one—of Sir Alexander Culpeper at Goudhurst in Kent. Oak was, naturally, the wood in general use, but we find elm and chestnut also. An examination of the figures shows that it was the practice to make them lighter by hollowing them out; and to dry the wood and perhaps to dry the colouring also, they were filled with burning, or partially burnt, coal. Remains of this still exist in some cases. In accordance with universal practice the whole work was elaborately painted and gilded, the gesso raised in parts for tooling and jewelling, the colours thin and flatted, and the gilding deadened and usually on an ochreous base. Many of these figures have since been painted white to imitate marble or alabaster. For this reason the fact that they are of wood frequently escapes attention: for example, in the case of the effigy in St. Saviour's, Southwark. Notwithstanding the carelessness and impiety of succeeding ages, we are fortunate in possessing as many as we do (about ninety or a hundred) of these figures, no less interesting than their companions in other materials. And we may remember that the neglect which has overcome some of them, and the destruction of many more, are due to events and causes subsequent to the Reformation, for a proclamation of Elizabeth in 1560 expressly forbade the 'breaking and defacing of tombs, and the effigies of kings, princes, nobles, or of any others set up for the memory of them to their posterity.' Here are records, each in his own village church, of the knight who fell fighting in battle in the Crusades, or— yet always in his knightly armour—who died peacefully at home. Here, inscribed, is handed down to posterity the story of their deeds of valour, or of honours, of their ambitions, of their charities. Here is the simple prayer in always the same set terms addressed to the passer-by to pray for the soul of the person represented. Perhaps there is hardly anywhere else in England so late an example as in the effigies of the fifth Earl of Westmoreland and his three wives at Staindrop (the last being his deceased wife's sister). He died in 1564, but the tomb was made in 1560, and bears inscribed round the edge: 'All you who come to the churche to pray a Paternoster and a Crede for to have mercy of us and all our progeny.' In the case of Sir John Savile at Thornhill, Yorks, who died 1529, the knight lies between his two wives on a wooden altar-tomb bearing shields of arms, and this curious inscription in Gothic characters: 'Bonys emong stonys lys here ful styl— Qwylste the sawle wanderis were that God wyl. In Anno D.m. millesimo quingentissimo vigesimo none' Here are men and women dressed in the costumes of times long past, with their jewels and ornaments upon them. These are valuable details in the history of costume. They are not always free from anachronisms. In some cases, it may have been before, in others some years after death, that the monument was set up. It can scarcely be doubted, also, that in all figures of this kind, of whatever material, there was wholesale shop-work, kept in stock and ordered from London, York, and other great centres. There would, again, have been copying, and perhaps using figures made at an earlier date, though none would have been ordered from abroad as is the case with brasses. The wooden effigies before us are unfortunately almost completely restricted to the noble and ecclesiastical class. Of lesser personages, of the yeoman who worshipped in the village church, and of his dame, of the wealthy woolstapler or other prosperous merchant we have but three examples, but they are interesting ones. The first is at Eaton under Haywood, Shropshire, in civilian costume, wearing a long gown and close-fitting hood. The second at Much Marcle, Herefordshire, has a long, tight-buttoned tunic to the knees, a hooded cape over the shoulders, is crosslegged, and the feet rest upon a lion, the tail of which curls round the left foot. The figure, Mr. Fryer tells us, is considered by Mr. James Wood, who had access to the manuscript histories of Herefordshire in the library of the Benedictine cathedral priory at Belmont, to be the effigy of Sir Hugh Helyon, removed from Ashperton, to the new chantry chapel about 1414. The identification is, however, extremely doubtful. The third is a civilian, with his wife, at Little Baddow, Essex.

There is always in these as in similar effigies in other materials a pathetic interest and even a kind of universally recognized symbolism. The knight, in the fashion which is peculiarly English, often lies not absolutely still, but as if in life, one leg bent, the hand unsheathing the sword, ready, as it were, to start up. We have a particularly strong example of this in the effigy at Chew Magna (Plate Xlv11l). In the case of ladies there is something homely in the dog which lies at his mistress's feet, often an obvious pet dog which even yet looks up into her face. Neglect, restorations, and repainting have, unfortunately, worked havoc amongst these figures. Even when—as there is evidence to show—the original polychroming still remained fairly intact, it was considered that they would look far better masquerading as stone or alabaster. At Banham the effigy of a knight of the early fourteenth century was painted and sanded so successfully that a writer in Notes and Queries says that it 'now looks almost as well as stone.' In the beginning of the nineteenth century the splendid tomb with the effigies of three members of the family of Games of Aberbrain and their wives, on three tiers of oaken beds elaborately carved, painted and gilded, in the church of St. John the

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