Aubrey St Lys was the vicar of Mowbray. He had
been the college tutor of the late Lord Fitz-Warene, whose
mind he had formed, whose bright abilities he had cultivated,
who adored him. To that connection he owed the slight
preferment which he possessed, but which was all he desired.
A bishopric would not have tempted him from his peculiar
charge.
In the centre of the town of Mowbray teeming with its toiling
thousands, there rose a building which might vie with many of
the cathedrals of our land. Beautiful its solemn towers, its
sculptured western front; beautiful its columned aisles and
lofty nave; its sparkling shrine and delicate chantry; most
beautiful the streaming glories of its vast orient light!
This magnificent temple, built by the monks of Mowbray, and
once connected with their famous house of which not a trace
now remained, had in time become the parish church of an
obscure village, whose population could not have filled one of
its side chapels. These strange vicissitudes of
ecclesiastical buildings are not singular in the north of
England.
Mowbray Church remained for centuries the wonder of passing
peasants, and the glory of county histories. But there is a
magic in beautiful buildings which exercises an irresistible
influence over the mind of man.
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