"paving" the entrances to the church with gravestones. Somebody
must, at some time, have paid a considerable amount of money in
getting the gravestones of their relatives smoothed and lettered;
and it could never have been intended that they should be flattened
down, close as tile work, for a promiscuous multitude of people to
walk over and efface. The back of the churchyard is in a very weary,
delapidated and melancholy state. Why can't a few shrubs and flowers
be planted in it? Why is not the ground trimmed up and made decent?
From the time when the Egyptians worshipped cats and onions down to
the present hour, religious folk have paid some special attention to
their grave spaces, and we want to see the custom kept up. Our
Parish Church yard has a sad, forsaken appearance; if it had run to
seed and ended in nothing, or had been neglected and closed up by an
army of hypochondriacs, it could not have been more gloomy, barren,
or disheartening. The ground should be looked after, and the stones
preserved as much as possible. It is a question of shoes v.
gravestones at present, and, if there is not some change of
position, the shoes will in the end win.

About the interior of our Parish Church there is nothing
particularly wonderful; it has a respectable, substantial,
reverential appearance, and that is quite as much as any church
should have. There is no emblematic ritualistic moonshine in any
part of it; we hope there never may be; we are sure there never will
be so long as the men now at the helm are in office. But let us
start at the beginning. The principal entrance is through a massive
and somewhat dimly-lighted porch, which, in its time, has
necessarily, like all church porches, been the scene of much pious
gossip, superstition, and sanctimonious scandal. It is rather a snug
place to halt in. If you stand on one side of the large octagonal