BRASS OF SIR JOHN ARUNDELL, ST. COLUMB-MAJOR.
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"THEY DID CAST HIM."

A pleasantly representative English look has the irregular, disjointed, yet withal eminently picturesque little town of Tisbury, viewed from the acclivity of the railway station.

On the one side a group of cottages, and fine trees planted high on the shoulder of the hill, shews well against the distant sky-line, and patches of houses—broken in their midst by the principal hostelry of the place, staringly obtrusive in the most modern brick and white, perched at the top of the straggling street that leads up to it,—carry the eye across to the further fringe of the elevation on the other side, where an ecclesiastical looking edifice, gabled and pinnacled, cuts into the ether and balances the picture.

Low in the valley on the extreme right, some very old, and, evidently from this distance, unmistakably important buildings are gathered together, attesting the presence of the chief domicile of the place in days of yore, and still retaining much of their antient consequence with old gateway, great kitchen, and turreted chimney, and vast barn two hundred feet long, with roof arched and high as a cathedral,—the antient Grange, or Place, and country seat of the Abbess of Shaftesbury.

Thus much for the mid-distance of the scene; an equally representative, and in some peculiarities unique fore-ground is at our feet.

Centrally almost, comes the Church—large, substantial, and well-windowed—with a curious, but now-a-day unfortunately very common, half-antient half-modern look, exhibiting a low massive tower rising from its centre, capped with a pseudo-classic lantern, pierced with four large, circular, winking clock-face apertures. It stands in a well-kept churchyard, ornamented by some noble yew trees, and around two sides of it runs a road, skirted with low antient buildings, picturesquely gabled and chimnied, and dating from Tudor times.

Immediately on the right of the church, and jostling, almost vulgarly invading the sacred precincts of the churchyard, which it adjoins, rises the obtrusive bulk of a huge brewery, with accompanying chimney stalk, as big as the church itself, and almost as venerable looking,[36] a pertinent illustration of the contiguity, so often sarcastically associated in one of our modern political cries.