MAGLWMartin
Contents
WILLIAM C. MARTIN 1792-1863
Senior Grand Warden, 1863 (died in office)
MEMORIAL
From Proceedings, 1863, Page VI-453:
"The committee appointed upon Resolutions in relation to the death of R. W. Bro. Wm. C. Martin. S. G. Warden of this Gd. Lodge submit the following.
"R. W. Bro. Wm. C. Martin died at his residence in Boston, on the third day of April 1863 aged 71 years. He had been a Mason for more than 36 years, for nearly 30 of which he was connected with Masonic Institutions in the capacity of Tyler, and continued to hold that relation to most of the Masonic Institutions in Boston to within a year of his death. He had served as Master of St John's Lodge and High Priest of St Andrew's Chapter, and for ten or twelve years was one of the Gd. Lecturers of the Gd. Lodge of Mass. In this latter capacity he did much to maintain the purity of our Ritual, and to cultivate a zeal among those who enjoyed his teachings. His relations to the fraternity, from his position at the Portals of our Institutions and his duties as Gd. Lee. made him familiar to those who visited our Lodges in this city or studied accuracy in our Ritual, and by them his pleasant words and readiness to instruct will be long remembered with the many agreable associations with which they were connected. His integrity was beyond a question, and his principles were ever maintained with unwavering energy. In consideration of his fidelity and long devotion to the principles of our order, he was in December last elected Senior Grand Warden of this Gd. Lodge and took his seat on the evening of his installation into that office, but before the quarterly communication in March the infirmities of age had so fastened upon him, that he was unable again to meet with us, and soon evident signs of dissolution became manifest, and he rapidly sank to that rest which awaits us all, leaving us to respect his memory and emulate his zeal and fidelity. We recommend the following resolutions to be entered upon the records.
Resolved, that by the death of R. W. Bro. Wm. C. Martin, the Masonic Fraternitv have lost one whose long and faithful services to our institutions rendered him worthy of our high esteem and affectionate regards.
Resolved. That we appreciate his devotion to our Ritual and his zealous labors to uphold the true principles of our order, in every position he has been called to occupy.
Resolved. That while we mourn his loss it is not without the happy reflection that his teachings have produced an influence which will long continue to advance masonic knowledge.
Resolved. That we deeply sympathize with those, who have been called to suffer that that grief which can only attend the severing of domestic ties.
C. C. DAME.
JOHN MCCLELLAN.
S. P. OLIVER.
ARTICLES
GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE AND FREEMASONRY
From New England Freemason, Vol. II, No. 5, May 1875, Page 202:
It has been remarked that the various Cathedrals of the continental cities bear intrinsic evidence of their origin from a single master-mind, in the "unity in diversity" which characterizes them all. Historic evidence, no less than tradition, declares them to have been the work of the Travelling Freemasons of the middle ages, through whom the "royal art," with its mysteries and all its varied symbols, has been transmitted to our own times, and to the Brethren of our Lodges, wherever dispersed. Who it was that drew the plans of these magnificent edifices is not certainly known. Tradition assigns the honor to various architects; but the claim of each has been denied, and it is too late to hope for a decision that shall be final and indisputable.
The same spirit of devotion which lavished its wealth in building these glorious temples, kindled a flame in the hearts of those who worshipped in them; and inspired St. Hildebert to write his glowing hymn, and St. Bernard to pour out his soul in the triumphant strains describing "Jerusalem the golden," that anthem of the church militant which will be sung until
"The morning shall awaken,
The shadows pass away,
And each true-hearted servant
Shall shine as doth the day."
The architect, no less than the poet, the painter, or the priest, caught the enthusiasm of the age, and the achievements of his genius stand to-day in a strength and beauty that have never been surpassed, if indeed they have been equalled by any efforts of modern times. "The Italian basilica, an immense cube, with a triangular pediment, is fixed like a crystal, and if it is not finished it is unmeaning." The Gothic Cathedral, on the other hand, has in it, as has been truly said, "the forest's life and voice, and if a day should come when we could say, 'It is done,' why then we should seem to say, 'It is dead.' " The writer just quoted, gives us, in a recent number of Lippincott's Magazine, the following description of the vision which greeted him, on entering one of these brilliant Cathedrals: "The scene," he says, "was a rare one. I looked around me in the golden altar-lights; I thought I was in a forest,—a forest at sunset. The choir was almost filled with rising incense, touched with the yellow flare of the tapers; and it seemed, through the columns, like a vista into the clouds. The grand stems of the arcades were thickly crowded; only they fell into a natural order and alignment, like the trunks of pines; overhead they rolled to meet each other, breaking out everywhere into stiff, thickset needles and tufts of Gothic work. Vast patches and shields of prismatic hues lay rounded against their mighty cylinders. But this forest was not a solitude ; it was crowded with speechless figures, thick as thoughts. And it was not silent or simply whisper haunted, like the real woods. It was all inflated, and swelled, and dazzled, and broken with pomps of organ-music, that almost overcame the heart, and made the pillars seem to reel, and the painted windows to rock, in the Jove-like storm."
