It is a pity; it lightens it up, and desecrates it greatly,
especially as the woman says that there were formerly paintings on the
walls, now obliterated forever. I could have stayed in the old church
much longer, and could write much more about it, but there must be an end
to everything. Pacing it from the farther end to the elevation before
the altar, I found that it was twenty-five paces long.
On looking again at the Rothay, I find I did it some injustice; for at
the bridge, in its present swollen state, it is nearer twenty yards than
twenty feet across. Its waters are very clear, and it rushes along with
a speed which is delightful to see, after an acquaintance with the muddy
and sluggish Avon and Leam.
Since tea I have taken a stroll from the hotel in a different direction
from heretofore, and passed the Swan Inn, where Scott used to go daily to
get a draught of liquor, when he was visiting Wordsworth, who had no wine
nor other inspiriting fluid in his house. It stands directly on the
wayside,--a small, whitewashed house, with an addition in the rear that
seems to have been built since Scott's time. On the door is the painted
sign of a swan, and the name "Scott's Swan Hotel." I walked a
considerable distance beyond it, but, a shower cooling up, I turned back,
entered the inn, and, following the mistress into a snug little room, was
served with a glass of bitter ale. It is a very plain and homely inn,
and certainly could not have satisfied Scott's wants if he had required
anything very far-fetched or delicate in his potations.
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