Stratford-upon-Avon Church is a chief ornament of the quiet rural nook in sylvan Warwickshire, which is hallowed by one of the holiest of England’s memories. Its appearance and architecture are thoroughly English. Its square tower and pointed windows, its mullions and tracery of the 14th century, its graceful spire tapering above the tall elms which surround it, and the avenue of limes arching overhead the graveyard path to the old porch, are all exactly in accordance with what an Englishman regards as the beau ideal of an old country church. It was formerly a collegiate, and is dedicated to the Holy Trinity. In the plain chancel rests the “poet of all time,” Shakspere. The Avon’s ripple, as the pilgrim to the poet’s tomb stands in the quiet chancel, may be heard murmuring the same placid music which it sang in Shakspere’s ear some two centuries ago. The place of sepulture is marked by a flat stone bearing the oft-repeated and quaint lines which the poet himself left for the purpose:—