Cathedral Cities of England

St. Paul’s — Si Quaeris Monumentum, Circumspice

No epitaph more noble and impressive can have possibly been conceived than the simple Latin inscription placed upon the modest tomb of Christopher Wren: “If ye seek my monument, look around.” When building this magnificent structure, the great architect was preparing a glorious sepulchre to receive his remains. Some thirty-five years it took Wren to realise this great achievement—an achievement the more astounding when we learn that he was actively engaged throughout the whole time in the planning and personal superintendence of some thirty churches in London, no two of which are alike. Daily he walked around jotting down a sketch of the next detail to be worked upon, deciding, as the work progressed, and maturing his plans, throwing out one day a course, another day realising an idea that had just occurred to him. Thus the fabric rose higher day by day, month by month, year by year. He adhered to no carefully prepared plans; he entrusted nothing to his subordinates; he hugged the entire responsibility. They did not know what phase of work the morrow would bring. On the day each workman would receive a rough section and plan jotted down on the spot, accompanied with verbal instructions. If, even when finished according to his directions, Wren was dissatisfied with this gem of his brain, down it had to come, to be substituted by some other improved idea. Of course Wren had in the first place to submit plans for the proposed cathedral. It is not likely that any committee would engage in anything so important blindfolded. But these plans only formed the shell on which to peg any new suggestions that might crop up in the progress of the work, very much after the fashion of a plastic sketch submitted by the sculptor to a committee, who look wise and generally make foolish comments. The sketch is merely an indication of what is to come after, and is intended as some guarantee. Without this no conscientious committee would commit themselves to any agreement. They control the expenditure of the public subscriptions. If the finished work does not come up to the promised standard of excellence, the committee can fall back upon the sketch and get exonerated of all culpable blame. The artist gets the abuse for the failure or departure from the original. When such necessarily rough sketches are faithfully carried out, they often are failures; for what look well in a rough sketch often become serious blemishes in the completed work. The true artist is never satisfied—that is, that extraordinary being who has a greater love for art than for mere coin—and will alter and improve upon his original design at every suggestion (and they crowd thick upon him) that makes itself manifest, with a total disregard to his own pocket and that punctuality so essential to the successful city man. He has got his ideal, and he is determined to reach it if he has to go through a brick wall.

Very much in the same way, we may be sure, Wren was actuated. His pay was no inducement. He received only £200 a year throughout the whole time of building, and then at one time a certain portion of this miserable pittance was withheld by order of Parliament, because his detractors accused him of delaying the final completion of the work from corrupt motives. Wren’s clerk of the works, by name Nicholas Hawksmoor, who afterwards became famous as the builder of several London churches, was paid only twenty pence a day. Tijou, his ironworker, and Grinling Gibbons, the famous carver in wood, were all actuated by the same ideal when they helped to give expression to their master’s genius. However, in one or two particulars, which will be mentioned later on, Wren’s superior judgment was overruled by his committee. Much to his intense and lasting mortification they carried the day and stamped themselves as incompetent judges. This process of realisation, this seeking after an ideal, sometimes led Wren into strange architectural difficulties, only to be overcome in a masterly way. By discovering these little inconsistencies, the architect’s skilfulness in taking advantage of accidents, in turning what appeared an irremediable blunder into a great success, shows what a complete understanding he had in that great branch of art—architecture—and endorses more than ever the great position he will always be accorded.

An example will serve to illustrate his ingenuity.

How many people, when climbing up the stairs that lead to the whispering gallery and elsewhere, have ever noticed any peculiarity about them? Yet there is one. When first they were being built each step was meant to be of the same height, but as they mounted higher, Wren suddenly discovered that the top one would be an ugly tall one to ascend. To avoid this meant one of two things, either to demolish what had already been completed and start afresh, or to turn this accident to good account. The latter alternative was chosen. By gradually reducing the height of the remaining steps, he contrived to overcome the difficulty so successfully that he has tricked the eye and foot, so slight is the difference of each tread. They appear to be equidistant as the ones lower down, and the illusion can only be dispelled by measurement.

If any one is observant on reaching the top of Ludgate Hill, one peculiarity of the great building will strike him. It is that the great west façade does not squarely face Ludgate Hill, but bears considerably to the right. In fact its axis does not run due east and west.

On the advancement of Wren to be principal architect, he was not only commissioned to erect the Cathedral, but was to rebuild the city. His scheme was very thorough. It comprised the widening of the streets; the complete insulation of all important churches; the public buildings were to have good frontages; and the halls of the City Guilds were to form a quadrangle around the Guildhall. To carry these improvements into effect, Government issued orders that none except Wren’s rebuilding would be recognised. Unfortunately much valuable time was wasted in an attempt at the restoration of the old cathedral, insisted upon by the committee, against Wren’s wishes, and it was only when a portion of the nave fell down that Dean Sancroft was able to obtain the consent of the committee to raze the old walls to the ground and to allow Wren to build from the very foundations. The delay of this decision had in the meanwhile given opportunity to individuals to erect buildings much as they pleased upon their own properties in spite of Government prohibition, with the result that to a great extent streets and boundaries, which existed before the Great Fire, were reproduced. It also caused the loss of a far more spacious frontage than now exists, which we may be sure formed an important item in Wren’s design for the Cathedral. The architect, however, by receding the west front from the old site now occupied by the statue of Queen Ann, has cleverly spaced out a noble frontage. Another consideration that determined Wren to alter the axis of the Cathedral was his great aversion to utilising the old foundations. His great ambition was to strike out for himself and to be dependent on no one else’s work. In order to realise this he laid the axis of the new work to a point farther north of that of the old cathedral, and the plan by this projection has in a marvellous way covered practically the same ground, whilst at the same time Wren managed to secure fresh ground for his foundations almost throughout the whole church. The plan of St. Paul’s is a Latin cross, and is based upon classical lines. The principal front, the west, is composed of a double portico of Corinthian fluted pillars, with two flights of steps leading down to the road-level. In fact the entire body of the ground floor is above the elevation of the street. Overhead is a large pediment, with its panel sculptured in high relief. On either side the west front is flanked by a campanile tower, composed at the summit of grouped circular pillars. Just inside, on the left, is the Morning Chapel, whilst straight on the opposite side lies the Chapel of the Order of St. Michael and St. George. Proceeding eastwards, the nave is flanked by three massive and imposing arches. Then comes the dome or cupola, rising to a height of 365 feet, or 404 feet to the top of the cross. Viewed from the interior the inner dome is 225 feet, and rests at the intersection of the cross. The transepts are carried one arch to the north and one to the south, each of which are bound by semi-circular rows of Corinthian pillars.

