" I love to find the graves of men
connected with literature. They interest me more, even though of no
great eminence, than those of persons far more illustrious in other walks
of life. I know not whether this is because I happen to be one of the
literary kindred, or because all men feel themselves akin, and on terms
of intimacy, with those whom they know, or might have known, in books. I
rather believe that the latter is the case.
My wife had stayed in the cathedral, but she came out at the end of the
sermon, and told me of two little birds, who had got into the vast
interior, and were in great trouble at not being able to find their way
out again. Thus, two winged souls may often have been imprisoned within
a faith of heavy ceremonials.
We went round the edifice, and, passing into the close, penetrated
through an arched passage into the crypt, which, methought, was in a
better style of architecture than the nave and choir. At one end stood a
crowd of venerable figures leaning against the wall, being stone images
of bearded saints, apostles, patriarchs, kings,--personages of great
dignity, at all events, who had doubtless occupied conspicuous niches in
and about the cathedral till finally imprisoned in this cellar. I looked
at every one, and found not an entire nose among them, nor quite so many
heads as they once had.
Thence we went into the cloisters, which are entire, but not particularly
interesting. Indeed, this cathedral has not taken hold of my affections,
except in one aspect, when it was exceedingly grand and beautiful.
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