If you want an instance of what I said ([p. 212]) as to "added notes turning discord into harmony," look at the patched east window of the south choir aisle. Mere jumble—probably no selection—yet how beautiful! like beds of flowers. Did you ever see a bed of flowers that was not beautiful?—often and often, when the gardener had carefully selected the plants of his ribbon-bordering; but I would have you think of an old-fashioned cottage garden, with its roses and lilies and larkspur and snapdragon and marigolds—those are what windows should be like.
In addition to the minster, almost every church in the city has some interesting glass; several of them a great quantity, and some finer than any in the cathedral itself. And here I would give a hint. Never pass a church or chapel of any sort or kind,
old or new, without looking in. You cannot tell what you may find.
And a second hint. Do not make written pencil notes regarding colour, either from glass or nature, for you'll never trouble to puzzle them out afterwards. Take your colour-box with you. The merest dot of tint on the paper will bring everything back to mind.
Space prevents our making here anything like a complete itinerary setting forth where glass may be studied; it must suffice to name a few centres, noting a few places in the same district which may be visited from them easily. I name only those I know myself, and of course the list is very slight.
York. And all churches in the city.
Gloucester. Tewkesbury, Cirencester.
Birmingham. (For Burne-Jones glass.) Shrewsbury, Warwick, Tamworth, Malvern.
Wells.
Oxford. Much glass in the city, old and new. Fairford.