Continuing again towards the east, a couple of steps mark the commencement of the choir leading from the dome, and is carried forward by three arches on either side. Behind the altar the colossal building terminates in the apsidal Chapel of Jesus. Throughout the entire length and breadth of the building is the crypt below. There under the choir, the nearest to the south wall in the crypt chapel, is the modest slab that covers the remains of the great architect of the grand edifice. Next to him lies the body of Lord Leighton, the greatest president the Royal Academy has ever had. Just in the one corner are buried some of the most eminent of England’s painters, sculptors, and musicians. Those more generally known are Sir Joshua Reynolds, the first president of the Royal Academy; Benjamin West, who succeeded him in office; Sir Thomas Lawrence, who next filled it, and Sir John Millais, who held the dignity only a few months after Leighton’s death. The remains of J. M. W. Turner, James Barry, John Foley, Sir Edwin Landseer, and Sir Arthur Sullivan, musician, who are also some of the many great builders of art, have all been accorded a little plot of ground close to their very great brother-artist and predecessor, Sir Christopher Wren. In the centre of the crypt, or rather right underneath the dome, is a noble mausoleum containing the body of England’s greatest admiral, Viscount Horatio Nelson, whilst just close to him between the crypt chapel and the dome is the massive sarcophagus of granite, encased in which is the body of the Duke of Wellington. The monument of this hero of Waterloo is the chief feature of the plastic art that attracts the visitor on looking up the nave. It is the great artistic expression of Stevens, the sculptor, and dwarfs all other monuments in its immediate neighbourhood. We would like to enumerate the names of all the great men that lie in the mighty shadow of St. Paul’s, and pay some tribute to the many artists who have, through their monuments, endeavoured their best to honour the memories of those who have so worthily upheld the traditions of the great empire; but any such attempt we feel we must relinquish, and devote all the space we can to Wren’s work and to that of his predecessors.

The wonderful wood-carving of the choir stall, and especially the remarkable realistic floral designs of the Bishop’s throne, were executed by Grinling Gibbons, who lived between 1648 and 1720. He was born at Rotterdam, and as a youth came over to England, and was discovered by Evelyn, the diarist. So astonished was Evelyn by the genius of Gibbons, who had just carved in wood a copy of Tintoretto’s “Crucifixion,” that he introduced him to Wren, Pepys, and the King. With such powerful friends and his marvellous talent he soon became the most famous carver of his age. In viewing the great edifice one cannot help thinking from whence came the money which enabled Wren to carry on the work. With the exception of the Tillingham farm there were no endowments, and people were, after the fire, far from being generous donors. As funds were absolutely necessary, royal warrants were issued to authorise the building committee to borrow on the security of the coal and wine taxes. As the remuneration of Wren, Grinling Gibbons, and Tijou was nothing to speak of, we may take it that practically the whole of the proceeds was sunk in the materials and the workmen’s wages.

Throughout the whole time of building Wren was harassed by petty annoyances on the part of the committee, who interfered in small matters of technical and artistic knowledge which lay quite beyond their province. Against the architect’s will they insisted upon the erection of the heavy iron railings which fence in the Cathedral and mar the beautiful gradations of lines from the lowest step of the transept entrances to the summit of the dome’s cross. This only serves as one of many such instances. Finally, Wren’s persecutors went so far as to suspend his patent in the year 1718, being the forty-ninth of his office and the eighty-sixth of his age, and William Benson was appointed to succeed him.

This abrupt dismissal entirely upset any plan of internal decoration which Wren might have been thinking of, though it is supposed he had proposed to enrich and beautify St. Paul’s with a scheme of colour composed of marble and mosaic work with gold and paintings. With the exception of the frescoes in the dome by Sir James Thornhill, nothing of importance was done for fifty years after Wren’s death. A proposal to contribute a number of paintings from Sir Joshua Reynolds and the members of the Royal Academy was negatived by Dr. Terrick, who was Bishop of London at that time. In 1891 W. B. Richmond, A.R.A., was commissioned to decorate the choir and the dome with mosaic work, it being considered the most suitable material on account of the brilliancy of its surface, and the easiest to clean without risk of injury to the work. Sir William Richmond, K.C.B. (as he has since been created), decided to depart from modern methods in favour of the ancient way of embedding in cement cubes, so chosen and disposed to suit the various shades of his subjects. They represent various incidents taken from the Bible, treated most skilfully, as one would naturally expect from such a talented artist.

The difficulties of such an undertaking, restricted within certain limits as it must be by the nature of the material, together with the many attendant side-issues of which the outside public have not the faintest idea, can only be known to the artist himself, and perhaps to some of his confrères.

In course of erection is the gilt iron balustrade upon the cornice that runs round the church in continuation of that commenced by Wren at the west end. This is the gift of Mr. Somers Clarke. He has also designed the fittings for the installation of the electric light, which is the generous presentation of Mr. Pierpont Morgan.

