which is indeed the first essential to the protection and beautification of an obsolete burial-place.  But, if possible, let the churchyard remain a churchyard; for, of all the several methods which are usually resorted to for “preservation,” the best from the sentimental view is that which keeps the nearest to the first intent.  There can be no disputing that a churchyard is in its true aspect when it looks like a churchyard, providing it be duly cared for.  Some persons of practical ideas will, however, favour such improvements as will banish the least elegant features of the place and range the more sightly ones midst lawns and flowers; while others, still more thorough, will be satisfied with nothing short of sweeping away all traces of the graves, and transforming the whole space at one stroke into a public playground.  The choice of systems is in some degree a question of environment.  Wherever open ground is needed for the health and enjoyment of dwellers in towns, it is now generally conceded that, with certain reservations and under reasonable conditions, disused churchyards—­especially such as are neglected and deformed—­shall in all possible cases be transferred from the closed ledger of the dead to the current account of the living.

The following lines, which were written upon the restoration of Cheltenham Churchyard, may be applied to most of such instances: 

              “Sleep on, ye dead! 

’Tis no rude hand disturbs your resting-place;
But those who love the spot have come at length
To beautify your long-neglected homes. 
How loud ye have been speaking to us all! 
But the mammon and the fading pleasures
Of this busy world hath made us deaf.

                     * * * Forgive the past! 
  Henceforth flowers shall bloom upon the surface
  Of your dwellings.  The lilac in the spring
  Shall blossom, and the sweet briar shall exhale
  Its fragrant smell.  E’en the drooping fuchsia
  Shall not be wanting to adorn your tombs;
  While the weeping willow, pointing downwards,
  Speaks significantly to the living,
  That a grave awaits us all.”

[Illustration:  Fig. 82.  Cheshunt.]

[Illustration:  Fig. 83.  Hatfield.]

But in rural spots, where there is abundance of room and almost superfluity of nature, a well-kept churchyard, with all its venerable features, studiously protected and reverently cared for, is one of the best inheritances of a country life.  Illustrations of this may occur to most observers, but as a case in point I may refer to Cheshunt, on the borders of Hertfordshire.  Some distance from the town-fringed highway, the village church, ancient and picturesque, stands amidst its many generations of people—­living and dead—­hard by a little street of old-world cottages.  The spot and its surroundings are beautiful, and the churchyard alone gives proof that the locality has been under