t was a great convenience to those living on that side of the town;
but for some reason it was closed; and one of the most roundabout
ways imaginable has been substituted for it. St. Mary's is one of
those churches which can be felt rather than seen. Until you get
quite to it you hardly know you are at it. Approaching it from the
west the first glimmering of it you have is over one end of the
House of Correction. At this point you catch what seems to be a
cluster of crosses--the surmountings of the tower; visions of a
ponderous cruet-stand, of five nine pins, and other cognate
articles, then strike you; afterwards the body of the church
broadens slowly into view, and having described three-fourths of a
wide circle with your feet, and passed through a strong gateway, it
is found you are at the building. St. Mary's has a strong, heavy,
compact appearance. Its front is arched below and storied above; it
has ivy creeping up its walls--trying probably to get to some of the
five nondescript ornaments above the tower--and has a half baronial,
half old hall look at first sight. Some years ago there was much ivy
about the general building; but the "rare old plant" engendered
dampness and had to be pulled down. At each side of the front there
is a small pinnacle, and flanking the gables of the transept there
are four somewhat similar elevations. They are mainly used by
sparrows.

The church can be approached by a doorway at the eastern end of the
transept; but the bulk of the worshippers pass through those at the
southern or front end--three in number, and rather heavy and dim in
appearance. The centre one leads into the body of the building, and
we may as well take advantage of it. We are just within; above there
is a serious looking groined roof, with a lamp suspended from the
middle of it; before us there is a screen, filled in with clear
glass, through which you can see the worshippers who seem thin and
scattered. Formerly the back of a sharply drawn up, dangerous
gallery, for scholars, over which careless children might have
fallen with the greatest ease, occupied the place of this screen,
and a series of hot water pipes--apparently intended for warming the
doorway and the churchyard in front, for they could have been of no
use to people inside the building--were fixed there. In 1866, when
the church was renovated, they were carried about fifteen yards into
the edifice, where they may be seen to this day. We sat close to
e