The interior is worthy the inspection of the curious. Near the south-west entrance is the baptismal font, by the side of which lies the defaced effigy of a mail-clad knight, Sir John Whitmore by name, representative in the reign of Edward III. of the Whitmores of Thurstaston, a Cheshire family of knightly lineage and renown. This monument was discovered in 1853, under a pew at the south-west end; the face, hands, and knees, having been barbarously cut away, to suit the flooring of the pew. In its perfect state, the monument must have been one of the purest symmetry and beauty, and was evidently the work of an eminent sculptor, the Westmacott or Gibson of his day. The legend runs thus:— Hic jacet Ioannes de Whitmore, qui obiit 3 kal. Octob. A.D. 1374. A brass plate on the south side of the altar commemorates the burial of MATTHEW HENRY, June 22nd, 1714. He who had during life been a rigid nonconformist, at the “last sad scene of all” conformed to the faith of his forefathers, and lies interred in the chancel of that parish in which he had so long ministered as a dissenter. The bones of another celebrity “lie mouldering here,”—Dr. Parnell, the poet, Archdeacon of Clogher, who was buried in this Church, October 23, 1718. Other monuments of interest ornament (or shall we rather say _deface_?) the pillars and chancel walls. In one of the western windows are some remnants of ancient stained glass, and an obituary memorial, of chaste design, has of late years been put up in one of the small east windows of St. Patrick’s aisle. A good view of Trinity Church is obtained from the end of Nicholas Street, just opposite to that ancient hostelry, the YACHT INN. The YACHT is, without exception, the most picturesque and curious of all our Chester inns. Time was when it was the first hotel of the city, and even now, “grown grey with long and faithful service,” lacks nothing that can render it a fit home for the wayfarer, whom chance or design has brought to the old city. Americans, who lust after the ancient and venerable, and who delight in the rare timber houses of old England, will do well to select snug apartments at the _Yacht_, for its host, Mr. White, is the very impersonation of a true British Boniface. But the _Yacht_, apart altogether from the qualities of “mine host,” and his well-filled cellar of “Huxley’s Fine,” has other claims upon our attention. It was at this house, then in the zenith of its glory, that the eccentric and witty Dean Swift (who has not read his “Gulliver’s Travels?”) stayed, on one of his journeys into Ireland. The Dean, being of a convivial turn, invited the dignitaries of the Cathedral to a supper at the _Yacht_, but to his great mortification not one of them appeared. Disgusted at this return to his hospitality, the Dean scratched with his diamond ring on one of the windows of this house the following distich, not over complimentary to the church or the city,—