lpit had supplanted the old portable box-desk at the time of the
Reformation, and had maintained itself in undiminished honour through
all the subsequent changes. In rich London parishes much rare
workmanship was often expended upon it. If not by its costliness, at all
events by its dimensions, it was apt to throw all other church furniture
into the shade. And 'in a few abnormal instances, particularly in
watering-places, the rostra would even overhang the altar, or occupy a
sort of gallery behind it.'[902] During the earlier part of the century,
an hour-glass, in a wood or iron frame, was still the not unfrequent
appendage to a pulpit.[903] In the Elizabethan period it had been
general. But perhaps the Puritan preachers had not cared to be reminded
that preaching had its limits; or a later generation, on the other hand,
might dread the suggestion that the sermon might last the hour. At all
events, as they wore out, they were not often replaced; and Bishop
Kennet[904], writing in the third decade of the century, spoke of them
as already beginning to be uncommon. They were chiefly to be seen in
old-fashioned country churches, such as that where, in Gay's eclogue,
the village swains followed fair Blouzelind to her burial, and listened
while the good man warned them from his text, and descanted upon the
uncertainty of life--

And spoke the hour-glass in her praise quite out.[905]

The bible 'of larger volume,' as directed in Lord Cromwell's
injunctions, and in the Canons of 1751[906], venerable with age, might
sometimes be seen still chained to its desk[907], as in the old days. In
Pope's time, church bibles were very commonly in black-letter type[908].

Litany desks were a great rarity. One in Exeter Cathedral appears to
have been disused about 1740[909].

Everyone knows what a neglected aspect the font usually bore during the
whole of the Georgian period; how it was often thrust into some corner
of the church, as if it were a kind of encumbrance that could not be
absolutely done away with, and very frequently supplanted by some basin
or pewter vessel placed inside it. In 1799 Carter recorded with
indignation that in Westminster Abbey the font had been altogether
removed, to make space for some new monument, and was lying topsy-turvy
in a side room[910]. In this, however, as in other respects, the neglect
that was too generally prevalent must of course not be spoken of as if
it were by any means universal.

Towar