We leave to other hands the task of tracing out the intimate connection between the symbolic teachings of the Cathedral architecture, and the imposing ritual which enshrines itself amid such surroundings. No one who has ever given a thought to the subject can have failed to recognize the fact that the whole structure is full of symbolism, and every portion of it enforces its own peculiar lesson. Wherever we go, into whatever temple of this Gothic order we enter, the same spirit meets us on the threshold, lingers with us along the aisles, bends beside us at the chancel rail, and whispers ever to us the same mystic language, eloquent with meaning to the ear that will listen to it. When we see them all, from the ruined arches of Melrose and Kilwinning to the still unfinished towers of Cologne, suggesting the same teachings in a manner so peculiarly their own; not obtrusively — rather indeed concealing them from the careless eye, yet opening readily to our thoughtful study, when once we have learned how to interpret them ; when we realize the harmony which exists between them all, and the intrinsic evidence pervading them all, we can no longer resist the conviction that they had their origin in one master mind, inspiring his Brethren with the glow of his own enthusiasm, imprinting on their memories and pouring into their hearts his own immortal genius.
It requires no very vivid imagination to trace a close connection, also, between the magnificent and imposing ritual of the Cathedral service and the not less impressive and beautiful yet simple ritual of that Lodge which does its work in strict conformity to ancient usage, with those additions of musical harmony which so fittingly supplement the harmony of brotherly emulation. The majesty of the Cathedral has infused itself into those peculiar ceremonies which have at length become inseparably connected with the edifice; while the simpler rites and modest symbolism of our Order have crystallized themselves, as it were, and remain essentially unchanged. The traditions of the Institution, the language employed, with its quaint titles, its obsolete words, and its antique setting, are sufficient evidence of this, were any needed.
Our altar stands before the neophyte, unsurrounded by chancel-rail, and the humblest Brother may kneel at its steps, without priestly absolution, and receive the pledge of fraternal love. Upon it lies the Book of Holy Scripture, the great light in Freemasonry. Not a word of human gloss or comment defaces it, or explains away the significance of its teachings, or in anyway influences whoever desires to study its pages. The emblems that rest upon it have each their lesson, which he who beholds them cannot fail to understand. The square admonishes him, "Let virtue and integrity guide you," and the compasses respond, "Remember the great circle of humanity, composed of individuals like yourself, not one of whom is nearer or more remote from the Great Centre of all being than are you." These emblems are no less constantly or conspicuously displayed npon our altars than those hallowed and far more sacred symbols that are elevated before adoring eyes by the consecrated hands of a priesthood; concerning them no controversy is likely to arise—the real presence of the thing signified must be in the heart of him who seeks to read their lesson, or their teaching is profitless and vain. The two lighted tapers upon the Cathedral altar symbolized the double nature of the Saviour, as both human and divine—the light which lighteth every man that cometh into the world—or the two Sacraments of the Christian Church, Baptism and the Eucharist; and though their flames have been multiplied till their brilliancy dazzles the eye, the significance of the emblem remains unchanged. Around our altar stand its burning tapers, no less eloquent in their teaching of that order and harmony which should preside over and characterize the assembly of Brethren.
The clustering pillars bearing up the wide-spreading arches, and stretching out in seemingly endless vistas, yet ever bending beneath their burdens, remind us of the Man of sorrows, bowed by the agony of his ineffable sufferings; and, while they Beem to sympathize with his passion, they whisper words of comfort from above to every sorrowing human heart. Our pillars are but three, and yet they point as plainly to the Grand Master of all, whose wisdom is infinite, whose strength is omnipotent, and whose beauty shines in every star. From censers swung by chanting priests, the thick and fragrant cloud arises, symbolizing on earth that heavenly incense offering which the Apocalypse declares typified the prayers of the saints. Our "pot of incense " is the emblem of a pure heart, no less an acceptable sacrifice, no less fragrant or grateful to Him before whom "all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid '.' by clouded canopy or fast tiled door.
The "fretted vault" and chancel arch of the Cathedral are often studded with glittering stars, emblematic, like the covering of our Lodges, of "the starry-decked heavens " where all good Masons hope at last to arrive.
The gorgeous hues and sunset dyes which fall from rose-window or lancet upon the Cathedral's kneeling worshipper, remind him of the saintly lives and exalted virtues, the heroic deeds and glorious deaths of the goodly fellowship of the Church triumphant, whose toils are ended, and whose crowns are won. We, too, have bright and shining examples of fidelity under persecution, of heroism under trials, and of truth and faithfulness glowing with immortal radiance, and even though suffering the bitterest pangs and reproaches, unyielding to the end.
And so we might go on, pointing out in many and even more striking ways how the inspiration which built these venerable piles has infused itself into their worshippers, and elaborated those solemn and impressive services which find their congenial home within Cathedral
walls. Is it too much to claim that this is the unconscious outgrowth of a secret principle whose interpretation by the profane is more difficult than any hieroglyphics of Egyptian priests, or Cabbala of Jewish rabbis, but to the skilful craftsman is an open book? The Scripture lesson, the prayer, the solemn vow, the light out of darkness, the charge, the anthems of praise — it were well nigh an endless task to follow out the parallel.
We are taught that to the Greeks is due all that "is great, judicious and distinct in architecture." Is it not time that the testimony of truth be incorporated into our trestle-boards, and that our candidates henceforth be taught that the Gothic architecture, not less ornamental than the Composite order, not less beautiful than the Corinthian, not less graceful than the Ionic, possessing no less strength than the Doric or the sturdy old Tuscan—combining all their charms while avoiding their defects; adapting itself to every requirement of the architect; now springing spirit-like into the air to form a flying buttress or a cresting pinnacle, now bearing up with massive masonry the weight of frowning battlements and tower, of lofty spire or arching dome, and now stretching its seemingly endless colonnades like a labyrinth before us,—that the Gothic system, having a character so completely its own, was the invention of our ancient Brethren, the Travelling Freemasons of the middle ages ?
"They dreamed not of a perishable home
Who thus could build."