In conclusion, we cannot help recalling the incident that cheered the closing years of Wren. Once every year the aged artist came from his retirement at Hampton Court to London, to spend the day seated beneath the great dome, happy to view the creation of his great intellect, though possibly disturbed now and then by a little grain of discontent: how much better he could do it now, if only he had youth and opportunity—a worry that only assails the true artist.

In the natural sequence of dates we ought to have opened this account with the earlier foundations. This we purposely disregarded, and introduced the reader straightway to the most beautiful and impressive building of St. Paul’s that the site has ever had, leaving the others to be dealt with until now.

The earliest known house for religious observance on the site of the present cathedral was a temple. In accordance with the usual practice of early founders, it is not surprising to find that the site selected for it was upon the highest spot of ground in the city. If we follow the accounts of old London, it would have been folly for the Romans to have erected an important building like a temple upon a lower level, which might have got swamped by an unusual rising of the tidal Thames. Apart from such consideration, it was not the Roman custom to debase, but rather to elevate as high as possible, any object they held in great reverence. It would form also a convenient centre to rally round in defence of any attack. In all accounts of the site of St. Paul’s the writers have plenty to say about the three churches, but seldom, if ever, allude to the temple erected by the Romans.

This is the more curious when etymologists have endeavoured to explain the affinity of Christian symbols to those of heathenism, showing how it was clearly impossible, and hardly to be expected, that pagan customs should be suddenly arrested and completely abolished, and an entire set of new observances introduced expressly for the new faith—Christianity. Such a sudden change could not, they contend, be thrust upon a people brought up to revere the old heathen deities and observe customs rendered sacred through superstition and countless ages. They required a gradual weaning, and this, so they say, was done by christianising the pagan symbols derived from nature-worship and adapting them to meet the requirements of the new faith,—symbols which, in course of time, became so clothed that their original significance was lost sight of.

It would greatly astonish all devout Christians to learn that the many objects they look up to with sacred awe and wonder of mystery, the inverted triangles which often form an ornament in church windows, the facing towards the east, even the derivation of the very nave they may happen to be in, with a variety of other symbols, existed long before Christianity was ever thought of. It may also be a little disturbing to learn that, quite unintentionally, they are indirectly paying respect to many of the most heathen observances cloaked under the garb of Christian religion. It is far from our intention to advocate a return to pagan darkness, but if this be really true, surely there is a very close connection between the temple and the Christian church. For this very reason, and the more so in that certain lines of their argument are not to be refuted, we would accord a greater importance than has been hitherto done to the Roman temple that undoubtedly first stood on the prominent piece of land in the London of those days. We do not mean to say that at the time this temple was erected to Diana the sufferings and crucifixion of Our Lord had not already borne fruit, but the very existence of the temple clearly indicates that in London, at any rate, the new faith was very much in its infancy, if it existed at all. But the demolition of the temple, to make room for the first Christian church, which was in turn destroyed in 302 during the Diocletian persecution, clearly gives evidence that there must have been growing indications of the presence of converts and missionaries which led to the erection of the latter from the ruins of the former.

A matter of twenty years later, in the reign of Constantine, the church was rebuilt, and completed by 337. What the shape of the first one was can only be conjectured. It would most probably be based upon the temple. The second was undoubtedly Romanesque, if we can rely upon the dates of its rebuilding. They fall conveniently between 306 and 337, a period of marvellous development of ecclesiastical architecture based upon classical remains, which the favourable attitude of Constantine towards Christianity encouraged. Converts in Rome had increased to such numbers that it was felt that some covered-in space was essential to protect the congregation against the sun’s hot rays and inclement weather, the more especially as such a building, far from attracting hostile attention, would serve to the furtherance of Christianity. The form it took was the conversion of the basilica. As anything that came from Rome was looked upon as a correct thing to copy, it is not surprising to learn that travelling merchants and missionaries were able to control the taste of the cities they passed through. In this way each country adopted the basilica, though in many features they differed from each other, consequent on customs, surroundings, and climatic conditions. However, about the year 597, the pagan Saxons appear to have destroyed the church. We come then to the first church of St. Paul’s of which we have authentic record. It was built by Ethelbert, King of Kent, in 607. He had first to obtain the sanction of Sebert, who claimed London as being in his dominion of the East Angles. To this see Mellitus was appointed as the first bishop. He was one of the forty monks who had accompanied Augustine in 597 to help to carry out Pope Gregory the Great’s scheme, which was to divide England into two provinces with metropolitans of equal dignity at London and York, with twelve suffragans to each. Since then London’s see has become third, ranking next to York. In the course of four hundred and eighty years, 607-1087, no doubt Ethelbert’s church underwent considerable alteration, probably commencing with a very humble building, perhaps chiefly of wood, and as portions got out of repair such characteristics of stone buildings, as learnt from travellers returning from Italy, were introduced, thus gradually transforming the Saxon church to architecture “in the Roman way.” For after the departure of the Romans the Britons at first appear to have returned to primitive methods of architecture. It is only as time progressed that they gradually became initiated, through the visits of travellers, into the working of stone, which, after the arrival of the Normans, came into more general practice.

To provide for the maintenance of St. Paul’s, Ethelbert endowed it with a farm at Tillingham in Essex. The property is still managed, the rents of which are controlled by the Dean and Chapter.

