In the next village you find, perhaps, a church of the humblest dimensions and of the most unambitious architecture, yet you trace in its simple details the proofs of its having been erected by the monks of the neighbouring convent, and you feel that, plain and unpretending as they are, they were designed by as masterly a hand as the abbey church itself, and deserve to be as carefully studied and as minutely sketched and measured. Again, farther on, you find a church of noble scale, in which you trace the work of many periods. The internal pillars and arcades show a period just emerging from the Romanesque, though its rudeness has been quite cast aside, and its mouldings are, on the contrary, of the greatest refinement. The chancel, perhaps, is of more advanced Early Pointed, the aisles, the clerestory, and the tower of later periods; and the screens and the few remaining old seats are specimens of the oak-work of the fifteenth century. Here and there in corners you find encaustic tiles, in some of which you recognise patterns you had observed in the site of the ruined abbey. In the upper parts of the window-lights and scattered among the plain glazing you find fragments of glass which would do honour to any age, and such as our glass painters would do well to study, instead of turning them out with scorn to make way for a memorial to some recently departed squire.[65] The _sedilia_ in the chancel, and the _piscinæ_ both there and in the aisles, are any of them alone objects worthy of the most careful study, and every doorway and every window possesses more or less claim upon your attention.