[43] Clevedon Church, which is dedicated to St. Andrew, is quaint and picturesque in appearance, but not architecturally beautiful. It is an irregular structure, which has evidently been added to at various times, the chancel being the original fisherman’s church, and it has a solid square tower. Within the sanctuary is the Hallam vault, on which the organ now stands. Two cliffs, known as Church Hill and Wains Hill, rounded and grass-grown, that rise on either side, seem to guard and shelter it, with its surrounding churchyard that holds the quiet dead. There are only two bells in Clevedon Church—a small one, on which are three initial letters L. A. C., and a larger one, weighing 25 cwt. which is inscribed—
“I to the church the living call,
And to the grave do summon all.”—1725.
[44] There are other tablets in this church, which contain touching memorials of the Hallam family. The historian’s own death is recorded as having taken place on 21st January, 1859. Mrs. Hallam died 28th April, 1840. Their son Henry Fitzmaurice died at Sienna, 25th October, 1850, aged 26; and he is said, by one who knew him, to have had all the charm and talent of Arthur. On 13th June, 1837, in her 21st year, Eleanor Hallam was suddenly called away, and was buried in the vault where her brother, Arthur, had been laid.
It was after this sad bereavement, that Mr. and Mrs. Hallam made a brief sojourn at Sevenoaks, then unspotted by villas, where they lived in strict retirement. Mr. Hallam only associated with Sir John Bayley, the retired judge, who was a kind friend of my own youth. I see the sorrowing couple at church in garments of the deepest mourning: and the fine brow of Mr. Hallam resting on his hand, as he stood during the service in pensive devotion.—A. G.
[45] The Severn is nine miles wide at Clevedon.
[46] Consanguineus leti sopor. Æn. vi. 278. See also Iliad xiv., 231, and xvi., 672.
[47] In Tennyson’s “Ode to Memory” the lines occur
“The seven elms, the poplars four.
That stand beside my father’s door.”
[48] The foot of “Maud” opened these fringes by treading on the daisies. “Her feet have touched the meadows, and left the daisies rosy.”
[49] Sir Thomas Browne, in his “Letter to a Friend,” says, with reference to some one recently dead, that “he lost his own face, and looked like one of his near relations: for he maintained not his proper countenance, but looked like his uncle.”