The chief event which took place within its walls was the first great Ecclesiastical Council of the English Church under the presidency of Archbishop Lanfranc. Twelve years afterwards, in 1087, a great conflagration completely destroyed the church. No time was lost, for apparently in the same year building operations were put in hand for what many writers call Old St. Paul’s, the second church. By this time we may take it that architecture in England had advanced considerably, and if anything it was a rather fortunate accident that overtook Ethelbert’s building. The nation had by now realised that 1000 A.D. was the dreaded millennium of the past; they recognised they had a stern master in William the Conqueror, who, though he might be harsh upon them, would allow no one else to be so. For some years prior to the millennium few buildings of any importance were erected, so thoroughly had the mind been terrorised at the prospect of the world coming to an end, and even after it had proved false, the reaction does not seem to have taken place till the accession of the Norman. When it did occur, we see by examples now extant what a great advance architecture had made, or rather, the knowledge of stone-work had become more general. This can only be attributed to the monks and stonemasons who followed in the wake of the Conquest. The plan of the Norman church of St. Paul’s was the Latin cross. The body of it appears to have been narrower and considerably longer than Wren’s cathedral. In fact we are much indebted to the numerous discoveries of Mr. Penrose, and we learn that the west front came right to the fore of Queen Anne’s statue, which then did not exist. Another great difference was that the axis of Old St. Paul’s, as one faces the west front, was more to the left of the statue, whereas that of the present building runs right through the centre of it. At the outset the Cathedral consisted of a nave of twelve bays, transepts, and a short apsidal choir built in the round arched style peculiar to Norman architecture. The whole then stood within spacious precincts enclosed by a continuous wall. In the wall were six gates. The principal one opened in the west on to Ludgate Hill, whilst the second, at St. Paul’s Alley, led to “Little North Dore”; the third, at Canon’s Alley, showed the way to the north transept door; the fourth was called Little Gate, and led from Cheapside to Paul’s Cross (where now stands a fountain); the fifth, St. Augustine’s Gate, faced Watling Street; and the sixth was the entrance from the side of the river to the south transept. A matter of 130 years later, it was decided to extend eastwards from the choir and introduce the newly developed style, which was the use of the pointed arch. The new work, consisting of eight bays, was carried out, but it caused the demolition of the old parish church of St. Faith, which lay right in the course. As some compensation the parishioners were allowed to use a portion of the crypt under the new choir as their parish church. After the Great Fire much controversy arose. The parishioners of St. Faith’s claimed their right to bury their dead in the whole space beneath the choir of Wren’s cathedral. This the Chapter disallowing, a lawsuit ensued, which resulted in a compromise, the parishioners being satisfied with rights of burial in the north aisle of the crypt. The “new work” was solemnly dedicated in 1240. In the meantime a spire, 489 feet in height, was put in hand and was finally completed in 1315. The spire of Old St. Paul’s proved to be a great source of anxiety. It was struck by lightning three times, and eventually was completely destroyed by fire, from a fourth lightning in the reign of Elizabeth, in 1561. It was never put up again. Right in the angle of the south transept and the nave existed a fair-sized Chapter House, which appears to have had cloisters, the remains of which can still be seen in the gardens on the south side of the nave, whilst on the north side of the choir the position of Paul’s Cross is defined by the insertion of stones let into the ground. Paul’s Cross, which by order of Parliament was demolished in 1643, was a pulpit of wood, mounted upon steps of stone, and covered with lead. At this place, the Court, the Mayor, the Aldermen, and the chief citizens used to assemble to listen to sermons from the most eminent divines, who were appointed to preach every Sunday in the forenoon. It was used as early as 1259, and not only were sermons delivered from it, but also political and ecclesiastical discourses were held.

Old St. Paul’s, by the time of Charles I., got into such a terrible state of dilapidation that steps were taken to put it into thorough repair. A fund was established and the work was intrusted to Inigo Jones. He got as far as the refacing of the Cathedral inside and out, and the adding of a classical portico, when his labours were interrupted by the Commonwealth. The famous architect died before the Restoration. In the meantime Cromwell’s troops did considerable damage, what with stabling their horses within the sacred edifice and employing their leisure time in defacing the building. They removed and sold the scaffolding, which Inigo Jones had set up for the purpose of restoring the vaulting, and in consequence much of the roof-work fell down. At the Restoration, Dr. Wren, as he was then called, was appointed Assistant-Surveyor-General of his Majesty’s Works, and instructed to repair the fabric. However, on September 2, 1666, the Great Fire of London broke out and completely destroyed Old St. Paul’s. Instead of carrying out his scheme of restoration, Wren was afterwards enabled to leave to posterity this masterpiece of genius that took him from the year 1675 till the year 1710 to realise.

How is one to describe London, the capital of the British Empire, and the largest city in the world? The subject-matter would take volumes, if an exhaustive treatise be required. Here it necessarily can only be a slight sketch. If we are to put any reliance on Geoffrey of Monmouth, a city existed here 1107 years before Christ was born, and 354 even before Rome came into existence. The founder, he asserts, was Brute, a lineal descendant of the Trojan Æneas, by whom the city was called New Troy, or Troy-novant, till the advent of Lud, who changed it to Cœr Lud or Lud-town, and encompassed it with walls. Though the king’s name is made evident in Ludgate Hill, which runs up to St. Paul’s west front, this author’s statements are considered as pleasing fictions by serious-minded authorities. Again, it is said to have been the capital of the Trinobantes in 54 B.C. With the arrival of the Romans we get more definite information, yet we are inclined to think that they must have found some kind of a British settlement, the more especially if we bear in mind that, until the Romans came, the mouth of the Thames was close at hand. The Thames of to-day was not the Thames of that time. It was very much shallower, possibly quite easy to ford at low tide. This was caused by the great inundation over large tracts of the counties of Kent and Essex, which took place every time it became high tide.

