At noon we took a car for Portinscale, and drove back along the road to
Keswick, through which we passed, stopping to get a perhaps of letters at
the post-office, and reached Portinscale, which is a mile from Keswick.
After dinner we walked over a bridge, and through a green lane, to the
church where Southey is buried. It is a white church, of Norman
architecture, with a low, square tower. As we approached, we saw two
persons entering the portal, and, following them in, we found the sexton,
who was a tall, thin old man, with white hair, and an intelligent,
reverent face, showing the edifice to a stout, red-faced, self-important,
good-natured John Bull of a gentleman. Without any question on our part,
the old sexton immediately led us to Southey's monument, which is placed
in a side aisle, where there is not breadth for it to stand free of the
wall; neither is it in a very good light. But, it seemed to me a good
work of art,--a recumbent figure of white marble, on a couch, the drapery
of which he has drawn about him,--being quite enveloped in what may be a
shroud. The sculptor has not intended to represent death, for the figure
lies on its side, and has a book in its hand, and the face is lifelike,
and looks full of expression,--a thin, high-featured, poetic face, with a
finely proportioned head and abundant hair. It represents Southey
rightly, at whatever age he died, in the full maturity of manhood, when
he was strongest and richest.
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