the entrance to the old refectory, is a large stone lavatory, which was supplied with water from Henwic-hill, on the opposite side of the Severn, at about a mile distant. The transept is unlike that of any other cathedral, since it consists of only one space, or aisle, without columns; at the south-west and north-west angles are circular staircases to the roofs and to galleries in the walls. This portion of the church is certainly of Norman design, although alterations made in the arches, windows, and other parts have broken in upon the unity of that style. The choir and its aisles The present cathedral, viewed externally, does not exhibit much architectural beauty. At the eastern end is a large and lofty window, and at the angles flying or arch buttresses: the north aisle of the Lady chapel, the clerestory windows, the north small transept, and that at the centre of the church, the tower rising at the intersection of the transept, nave, and choir, a part of the nave, and the north porch, all conjoin to produce a striking effect to the eye of the beholder who stands on the north side of the church at the eastern end. The exterior of the south side of the church, east of the great or tower transept, is within the precincts of the deanery gar-extend from the transept to the altar steps; where & den, and the remainder of the south side is to be seen from the cloister. The eastern end is open to the public street, whilst the western front abuts on a thoroughfare passage, but has no entrance doorway; a point in which it is unlike most western ends. Though the porch in the midst of the north and south sides of a church is both convenient and ornamental, yet the absence of a doorway at the western end makes it impossible that the grand effect of the building should ever be fully received. It is not only by standing at the western end of the interior, but by entering from without under the west window that the eye, carried on to the extreme east, can take in the whole impression of the edifice. The principal entrance from the city to the church is by the north porch, though there are two other entrance doorways from the cloister. The north aisle of the nave is vaulted and ribbed; nine arches, springing from nine clustered columns, separating it from the nave; on the south side of which, near the west end, is an arched passage of Norman architecture, which forms a covered way from the prebendal houses to the cloister and to the church. On the south side of the cloister is the once noble monastic refectory, or college hall, now schoolroom; part of it being appropriated to the king's school. This hall has been often used for the music meeting of the three choirs. Singularly beautiful is the cloister of this cathedral; an interesting view of which is found at the extremity of the east walk, looking north. From this spot, its extent, arrangement, piers, windows, and the disposition of the ribs of a finely-vaulted roof, are seen to great advantage. The rich tracery of the soffits of the arches round the windows adds to the general effect, and the square apertures through the piers between the windows; a feature peculiar to this cloister, and only found in three sides of it. In the north aisle of the cloister is a sepulchral slab, with the word "Miserrimus" on it, which has given rise to much speculation respecting its meaning and allusion. A periodical, called the "Worcestershire Miscellany," states that this stone covers the remains of the Rev. Thomas Morris, who, at the revolution, refusing to acknowledge the king's supremacy, was deprived of his preferment, and depended for the remainder of his life on the benevolence of the Jacobites. At his death he requested that the only inscription on his grave-stone might be the above word. Wordsworth addressed a pathetic sonnet to the interred; and in the above-named "Miscellany" are two others to the same, by H. Martin and Edwin Lees. In the western hall, near second and smaller transept, differing in the charac ter of its architecture from any other part of the church, branches off to the north and south. This transept, as well as the whole of the eastern end, has the floor much lower than that of the choir and its aisles. The central division of the church east of the altar screen, is described by Greene, who has written an account of this cathedral, as the "Lady chapel;" whose altar, according to his statement, was under the great eastern window. One of the most interesting and beautiful adjuncts of this cathedral is the chapter-house. It is nearly circular within, having ten faces externally, with buttresses at some of the angles. It has a vaulted roof, supported by a single column in the centre, from which diverge small ribs, taking the circular sweep of the vaulting, and terminating on columnar capitals attached to the side walls. A stone seat runs round the building, on which are a continued row of recesses, forming a series of niches with semicircular heads. Returning to the choir, whose architectural fea tures have been already described, we have to remark the stalls on each side and under the organ at the west end, the bishop's throne on the south side, a pulpit on the north, and galleries for visitors placed behind, and partly over, the stalls. Near the steps of the communion table, in the middle of the choir, is a monument or cenotaph to King John; a sumptuous chantry chapel for Prince Arthur filling up the arch