Till the Romans set the example of reclaiming the land and confining the river to its channel, a great volume of water had thus expended itself and reduced the depth considerably. But to the early Britons, where the higher level of land checked and brought back the wandering Thames, to continue its upward course within its proper confinement, must have appeared the mouth. In their belief that such was the case it is only natural to suppose that the Britons would take advantage of such an excellent site. A clearing was gradually made, for London was well wooded once, on the highest ground, which would be somewhere from the site of St. Paul’s to as far as the Bank of England, and a temple was erected within some groves. To the Romans in 61 A.D. it was known as Londinium or Colonia Augusta, the former, no doubt, being a Latinised form of Lyn-Din, meaning “the town on the lake.” Boadicea, Queen of the Iceni, in the same year is credited with having reduced it to ashes, and to have put 70,000 Romans and strangers to the sword. This wholesale slaughter was punished, in the same year, by Suetonius, who retaliated by a massacre of 80,000 Britons, a defeat that so preyed upon Boadicea that she promptly poisoned herself. Tacitus, the Roman historian, who lived about 90 years after Christ, relates how Suetonius felt constrained to abandon London, “that place of busy traffic and thronged with traders,” to the British, because he did not feel equal to the task of defending it. This is surely a proof that London was no mushroom city, though Tacitus makes no mention of a mint, as he does when he describes Verulamium and Camulodum. There also appears to have been another British settlement on the south bank, now known as Southwark. This district, by the way, has just within the last few days been erected into a see with the cathedral, or throne, installed in its fine old church of St. Saviour. This is where Gower, the father of English poets, is interred, and is honoured with a quaint coloured monument principally of carved wood, and the holy precincts also contain the remains of Shakespeare’s brother. Southwark is the Londinium attributed to Ptolemy’s description as being on the south bank of the Thames, though it does not discredit the existence of that on the north. As to the actual size and exact site of early London, it will be many years before that can be accurately determined. As old buildings are pulled down and excavations are made for foundations, speculation becomes much narrowed. The discoveries by Wren, and recently by Mr. Arthur Taylor, the late Mr. H. Black, Mr. Roach-Smith and Mr. J. E. Price, one of our greatest authorities, have thrown much light on early London. It has been found that cemeteries once existed in Cheapside, on the site of St. Paul’s, close to Newgate and elsewhere, which are known to date from the Later Roman period. On the assumption that it was an illegal Roman practice to bury the dead within the city walls, it follows they must have been outside, thus limiting the habitable area.

As to when and where the first bridge spanned the Thames are points difficult to decide. Sir George Airy supposes that the bridge mentioned by Dion Cassius (43 A.D.) at the mouth of the Thames was not far from the site of London Bridge, on the inference that the mouth of the Thames of early times was close to this site. Dr. Guest, on the other hand, recognises it as a bridge made by the Britons, but places it as being constructed over the marshy valley of the Lea, near Stratford, his theory being that the Britons would have been unable to bridge over a tidal river like the Thames with the width of three hundred yards, and a difference of nearly twenty feet in the rise and fall of the water. From remains found of ancient piles in the river-bed, and the great number of Roman coins, a well-known practice observed by this Latin race to commemorate any important undertaking, antiquarians seem to agree that there was a Roman bridge in the Anno Domini period of their occupation, and that indications point to its location at London Bridge. In their time London was a port of considerable importance. As many as eight hundred vessels are said to have been employed in exporting corn alone in the year 359, which shows that agriculture was in full swing. With the departure of the Romans in 409 the city became the capital of the Saxon kingdom of Essex, and was called Lundenceaster. Subsequent events of importance are those that occurred under the dynasties of the Norman (1066-1154), the Plantagenet (1154-1485), the Tudor (1485-1603), the Stuart (1603-1714), interrupted in the midst by Cromwell’s Protectorate, and finally the Hanoverian succession, which brings us down to this year of grace, with Edward VII., King of Great Britain and Ireland, Emperor of India, and monarch of the greatest and most prosperous empire. To attempt to give a detailed account of all that happened under the successive heads of the State is clearly impossible. Two events, however, stand out prominently. One was the Great Plague of London that commenced in December 1664, and carried off a matter of ninety thousand victims. The horrors of this pestilence are graphically described in the Diary of Samuel Pepys, who was an eye-witness. Daniel Defoe, though writing some years after, has given us a wonderfully realistic account in his “History of the Plague.” Fires were kept up night and day, to purify the air, for three days. No sooner did the infection come to an end than the great conflagration of September 2, 1666, broke out. It began at one o’clock in the morning in a baker’s shop in Pudding Lane, behind Monument Yard. It spread from the Tower to the Temple Church of the Middle Temple in Fleet Street, and away to Holborn. In the short space of four days it destroyed eighty-nine churches (including St. Paul’s), the city gates, the Royal Exchange, the Custom House, Guildhall, Sion College, and many other public buildings, besides some fourteen thousand houses and the ruin of four hundred streets. The Monument, built by Wren in 1671-1672, commemorates the origin of the fire, 202 feet from its base.

It is only within recent years that London—by which is meant London in its broadest sense; that is, including the city and excluding the suburbs—has been divided into a number of townships. It is now no longer correct to call Marylebone, Paddington, and many other such, “parishes.” They are all boroughs, and possess a mayor and corporation of their own, each with a townhall to support the dignity. They have a certain amount to say in local affairs, the more important being under the control of the London County Council, who in turn hold themselves responsible to Parliament.

