Antiquarians disagree as to whether the fine church now standing—with its lancet windows, pointed arches, and massive turret—is the old abbey church, or only that of the parish. In an obscure corner at the back of the church is found a window of quite another description—very beautiful, and more approaching to the “rose” style of architecture. Of the old stained glass only a few broken fragments remain. On one piece is a picture of a fair-haired, long-necked woman suppose to represent Queen Guinevere. The churchyard (lying to the south of the old church), with its grey tombstones and dark green yew-trees, has a solemn, calm and peaceful air. Over a grave is found the following epitaph:— “Altho’ his body here doth lye Till the last trump doth it raise, His soul is now in heaven high And sings Jehovah’s praise.” I now finish my description of Amesbury’s monastic period and turn to the modern years. According to a good authority, Henry VIII. bestowed Amesbury upon Edward, Earl of Hertford, afterwards Duke of Somerset and Lord Protector in the succeeding reign. After his trial, death sentence, and execution, the lands were confiscated by the Crown till the reign of Queen Elizabeth, who probably restored them to the Protector’s son, Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford. This gentleman was thrice married, his last wife being a widow of fascinating beauty and charm. She had previously been engaged to Sir George Rodney, who loved her madly, but, being ambitious, she left him for Lord Hertford. The day before the marriage, Sir George Rodney travelled to the inn at Amesbury and waited for the home-coming of the bride and bridegroom. All the night he occupied himself by composing a dying love song written with his own blood. Upon the arrival in the village of his false love, he went to greet her, and fell upon his sword and expired at her feet. I give the following extract from the poem, which is somewhat long and tedious:— “Sir George Rodney before he killed himself— What shall I do that am undone, Where shall I fly myself to shunne? Ah mee! myselfe must kill, And yet I die against my will. In starry letters I behold My death in the Heavens enrolled. There finde it wrytt in skyes above That I (poore I) must die for love. ’Twas not my love deserved to die, O no! it was unworthy I. I for her love should not have dyde, But that I had no worth beside. Ah mee! that love such woe procures, For without her no love endures. I for her vertues her doe serve, Doth such a love a death deserve?” Lady Hertford presented a bell to the parish of Amesbury. An inscription on it runs thus:— “Be stronge in faythe, prayes God well. Frances, Countess Hertford’s bell.” [Picture: Kent House]