At the end of this aisle, under the east window, lie the alabaster effigies of Sir John Chydioke and his wife. The knight, who fell in the wars of York and Lancaster, wears his coat of mail, his head resting on his helmet, and his hands clasped together in prayer. At the western end, adjoining the north transept, stand two oratories with groined roofs, enriched with foliated bosses, whilst the capitals, from which the arches spring, are carved with heads.[176] In the south choir aisle stand more monuments, amongst them the mortuary chapel of Robert Harys, with his rebus sculptured on a shield; and the chapel of Draper, the last prior, noticeable for its rich canopied niche over the doorway.[177] And now that the reader has seen each part, let him go back to the west end, and sweep out of sight the whole thicket of pews, and break down the rood-screen blocking up the view, and looking through and beyond it, past the long line of Norman bays, with their sculptured tables, and past the chancel, imagine the stone reredos, as it once was, shining with gold and colour, all its niches filled with statues, and the windows above blazing with crimson and purple, through which the sunlight poured, staining the carved stalls and misereres,—and then he will have some faint idea of the former glory of the church.[178] Most interesting is it, too, from another point of view. Since the Austin canons were more especially concerned with man’s struggle in daily life, their churches assumed a parochial character. Hence we here have the spacious nave, so different to that of the old Nunnery Church of Romsey, the west tower and doorway—absent at Romsey—and the lovely north porch looking out to the town. The whole building, I am sorry to add, is sadly out of repair. Restoration has been going on for some time past; but here, as in all similar cases, money is much needed. Surely men might give something, if from no higher motive than of keeping up a memorial of the piety of a past age. We inveigh against Cromwell and the Puritans—against the sacrilege of horses stabled in the choir, and the stalls turned into mangers;—against the sword which struck down the sculptured images, and the fire which consumed the carved woodwork. But the harm which the Puritans wrought is little compared with ours, in allowing the loveliness of our churches to rot by our negligence, and their sacredness to perish by our apathy. [Illustration: The North Porch and Doorway.] CHAPTER XIV. THE OLD SOUTH-WESTERN SEA-COAST—SOMERFORD, CHEWTON GLEN, MILFORD, HURST CASTLE, LYMINGTON. [Illustration: Chewton Glen.] Little has been seen of the sea, except from Calshot Castle to Leap. Though, too, the sea-coast here, as there, is no longer in the Forest, yet if we miss this walk we shall lose some of the most beautiful scenery in the district.