On the day appointed (Saturday, July 1, 1643), many of the Assembly, together with a large congregation of other persons, gathered within the walls of the grand national abbey of Westminster, "both Houses of Parliament being present."[343] The Prolocutor, Dr. Twiss--of whom it was said that the school, not the pulpit, was his proper element--preached from John xiv. 18, "I will not leave you comfortless, I will come to you;" from which text he exhorted his hearers faithfully to discharge their high calling to the glory of God and the honour of His Church; and, whilst lamenting that the royal assent was wanting to give them comfort and encouragement, the preacher hoped through the efficacy of their prayers that the sanction of his Majesty might in due time be obtained, and that a happy union might be accomplished between King and Parliament. After the conclusion of the discourse, the Divines and other members ascended the broad flight of steps leading to Henry the Seventh's chapel, where, upon the roll being called over, sixty-nine persons answered to their names. [Sidenote: 1643, July.] [Sidenote: _Meeting of the Assembly._] The vaulted roof springing from the clustered pillars in the walls--like branches of lofty trees interlaced together, forming a rich canopy of leaves, while the bossed pendants resemble stalactites--though appearing to most persons now, even those who feel strong Puritan sympathies, a monument of exquisite taste and consummate skill--would be regarded by those who on this occasion assembled beneath its shadow, as mainly, if not exclusively, a symbol of that "petrifaction of Christianity" which to their great grief had over-arched mediæval Christendom. Dressed in black cloaks, and wearing bands, and skull caps, as they walked over pavements heretofore trodden by prelates and priests in mitres and copes, they would be reminded of what they deemed superstitious and idolatrous worship; and as they now met in assembly where Convocations had before been wont to gather,[344] they would think of obnoxious canons, and of Archbishop Laud, with feelings of pain--if not of bitterness--such as the charms of Gothic architecture had no power to subdue. Their principles, and the principles of the Church before the Reformation, were in mutual opposition. And, as we watch the Divines entering within those gates--well described by one who himself came from the land of the Pilgrim Fathers, as "richly and delicately wrought, and turning heavily upon their hinges, as if proudly reluctant to admit the feet of common mortals into this most gorgeous of sepulchers"[345]--we may fancy that the gates, if they had sympathy with those who caused them to be hung there, would open that morning more reluctantly than they had ever done before. Altogether, the scene and the purpose for which the Assembly met marked a new era, not only in the history of the Abbey but in the annals of the Church and the nation. [Sidenote: 1643, July.]