The entrance to Richmond by the nearest way is very charming. You come suddenly upon the castle perched up over the river, and as you wind down the hill the grouping of its towers is thrown into perspective, forming a delightful picture with the river and the bridge for a foreground. Three kings have been prisoners within these formidable Norman walls: two kings of Scotland, William and David Bruce, and after the lapse of three centuries, Charles I., who passed here on his way to Holdenby. The stalls and misericordes in the fine old church came from Easby Abbey. They are boldly carved, and one of them represents a sow playing a fiddle for the edification of her little pigs. There is a curious coloured mural monument, on the east side of the chancel, of Sir Timothy Hutton and his wife and children--twelve of them, including four babes, beneath two of which are these verses: "As carefull mothers do to sleeping say, Their babes that would too long the wanton play; So to prevent my youths approaching crimes, Nature my nurse had me to bed betimes." The next is less involved: "Into this world as strangers to an inn This infant came, guest wise; Where when 't had been and found no entertainment worth her stay, She only broke her fast and went away." Altogether it is a cheery tomb. Faith, Hope and Charity are there, one of whom acts as nurse to one of the babes. Her ladyship's expression is somewhat of the Aunt Sally type, but that was the sculptor's fault. The ancient church plate includes a chalice dated 1640. The registers are beautifully neat and clean, and full of curious matter, such as the banns being read by the market-cross. Apropos of Yorkshire marriages, the odd custom prevails in some parts of emptying a kettle of boiling water, down--not the backs of the happy pair, but down the steps of the front door as they drive away, that the threshold may be "kept warm for another bride," we presume for _another_ swain. The way also of ascertaining whether the future career of those united will be attended with happiness is simple and effective. All you have to do is, as the bride steps out of the carriage, to fling a plate containing small pieces of the wedding-cake out of a window upon the heads of the onlookers. If the crowd is a small one, and the plate arrives on the pavement and is smashed to pieces, all will go well; but if somebody's head intervenes, the augury is ominous; which, after all, is only natural, for is it not likely that one thus greeted would call at the house to bestow his blessing upon somebody? What a pity this pretty custom is not introduced into the fashionable marriages of St George's, Hanover Square. It would at least create a sensation. For the rest of Richmond church, well--it was restored by Sir Gilbert Scott. It is regrettable to find the piscina on a level with the floor, beneath a pew seat!