Neither is there any other house to be seen, look which way you will; for the wide downs only serve for sheep-pasture, and have such a look of depopulation that, in some of the slopes of the ground, one might fancy one was standing alone upon the earth, just after the universal deluge had subsided. I know not whether it looks more lonely when all the heavens are covered with grey clouds, or when the bright sun shines upon it from the broad undimmed sky. Nevertheless, when the musical bell rings on the Sabbath morn from the old pale tower, the desert seems to waken into life, and people come streaming over the hills--now a solitary man or woman, now a group of two or three, now a family, young and old, age and boyhood, now a group of children, sporting as they run. The scene is all changed, and it is very pleasant to behold. Within that church, too, are records of other days which would seem to show that the neighbourhood was not always so scantily peopled as at present. The gravestones in the churchyard, indeed, are not thick or many, and you can walk at ease, without stumbling, over the little mounds where rest the mortal remains of the peasantry. But within, against the walls, and even let into the pillars, are many tablets of marble, black or white, recording virtues and good qualities, and affection and mourning, which have now left no other memorial behind them. In the aisles, too, and in the chancel (for the church is built somewhat in the form of a cathedral), are various very beautiful monuments of different ages; the mail-clad warrior, spurred and sworded, the pilgrim from the Holy Land, even a mitred abbot, judges, and statesmen, and soldiers of a later day--ay, and the tomb of an infant princess--are there; while, on the pavement on which you tread, the old stained glass window at the east end, the only one remaining, sheds its gem-like colours upon slabs of marble, bearing inscriptions and effigies in brass.