The figure has a grave and dignified appearance; it is clad in a suit of chain-and-plate mail, and has sword, shield and large spurs. The worthy knight is represented with crossed legs, as having fought in the wars of the Crusades; at the time, no doubt, when Baldwyn and Gerald of Manorbere were inciting the people to that famous enterprise. The base of this monument is divided into six panels, in each of which is a figure beneath a cusped and crocketed arch. These quaint little effigies show a curious variety of costume and expression, and are worth close examination. Upon the opposite, or southern, side of the chancel is the figure of a lady, apparently of Edwardian date. The head is covered with a square hood, and is supported by two kneeling angels. This effigy is very well executed, and in an unusually good state of preservation. In the adjacent chantry we notice the early seventeenth-century monument of 'Roger Lorte, late Lorde of the Mannor of Stackpoole.' This singular erection is enriched with the painted figures of Sir Roger, his lady, and their twelve children, and bears a pious inscription in the peculiar style of the period. Under the window of this chantry lies a disused altar stone bearing the following inscription, which we respectfully submit for antiquaries to exercise their wits upon: CAMU ORIS FILI FANNUC. Hard beneath the church we plunge into a woodland path, and follow the meanderings of a prattling brook which hurries along, beneath the cool shade of overarching trees, to the lake-like river that skirts the broad demesne of Stackpole Court. The variety and luxuriance of the forest trees that flourish in this sheltered locality, are all the more striking in a country where well-developed timber is, as a rule, conspicuous by its absence; for the rigorous gales that sweep across the more exposed uplands, give to the struggling vegetation that leeward slant which is a characteristic of many a Pembrokeshire landscape. Pleasant it is, turning from the glare of the dusty roadway, to saunter beneath these leafy aisles of smooth-stemmed beech and knotty oak, mountain-ash, ilex and Scotch fir; and to push our way through intertwining thickets of bramble, wild-rose and ivy, enmeshed by the clinging woodbine and traveller's joy; while all the time the mercury, in less-favoured spots, is climbing steadily towards the eighties. Crossing a rustic bridge that spans the lake, we pause to watch the slim, brown trout darting in every direction beneath the water-lilies that adorn its placid surface; when, suddenly, a brace of dusky waterfowl, alarmed by our intrusion, dart off with an impetuous splash and trail away in rapid flight to the shelter of the ozier-beds. [Illustration: STACKPOLE.]