As I was leaving "The Swan" at Tenbury the landlord informed me that close to my road at Burford, and but a mile away, was a most lovely old church, beautifully decorated, and with some fine gilt and painted altar-tombs. "You really should not miss seeing it," said he. I know not why, but somehow it seemed strange to me for an innkeeper to be so keen about a church. As he was so pressing I promised the landlord I would see the church, and thither I went. I pulled up the car at the corner of a narrow lane that led to the building, proceeding the rest of the way on foot, and on my way I overtook two ladies slowly walking in front of me. I was bold enough to inquire of them, and as politely as I could, whether the church door were open, or if not where I might find the clerk. One of the ladies answered me in a low voice, and with so solemn a look that I felt I had made a mistake in addressing her; however, she said, "The doors are open. It is a quiet day." I thanked her and congratulated myself that I had come on a "quiet day," then I could inspect the church undisturbed and at leisure. I did not then know the significance of a "quiet day." Since I have learnt that a "quiet day" is one wholly devoted to silent prayer and meditation, in church and out of it, and that those taking part in such are supposed not to speak to one another during the day more words than are absolutely necessary. Further, I have been told the story of a parson who, in reply to his bishop offering to conduct "a quiet day" in his parish, declared that what his parishioners required was not "a quiet day" but an earthquake! The church proved to be richly adorned; there were several exceptionally fine altar-tombs in it, more suitable, I thought, to Westminster Abbey than to that little country fane; there too I noticed a beautiful rood-screen, and its fine timber roof had for supporters the carved figures of angels gracefully wrought; three lights, in hanging lamps, were burning before the "altar"; I quite expected to find a faint odour of incense, but this I failed to do. It was a Protestant church after all, though to me it hardly had the look of one. But to those who do not see "the mark of the beast" in an ornate church interior, and in burning lights before the "altar," the effect and richness of such decoration is pleasing. What would one of Cromwell's stern Puritans, could he come to life again and see that church, think of it, I wonder? Without that resurrection it is enough to make him turn uneasily in his grave. One of the tombs against the north chancel wall has the recumbent effigy of Princess Elizabeth of Lancaster under a finely carved canopy; she is represented with longhair bound round with oak leaves; two kneeling angels hold her cushioned head. Her epitaph runs: Here lyeth the bodie of the Most Noble Elizabeth, daughter of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, own sister to King Henry IV.