One of the queerest and quaintest of entrances conducts to the church, beneath a picturesque old timbered house: charming on both fronts, each greatly differing from the other. There are as many as eight brasses in the church, a fine Early English and Decorated building, somewhat overscraped and renewed in restoration. An early seventeenth-century brass has some delightful lines: “When Oxford gave thee two degrees in Art, And Love possessed thee, Master of my Heart, Thy Colledge Fellowshipp thow leftst for mine, And novght but death covld seprate me frõ thine.” This is without a name, but has been identified as to the memory of Little, Aleyn’s successor. Not so delightful are the self-sufficing lines upon William Goddard, founder of the neighbouring almshouses. Let us hope that, although couched in the first person, he did not write them himself: “If what I was, thov seekst to knowe Theis lynes my character shal showe, These benifitts that God me lent With thanks I tooke and freely spent. I scorned what playnesse covld not gett, And next to treason hated debt. I lovd not those that stird vp strife Trve to my freinde, and to my wife.[3] The latter here by me I have. We had one Bed and have one grave. My honesty was such that I When death came, feared not to dye.” [Illustration: JESUS HOSPITAL, BRAY.] In the churchyard lies John Payne Collier, the Shakespearean critic, who died in 1883. His funeral was the occasion of a curious mistake in _The Standard_, of September 21. The newspaper correspondent had written: “The remains of the late Mr. John Payne Collier were interred yesterday in Bray churchyard, near Maidenhead, in the presence of a large number of spectators.” This became, at the hands of the sub-editor, who had never heard of Collier, “The Bray Colliery Disaster. The remains of the late John Payne, collier,” etc. Jesus Hospital, founded in the seventeenth century by William Goddard, of the City of London, fishmonger, and Joyce, his wife, for the housing and maintenance of forty poor persons, faces the road outside the village, on the way to Windsor. Fred Walker, in his most famous picture, _The Harbour of Refuge_, exhibited at the Royal Academy, 1872, took the beautiful courtyard of the Hospital for his subject, but those who are familiar with that lovely painting, now in the National Gallery, will feel a keen disappointment when they find here the original, for the artist added a noble group of statuary to the courtyard which does not, in fact, exist here, and has generally added details which make an already beautiful place still more lovely than it is. The courtyard is, indeed, in summer a mass of beautiful homely flowers, and all the year round the noble frontage that looks upon the dusty highroad is inspiring. From an alcove over the entrance the statue of William Goddard, in cloak and ruff, looks down gravely upon wayfarers.