on the south side of the communion table, the back or east end of which is closed by a handsome open-worked stone screen. The pulpit deserves to be particularly mentioned as an elegant Gothic construction, with sounding-board. As the eye mounts upwards to the roof, the bosses at the intersections of its ribs, and the capitals of the columns, are elaborately and skilfully sculptured. The dimensions are as follow: External length Length of choir... FEET. 426 394 60 180 60 128 120 74 78 68 66 196 THE NEW MONTHLY BELLE ASSEMBLÉE. NOVEMBER, 1845. THE HUMBLE COMPANION. BY MRS. ABDY. the scorned of the housekeeper's room, and the pity of the servants' hall; guests bestow far more consideration on the lap-dog than on herself, and she affords a constant escape-valve for the ill-humour of the lady of the house, who vents on her the indignation to which from time to time she may be provoked by other members of the establishment, and which she is fearful of directing against the proper culprits. A clever governess would be a loss to the girls; an experienced nurse would be a loss to the baby; a skilful lady's maid would be a loss to herself; and a good cook would be a loss to her husband: therefore, each and all of these persons may be allowed to indulge themselves in a few caprices, and to escape deserved rebuke. But the humble companion would be a loss to nobody: she must bear anger patiently, whether she merit it or not; and if she rebel, or go to the unheard of length of giving warning, twenty humble companions of genteel manners and connexions will instantly start forward to supply her place. Mildred Beverley was an unportioned orphan: | drawing-room, the shunned of the school-room, the death of her father, a half-pay officer, had laid her under the necessity of making that exertion which is colloquially called "doing something for oneself," and in becoming a humble companion she drew the bitterest blank in the whole lottery of dependence. It is never agreeable to a woman accustomed to a life of leisure to earn her own livelihood, but there are some occasional glances of light and hope to enliven the dreary scene of her compulsory labours. The governess, exposed as she too often is to the neglect and coldness of the senior members of the family in which she resides, has yet the solace of passing the greater part of the day in the society of children, whom she may improve by her instructions, and win by her kindness; sweet, unsophisticated childhood is never to be wholly corrupted, even by the most pernicious examples extended to it by those around it, and is always ready to return love and good-will four-fold. The authoress, pouring forth the riches of her gifted mind for a scanty compensation, has yet the delight of living in the fairy land of imagination, and enjoying those priceless treasures of thought which to her are dearer than the wealth of worlds would be without them. The actress, condemned to the fatiguing task of feigning, night after night, passions that she does not feel, and assuming gaiety when perhaps her heart is thrilling with sorrow, has yet her hours of quiet, of home retirement, and of family communion. Nay, even the poor milliner's girl, abridged of rest, recreation, and exercise, that her labours may deck with gay attire some over-ornamented beauty who would look far more attractive in the "sweet neglect" of "robes loosely flowing, hair as free," has still one great and decided comfort; she has the constant society and conversation of young associates on a level with herself in station, intellect, and education. But the poor humble companion, what flower springs amid the ruin of her hopes and comforts? None, alas! she is the slave of the The father of Mildred Beverley lived in a small cottage in a beautiful village in Devonshire; they had several acquaintances in the neighbourhood, who professed friendship for them; but when the death of Captain Beverley discovered that his child was totally unprovided for, the friendship of the neighbourhood experienced a sudden chill, and they one and all advised Mildred immediately to apply to her relations. The claims of kindred are said to be often lightly considered in the present day; but there is a time when kindred are considered of paramount importance-when we find that it is desirable to make use of them. The village world had not troubled itself hitherto with inquiries or surmises respecting Captain Beverley's relations; he had never mentioned that he possessed any, and indeed had often declared, in a spirit either of candour or of misanthropy, that there was not a creature on earth he cared for except his daughter; and his care for her could not be supposed to be of a very restless and anxious de 66 the smiles, finery, and lamplight of the evening, than were the Harringtons in their domestic circle from the Harringtons of general society. When Mildred had resided in Bedford-square some weeks, she humbly asked Mrs. Harring ton's advice as to the future course she should pursue, and that lady returned an elaborate answer, in which she first set forth her own extreme liberality and tenderness of heart, declared that she was generally accused of carrying these qualities to a blameable excess, meekly pleaded guilty to the charge, and avowed her conviction that she often injured her own children by her inconsiderate generosity to other people; she hoped that she might grow wiser as she advanced in