The jurisdiction of the Lord Mayor of London proper is confined within certain limits, as defined by an irregular line of boundary commencing from the Tower, northward through the Minories, past Aldgate, behind Liverpool Street Station, working round to Holborn, across Chancery Lane, to end at Middle Temple. His career is generally marked by an apprenticeship of seven years’ duration to some city guild, such as the Mercers’, the Grocers’, Merchant Tailors’, Vintners’, Armourers and Braziers’, and some seventy others. At the end of this period he obtains, on the payment of a certain fee and a glance at a series of Hogarth’s “Progress of the Rake” at the Guildhall, the freedom of the Ancient City of London. As a vacancy occurs in his company he fills it as a “Liveryman.” After these initial stages he is open to become a Master of the said company, and becomes eligible for alderman, sheriff, and Lord Mayor. The candidate’s ambition, however, is tempered according to his means; for to worthily fill the office of the first magistrate he must be prepared to be considerably out of pocket, though the loss is generally compensated by a knighthood, and on special occasions by a baronetcy. Though he may be entirely devoid of any legal training, the Lord Mayor during his tenure of office, or the aldermen, are always present on the bench at the Central Criminal Court, which sits at the Old Bailey. This court was created in 1834 to bring under one jurisdiction the criminal cases that are supplied by the immense population around the city. Opposite the Mansion House, the official residence of the Lord Mayor, is the Bank of England. The Royal Mint faces the Tower of London, and was constituted as now about 1617, whilst the buildings date about 1810. The first known Warder or Master was in the reign of Henry I., the wardership becoming extinct with Lord Maryborough (1814—23), and the last Master was Professor Thomas Graham, who died in 1869. By the Coinage Act in the following year the Master of the Mint, who as such had existed up till then, was abolished, and the post was combined with that of the Chancellor of the Exchequer. On the other side of the road is the famous Tower of London, the White Tower or central keep of which was built in 1078 by Gundulph, Bishop of Rochester, in obedience to the command of William the Conqueror. By the side of this historic pile is the Tower Bridge, the marvellous engineering feat of Sir Horace Jones and Sir J. Wolfe Barry. It opens upwards in the centre to allow the shipping to pass through. Right away towards the east are the great docks, the principal of which are the London Docks and the East India Docks.

Passing west of the city are the great Law Courts in the Strand, designed by Streeter.

Behind them is Lincoln’s Inn, and in front across Fleet Street, is the Temple. Gray’s Inn is in Holborn, as well as Staple Inn, with the picturesque old-fashioned frontage, once the prevailing style of London’s domestic architecture. Smaller Inns are Clifford’s Inn, threatened with demolition, with Old Serjeant’s Inn adjoining, while Serjeant’s Inn is on the other side of Fleet Street, nearer to Ludgate Circus, and not far from the Temple.

In Trafalgar Square a priceless collection of old masters’ paintings are housed in the National Gallery, once the premises of the Royal Academy of Arts, who moved to Burlington House, Piccadilly.

Regent Street, with its shops, and Bond Street, the great centre for art dealers and picture galleries, hardly require further description. The British Museum, the South Kensington Museum, and numerous others; the great hospitals,—St. Bartholomew’s, Guy’s, Charing Cross, and many more equally as well known; the wonderful open spaces as typified by Hyde Park; the Palaces of Buckingham, St. James, and Kensington; besides the Cathedral of St. Paul, the Abbey, and Houses of Parliament, Westminster, with the newly erected Roman Catholic Cathedral, close to Victoria Station, comprise only a tithe of what can be seen in the capital of the British Empire.

Eboracum.
(“Doomsday Book.”)

ONE can hardly think of York without recalling the wonderful ride of Dick Turpin on his famous mare Black Bess. It came about one day that he was resting at the Kilburn Wells—a site now taken up by a modern banking-house—in the company of another notorious highwayman, King, who seemed very much depressed. “Dick,” he said, “I have had a most curious dream. I seemed to be dying from a pistol-shot by you.” “No, no,” protested Dick, and was doing his best to cheer up his friend when suddenly unusual commotion arose outside, followed by the immediate entrance of the bailiffs to apprehend King dead or alive. One of his numerous mistresses had given him away in a mad fit of jealousy. It took little time for Turpin and King to reach their horses, which were always tethered close by. Turpin was soon in the saddle, but turning round he perceived that his comrade was in difficulties. The horse was restive, and its master was making vain attempts to mount. To draw his pistol out of the holster and empty its contents towards the man who had by now laid his hand on King was a moment’s thought. But to Turpin’s horror he saw the dream realised. His friend dead, it was folly to dally longer. Amidst a volley of shots he quickly wheeled his mare round and galloped off, hotly pursued by the excisemen, who had soon recognised him. Along West End Lane into Finchley, away towards Barnet, his mare, gallantly taking every toll-gate, soon carried her master out of immediate danger. It was then that Dick Turpin determined to try the fettle of Bess by carrying out his long-cherished ambition of riding ninety miles to York. Without a change of mounts, and only an occasional rinse-out of his faithful animal’s mouth with some strong stimulant, he accomplished his wish, but at the sacrifice of his mare. She died from exhaustion, having, however, saved her master and cheated justice. This is no legend, but an absolute fact—a story that has quickened the imagination of every English schoolboy, accompanied with a regret that such good old rollicking days no longer exist, that there is no relieving rich merchants of well-filled purses, no opportunity of calming the fears of fair ladies, no chance of acting the grand seigneur towards the poor, no languishing in Newgate with a glorious death at Tyburn. No, that is all a dream now.

Though customs have greatly changed since those days of unsafe travelling, the quaint streets, the great gateways of bold architecture, and the magnificent church all lend the city of York the wonderful fascination of age, heightened by the situation of the river Ouse at its junction with the Foss.

In what county of England the famous city and glorious minster of York are, requires little mental effort. It is the most ancient metropolitan see in England. At one time great controversy arose between York and Canterbury as to precedence. It was thought that whichever one of them could successfully prove that the one first confirmed was meant by Pope Gregory to be the senior, should be the superior. As, however, no satisfactory understanding could be arrived at, the question was left to the Papal Court at Rome. By its decision it was determined in favour of Canterbury, so the Archbishop of Canterbury styles himself Primate of All England, whilst the Archbishop of York rests content with Primate of England; the reduction of one word, but it means a great deal. In the history of England we see what part these two metropolitans have taken, how they have occasionally fallen out over what now appears to us the most trifling matters, but which no doubt were considered of most vital importance at the time. In this account they need no recapitulation, for they can be turned up in any history book on England.

