“They are not, sir,” said the clerk; “they had been transferred to other benefices before they died.”
I did not inquire whether Walter D— was buried there, for of him I had never heard before, but demanded whether the church possessed any ancient monuments.
“This is the oldest which remains, sir,” said the clerk, and he pointed with his finger to a tablet-stone over a little dark pew on the right side of the oriel window. There was an inscription upon it, but owing to the darkness I could not make out a letter. The clerk however read as follows.
1694. 21 Octr.
Hic Sepultus Est.
Sidneus Bynner.
“Do you understand Latin?” said I to the clerk.
“I do not, sir; I believe, however, that the stone is to the memory of one Bynner.”
“That is not a Welsh name,” said I.
“It is not, sir,” said the clerk.
“It seems to be radically the same as Bonner,” said I, “the name of the horrible Popish Bishop of London in Mary’s time. Do any people of the name of Bynner reside in the neighbourhood at present?”
“None, sir,” said the clerk; “and if the Bynners are the descendants of Bonner, it is, perhaps, well that there are none.”