of which turned it into worsted. They
were always worsted—badly darned. They
resembled the scapegrace relation of the
famous Penn, whom our punning ancestors
described as a pen that had been "often cut,
but never mended." What were improvements
or requirements in some respects
became defacements in others, or things to
be wished away. The painted window was
meagre; the galleries clogged up a space
already too little, and looked as if they would
slide into the pews; the pews themselves
were too tall, and aggravated that sense of
closeness and crowding, to which the increasing
population naturally tended, and which
is still the first thing that strikes a visitor of
the church. While writing this article, however
(for the church is now undergoing another
repair), we have the pleasure of observing
that the pews are in the act of being made
lower; and we hail this undoubted improvement
as an evidence of the-better taste which
new authorities have at last brought even
into Kensington parish church, and which
indeed was to be expected from what they
have done in other respects. We must add,
that its psalmody appears to have been for
some time past superior to that of most
ohurches, owing, it would seem, to the accomplished
family of the Callcotts, who have
long been residents of the parish, and one of
whom, no great while ago, was organist.
Nor should the writer omit that the parish
authorities, both clerical and laical, and their
servants also, do justice to the example at
their head, and are as courteous as becomes
their position.

Here, in church or churchyard, among other
less noticeable persons, have been buried:—

Imprimis, in the year fifteen hundred and
ten, Philip Meawtis, son and heir of John
Meawtis; which said John Meawtis, described
in a pardon granted by Edward the Fifth as
"John Meawtis of our town of Calais, clerk,
otherwise called John de Meautis, lately of
London, gentleman, otherwise called John de
Meawtis, lately of Kensington, in the county
of Middlesex, gentleman, otherwise called
John de Mewtice, of the town of Westminster,
in the county of Middlesex, yeoman, or
under whatsoever name he may be registered,
is forgiven and absolved from outlawry
and all other consequences of neglects, contempts,
concealments, conspiracies, extortions,
murders, (murdra!) and whatsoever other
felonies and enormities he may have been
guilty of." Probably it was a pardon from
Richard, the poor little king's uncle, upon
the understanding that an enemy of the
house of York was to become a friend; an
expectation which did not hinder John
Meautis or his son Philip (we know not
which) from becoming secretary to Kings
Henry the Seventh and Eighth. We notice
the name for two other reasons; first, because
it was that of Bacon's faithful secretary
Sir Thomas Meawtis, who raised the characteristic
statue to the philosopher which sits
thinking on his monument at St. Alban's;
second, to observe that the alias of Meautis
or Mewtice (the name being obviously of
French origin) renders it probable that there
is more propriety in the vulgar pronunciation
of Bewfort for Beaufort, than might
otherwise be supposed, especially as we retain
it in the word beauty, the English of
beauté. There is reason to believe that it
was the real old French pronunciation. We
have read in some book, but forget where,
that the existing mode of speaking French
(which has so frittered and clipped it, and
rendered its prosody such a puzzle to English
readers) is not older than the time of
Louis the Fourteenth's boyhood.

The next distinguished burial we meet
with is that of one Sir Manhood Penruddock;
a gentleman whose peremptory baptismal
name, joined to his chivalrous rank
and to the nature of his death, appears to
insist on attention to his memory, upon pain
of a challenge from his ghost. He was
"slain at Notting Wood" (saith the parish
register) "in fight;" that is to say, we take it,
in a duel; for it was in the year sixteen hundred
and eight, during the pacific times of
King James the First. Sir Manhood was
most likely some hot-headed Welshman, the
son of a corresponding father, who had thus
christened him by way of injunction to uphold
the fame of his ancestors.

From Sir Manhood we are borne over a
considerable interval of time, and brought to
Addison's Earl of Warwick, who died in the
year eighteen hundred and twenty-one, at the
age of four-and-twenty. He was son of the
countess whom Addison married, and was
the youth to whom the novelist is said to
have addressed the famous words, "See how
a Christian can die." A statue of him in
marble, and in good condition, is still remaining
in the church, on the right-hand side of
the principal entrance from the street. It sits
under his epitaph, leaning on an urn; and
has an aspect which, at first sight, you
hardly know whether to be male or female.
This is owing partly to the delicate smooth
face and flowing hair, and partly to the
robe, which has something of the look of
a lady's gown. On turning to the legs,
and finding them in ancient sandals, you
discover that the gown is a Roman toga.
Either the face is unlike, or the compliment
to its manliness (strangely paid in the first
person—virile nescio quid) is clearly undeserved.
The whole epitaph indeed is contradictory
to the tradition handed down
respecting the rakery of this young nobleman;
probably on no better foundation than
Addison's dying words, which have been
supposed to imply some special moral necessity
for them on the part of his hearer.
Writers complimented the earl on his virtues
while he was living, and Addison, in some
pleasant letters to him on the subject of birds,