In the very early years of Anno Domini, when Christianity in England was quite in its infancy,—or to be more exact about the year 180,—it is said that King Lucius established the Metropolitan See at York. In those days, however, it could hardly have been called by that name. Prior to this monarch’s time it was the town of the Brigantes, and was known as Evrauc. They appear to have been a very hardy race. Through them it was that Caractacus, one of two sons of Cymbeline, after the Silures were defeated by Ostorius, made the last important stand against the Romans. That is to say, with the submission of the Brigantes and the capture of Caractacus, all unity among the British tribes came to an end, so that it became comparatively an easy task for the Romans to complete the conquest of England.

This they did in the second campaign of Agricola, about the year 79 A.D., and the Roman power was due to the divided factions and parties of the Britons, who, though they might have kings and all the outward show of sovereignty, were merely puppets in the hands of the conquerors. From this year to 400 the Romans steadily evolved a unity of their own in Britain. On their departure, history tells us how the British implored them to come back and protect them, so helpless had they become in the art of attack and defence.

As Evrauc belonged to the Brigantes, we may take it that it was the chief town of the British in the north when it passed into the hands of the Romans after the defeat of Caractacus. By them it was called Eboracum, and became the metropolitan of the north, the military capital and centre of the Romans in Britain.

The original Roman city was rectangular in form and of considerable dimensions. It is supposed to have been laid out in imitation of ancient Rome, on the east bank of the Ouse. A temple to Bellona was erected as well as a prætorium, in which the emperors sat, for Eboracum was honoured by the great heads of Rome. The first to reside here was Hadrian, in 120, whilst Severus died in the city in 211. This last had come over with his sons, Caracalla and Geta, and a large army, and the attendance of his whole court. His time was busily engaged in reducing the troublesome Britons to proper submission. The two sons nobly helped their aged father. Caracalla completed the erection of a strong wall of stone nearly eighty miles long, close to the rampart of earth raised by Hadrian, in accordance with the wish of Severus, to form a more effectual barrier against future incursions of the natives. During the residence of the court, Eboracum reached to the highest state of splendour. The constant visits of tributary kings and foreign ambassadors, who came to pay their allegiance to Rome, caused it to be unsurpassed among the cities of the world, so much so that it came to be called “Altera Rome.” The remains of the Emperor Severus, though he died here in 212, were enclosed in an urn and sent to Rome.

The Emperor Constantius Chlorus died also in Eboracum in 307. His son, Constantius the Great, was present at his father’s death, and by the army proclaimed emperor.

After 409 the Greek and Latin writers tell us that Britain was no longer ruled by the Romans. Their statements are borne out by the Saxon Chronicle. This did not mean that there was a general exodus of the Latin race or civilisation, for the connection of Rome with its British provinces did not cease suddenly, though the tie gradually became weakened, because from 409 Roman officials probably ceased to be sent regularly. Britain still considered itself to be Roman, and the inhabitants, or rather the upper classes, continued to speak Latin. Even in the sixth century they were pleased to call themselves “Romani,” and held themselves aloof from the surrounding barbarians—a term which we know was applied by the Romans to tribes, not necessarily because they were uncivilised, but rather as a convenient mark of distinction from themselves. Since their departure from Britain, archæologists have found rich mines of Roman remains in every place of their occupation, and none more so than at York; but to enumerate the many discoveries would require more space than can here be allotted. Suffice it to say that the “multangular tower” is a notable evidence of the Roman occupation, though it is much dilapidated.

The city was frequently assailed by the Picts and Scots, and after the arrival of the Saxons it suffered considerably from the many wars that arose between the Britons and their new allies, as well as in the struggle for supremacy during the establishment of the several kingdoms of the Octarchy, and other minor wars. Early in the seventh century Eboracum underwent a change. By the Saxons the city was called Euro wic, Euore wic, and Eofor wic, which by Leland is supposed to have been borrowed from its situation on the river Eure, now known as the Ouse; but by what process these titles came to be contracted into its present name of York seems rather difficult to account. However, under the name of Eoforwic, the city flourished as the capital of the Bretwaldas early in the seventh century. Consequent on the conversion of Edwin, King of Northumbria, to Christianity, resulting from his marriage to Ethelburga, daughter of King Ethelbert of Kent, the city was erected in 624 into an archiepiscopal see, over which Paulinus, the confessor of the Queen, was made primate. In addition to this, Edwin had constituted the city as the metropolitan of his kingdom. Edwin’s work upon the church, which he dedicated to St. Peter, and the missionary work of Paulinus, were suddenly suspended by an attack of the Britons under Cadwallo in 633. Edwin was killed, whilst Ethelburga escaped into Kent with Paulinus. The church in the meantime was allowed to decay until it was restored by Oswald, successor to Edwin. He managed to regain possession of his kingdom after a sanguinary conflict with Cadwallo, who, with the chief officers, was killed during the fight.

