I liked the statue, and wished that it lay
in a broader aisle, or in the chancel, where there is an old tomb of a
knight and lady of the Ratcliffe family, who have held the place of honor
long enough to yield it now to a poet. Southey's sculptor was Lough. I
must not forget to mention that John Bull, climbing on a bench, to get a
better view of the statue, tumbled off with a racket that resounded
irreverently through the church.
The old, white-headed, thin sexton was a model man of his class, and
appeared to take a loving and cheerful interest in the building, and in
those who, from age to age, have worshipped and been buried there. It is
a very ancient and interesting church. Within a few years it has been
thoroughly repaired as to the interior, and now looks as if it might
endure ten more centuries; and I suppose we see little that is really
ancient, except the double row of Norman arches, of light freestone, that
support the oaken beams and rafters of the roof. All the walls, however,
are venerable, and quite preserve the identity of the edifice. There is
a stained-glass window of modern manufacture, and in one of the side
windows, set amidst plain glass, there is a single piece, five hundred
years old, representing St. Anthony, very finely executed, though it
looks a little faded. Along the walls, on each side, between the arched
windows, there are marble slabs affixed, with inscriptions to the
memories of those who used to occupy the seats beneath.
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