Over an arch, in one
of the churches, there was a fresco, so old, dark, faded, and blackened,
that I found it impossible to make out a single figure or the slightest
hint of the design. On the whole, after seeing the churches of Italy, I
was not greatly impressed with these attempts to renew the ancient beauty
of old English minsters; it would be better to preserve as sedulously
as possible their aspect of decay, in which consists the principal
charm. . . . .
On our way to Mr. B------'s house, we looked into the quadrangle of a
charity-school and old men's hospital, and afterwards stepped into a
large Roman Catholic church, erected within these few years past, and
closely imitating the mediaeval architecture and arrangements. It is
strange what a plaything, a trifle, an unserious affair, this imitative
spirit makes of a huge, ponderous edifice, which if it had really been
built five hundred years ago would have been worthy of all respect. I
think the time must soon come when this sort of thing will be held in
utmost scorn, until the lapse of time shall give it a claim to respect.
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