tower is an old stone house, once the manor, where a little chapel can still be seen in an upper room. Except the monument to John Deacle there is nothing in the new church to call forth our interest. [Illustration: THE BELL TOWER FROM BENGEWORTH] By pursuing our way past the old burial-ground, and taking the turn to the right we find ourselves in Cooper's Lane, associated with a family long connected with the borough. To our left is a pretty cottage, and beyond, seen among the trees but with outhouses abutting on the road, is the Mansion House, still retaining in every feature that old-world sense of remoteness and repose so precious in these days; like a backwater of a rapid river, lying unmoved while the stream of life rushes vociferously by; a veritable "haunt of ancient peace." The lane leads us into the Cheltenham Road, and we should turn into the public Pleasure Grounds, or, better still, walk a few steps farther along the road, until we have passed them, in order to see the true situation chosen by the monks for their church and dwelling-place. How dignified does the Bell Tower appear, with the twin spires, rising from the summit of the bank, above the willows which edge the fish ponds! And below in the smooth waters their image is reflected, broken and clear at intervals. All the morning does the sun glorify the scene, and beneath its intense rays the towers gleam white against the blue heavens. Every third hour the bells in Lichfield's tower play an old tune fraught with sweet memories. The horses browse in the meadows or stand beneath the shade of the tall elms. Often a brightly-coloured caravan is to be seen encamped near the ponds, and beside it a fire which sends a faint cloud of blue smoke up against the dark green of the foliage. Out come the children to play on the green slope, to fish in the ponds or gather flowers in the meadow below. An old barge, perhaps, lies under the bank, towed up with much labour from the Severn. Pleasure boats pass now and again, disturbing the water and breaking the reflections into a thousand fragments. Evening comes on; the sun declines, and the face of the tower is dark against the glittering beams; the water receives the glow and reflects the radiance. Tower, spires, trees and landscape assume one sombre hue; clear cut against the sky their forms appear; and, as night falls, the single deep-toned bell rings out the "Curfew" across the silent vale.