The VERGER. At the back of the choir, and immediately in front of you, is the shrine, formerly containing the bones of St. Chasuble, with relics of St. Alb. (_An_ EVANGELICAL SIGHTSEER _snorts in disapproval._) The 'ollow depressions in the steps leading up to the shrine, which are still visible, were worn away, as you see, by the pilgrims ascending on their knees. (_The party verify the depressions conscientiously, and click their tongues to express indulgent contempt._) The spaces between the harches of the shrine were originally enriched by valuable gems and mosaics, all of which 'ave now long since disappeared, 'aving been removed by the more devout parties who came 'ere on pilgrimages. In the chapel to your left a monument with recumbent heffigies of Bishop Buttress and Dean Gurgoyle, represented laying side by side with clasped 'ands, in token of the lifelong affection between them. The late Bishop used to make a rather facetious remark about this tomb. He was in the 'abit of observing that it was the honly instance in _his_ experience of a Bishop being on friendly terms with his Dean. (_He glances round for appreciation of this instance of episcopal humour, but is pained to find that it has produced a general gloom; the_ EVANGELICAL SIGHTSEER, _indeed, conveys by another and a louder snort, his sense that a Bishop ought to set a better example._) In the harched recess to your right, a monument in painted halibarster to Sir Ralph Ringdove and his lady, erected immediately after her decease by the disconsolate widower, with a touching inscription in Latin, stating that their ashes would shortly be commingled in the tomb. (_He pauses, to allow the ladies of the party to express a becoming sympathy--which they do, by clicks._) Sir Ralph himself, however, is interred in Ficklebury Parish Church, forty mile from this spot, along with his third wife, who survived him. [_The ladies regard the image of Sir Ralph with indignation, and pass on; the_ VERGER _chuckles faintly at having produced his effect._ The EVANGELICAL S. (_snuffing the air suspiciously_). I'm sorry to perceive that you are in the habit of burning _incense_ here! [_He looks sternly at the_ VERGER, _as though to imply that it is useless to impose upon him._ The VERGER. No, Sir, what you smell ain't incense--on'y the vaults after the damp weather we've bin 'aving. [_The_ EVANGELICAL SIGHTSEER _drops behind, divided between relief and disappointment._ A PLASTIC S. (_to the_ VERGER). What a perfectly _exquisite_ rose-window that is! For all the world like a kaleidoscope. I suppose it dates from the Norman period, at _least_? The VERGER (_coldly_). No, Ma'am, it was only put up about thirty year ago. _We_ consider it the poorest glass we 'ave. The PLAST. S. Oh, the glass, yes; _that's_ hideous, certainly. I meant the--the other part.