life, but confessed with deep shame that she saw very little probability of it. She then proceeded to inform Mildred that she was welcome to remain in Bedford-square as the companion of herself and her daughter, with the understanding that she was to make herself generally useful, and to preserve due and proper reserve in her manner. Poor Mildred accepted this offer with joy; in the "apple-clustering shades" of Devonshire she had flattered herself that she might obtain a situation as governess if she wished it, but when she came to read the dreadful advertisements in the London papers, and to listen to the tremendous conversation of ladies visiting at Mrs. Harrington's, whose daughters were educated at home; when she heard of governesses playing three or four instruments, understanding half-a-dozen languages, and a dozen sciences, drawing after the antique, and instructing in Calisthenics, thorough bass, and mathematics, she sank under the conscious. ness of her own ignorance, and would have shuddered at the first cold, hard cross-ques tioning, and unabashed scrutinizing stare of a little girl of twelve, brought up on the present railroad system of education. Consequently, she testified almost as much gratitude for Mrs. Har rington's benevolent offer as that lady expected her to do; and from that time became a very humble and ignoble member of the charming family in Bedford-square. scription, otherwise he would have endeavoured, not more different from the same performers in to make some sort of provision for her after his death, or would have placed her in the way of acquiring it for herself. However, Mildred was unanimously assured by all her neighbours that she ought, without loss of time, to write to her relations; and she set herself to work forthwith to consider what relations she possessed to write to. Memory returned but a "beggarly account;" the genealogical tree only presented two branches. The mother of Mildred had a nephew; he had received great kindness from herself and her husband, and returned it with the ingratitude very common to nephews under such circumstances; he was what is called a scamp" by the lower, and a roué by the higher classes; and in Scotland would have entitled himself to the very expressive and comprehensive denomination of a "ne'er do weel!" His uncle at length placed him in the counting-house of a wine-merchant, who some months afterwards went to settle in Portugal, taking his young clerk with him; this happened eighteen years ago, and since that time no word had been heard of young Farnford, no letter received from him; and as he had always been a staunch votary of the grape in his native country, it appeared highly probable that the favourable opportunities of indulgence presented by his new locality might have tempted him to increase in his devotions till he ultimately fell a sacrifice to them. On Captain Beverley's side there was more to be hoped from the benefit of relationship; he had a family of third cousins residing in Bedford-square, of the naine of Harrington. Mr. Harrington was a rich merchant; Mildred had heard her father speak of him as a kindhearted man, and his wife and children bore the reputation of being delightful people; they had exchanged letters about once in five years with Captain Beverley, and always sent their love to Mildred. Here was something tangible, something to look to and depend upon; and with a beating heart Mildred sat down to invite Mr. Harrington to the funeral. He came, all kindness, pity, and suavity-feelings which were, however, soon lowered to the freezing point of common civility when he found that Mildred was left without any provision; he nevertheless invited her, with a tolerably good grace, to stay with his family in London, and she had no resource but in compliance. The Harringtons were a universally popular family. Let any curious inquirer ask their character from one of their acquaintance, and he would immediately be informed that Mr. Harrington was kind and benevolent to excess; that his lady was the sweetest woman in the world; that Anastasia was a graceful accomplished girl, full of good spirits and good humour; that Captain Harrington, the eldest son, was of all military heroes the most fascinating and irresistible; and that Charles, who was in partnership with his father, wrote verses very little inferior to those of Lord Byron. The poor, dependent Mildred, however, saw them in their proper characters; and the dull, dingy performers at a theatrical rehearsal are Mrs. Harrington was exceedingly well pleased with the result of her generosity; she wanted somebody to write notes, to keep accounts, and to quill blond and sew on flounces, when the lady's maid was in reality too idle, but as she alleged, "too busy" to perform these offices; and, above all things, she liked to talk to visitors of her sensibility and warmth of heart. Mildred's expenses were in reality little or nothing in the establishment, since Mrs. Harrington never gave her any remuneration for her ser vices, save the cast-off dresses of herself and Anastasia; but any one who listened to her complaints of the heavy burden that she sus tained in maintaining her young relative, might have supposed that Mildred was in the habit employing Bond-street milliners, and taking lessons from opera house singing-masters. If Mrs. Harrington were asked for a subscription for a case of distress, or were requested to take |