We have it by Bede that on the site of the wooden church, in which the baptism was conducted by Paulinus, Edwin erected “a large and more noble basilica of stone,” dedicated to St. Peter; but, as we have seen, the work was interrupted by the untimely death of the founder. Finally it was repaired by Archbishop Wilfrid, the third prelate to succeed to the government of the See and provinces. His predecessor had been Cedda, who had been appointed on the death of Paulinus in Kent. The establishment was continued on its original lines by Wilfrid and his successors till the Norman Conquest. In the meantime York, under Archbishop Egbert, from 730 to 766, became a most celebrated centre of learning, and reached to its height under Alcuin. The former had repaired the ravages caused by fire in 741 to the Cathedral, which is described by Alcuin as “a most magnificent basilica.” The city fell into the hands of the Danes. They soon made it an important seat of commerce, and constituted it the capital of the Danish jarl. In 1050 the Abbey of St. Mary’s was founded by Siward, who is supposed to have died at York five years later and to have been buried in St. Olave’s Church. William the Conqueror then seized York in 1068 and erected a tower. The new condition of things was not allowed to remain long. Sweyn, in the following year, sent his two sons, Harold and Canute, with a numerous following of Danes. They disembarked on the shores of the Humber, and, joined by Edgar Atheling and his army, advanced to York, laying waste the land they passed through. To prevent the enemy from fortifying itself, the garrison fired the houses in the suburbs; but the flames were fanned by a strong wind into a devastating conflagration, in the midst of which the Danes entered and put to the sword the whole Norman garrison. This slaughter was eventually punished by the Conqueror, who, harbouring a suspicion of treachery on the part of the citizens, reduced them to his idea of submission by burning the city about their ears and desolating the neighbouring country from the Humber to the Tyne. Nevertheless the city gradually recovered in the two succeeding reigns. Archbishop Thomas endeavoured to patch up the Cathedral, but eventually pulled it down and rebuilt it. The city continued to advance in prosperity in spite of many attacks from the Scots. In 1088 William Rufus laid the first stone for a large monastery for the Benedictine Order, which was dedicated to St. Mary.

In 1137, during the reign of Stephen, a terrible fire broke out which destroyed, it is said, the Cathedral, the monastery, and some forty parish churches. On the accession of Henry I. the city received its first charter of incorporation, whilst in 1175 Henry II. held here one of the first meetings which came to be afterwards called Parliament. It also served as an occasion for William of Scotland to pay his homage to the King in the Cathedral. In the reign of Richard I. the fury of the populace was excited against the Jews for having mingled with the crowd at the Coronation in London. In spite of a royal proclamation in their favour, they were terribly persecuted throughout the country, especially in the big towns. York was by no means behind the times in 1190. Many of the Jews, having defended the castle in which they had taken refuge, put their own wives and children to death, and then committed suicide. Those who did not were cruelly tortured to death by the Christians. In the meantime it is pleasing to note that certain portions of Yorkshire had been reclaimed from its wild state wherever the Cistercians and other orders of monks had settled. They introduced sheep-farming, besides tilling the reclaimed wilderness. The subsequent history of York is taken up with the many visits of royalty and benefits conferred, till we get to the year 1569, when the Council of the North was established, after the suppression of the rebellion known as the “Pilgrimage of Grace.” This was consequent on the dissolution of the monasteries, the demolition of ten parish churches, and the wholesale appropriation of revenues and materials by Henry VIII. The principal leader was Robert Aske, who, with 40,000 men attended by priests with sacred banners, seized this city and Hull. They were soon dispersed, Aske being brought to York and hanged upon Clifford’s Tower. Though suppressed for a time, public feeling broke out into an insurrection during Elizabeth’s reign to restore Roman Catholicism. It ended in their discomfiture, Thomas Percy, Earl of Northumberland, being beheaded at York as the chief ringleader, and his head stuck on the Micklegate Bar as a warning to others. History records a Parliament held here by Charles I. in 1642, when he promised to govern legally. In fact, he seems to have removed his entire court here, or rather those willing to follow him. However, as all attempts at negotiation had failed, he advanced to Nottingham and there erected his standard. After the battle of Marston Moor, which is about six miles out, York was taken for the Parliament by Sir Thomas Fairfax in 1644.

After the Restoration, Charles II. was royally welcomed. James II. aroused public indignation by attempting to introduce Roman Catholicism at York, which only led to the persecution of the followers of that religion. Subsequent events have been principally the visits of royalty. In 1829 terrible consternation arose at the sight of smoke issuing from the roof of the Cathedral. The act was afterwards proved to have been that of a madman who had secreted himself for that purpose in the Cathedral after the evening service was over. The whole of the choir was gutted by the flames. The Cathedral, after Sweyn’s visitation, had been rebuilt by Archbishop Thomas of Bayeux.

It was commenced in 1070 and finished by 1100. Of this building little now remains, it having been destroyed by an accidental fire in 1137. It remained in a desolate state till Archbishop Roger rebuilt the apsidal choir and crypt (1154-1191). To this was added the south transept by Archbishop Walter de Grey (1215-1255) in the reign of Henry III., whilst the north transept and the central tower were erected by John le Romaine, who was at that time treasurer of the Cathedral. The two transepts, besides the crypt, are the oldest portions of the present building. They belong to the best years of the Early English style. The south transept has a distinctive feature in its magnificent rose window, whilst the north transept is adorned with a series of beautiful worked lancet windows, known as the Five Sisters. The son of the treasurer, who became also Archbishop, laid the foundation of the nave about 1290, which was completed about forty years later by Archbishop Melton, who also built the west front and the two western towers. The Chapter House also belongs to the same period. In 1361 Archbishop Thoresby commenced to erect the Lady Chapel and presbytery after the Early Perpendicular style. He also in eight years completed the central tower, which he had taken down in 1370, whilst previous to this he had started to rebuild the choir in 1361 to render it more in accordance with the character of the nave, though it was not finished till about 1400. It is a very fine example of the Late Perpendicular style. By this time all traces of the ancient Norman architecture, with the exception of the eastern portion of the crypt by Archbishop Roger, which still remains, had been eliminated. To keep in character it was decided to recase the central tower and alter it into a perpendicular tower with a lantern, which was completed in 1444. With the erection of the south-west tower in 1432, and the north-west tower in 1470, the church was completed, and two years later was reconsecrated. Besides the fire of the madman in 1829, when the woodwork was entirely destroyed, another one broke out in 1840 in the south-west tower, reducing it to a wreck. Since then it has undergone the usual restoration. The whole resembles a Latin cross, and constitutes a glorious minster, the beauty of which can be more readily appreciated by a glance at Mr. Collins’ work than by any amount of word-painting. The other illustrations give also a faithful description of the old gateways. They are the four principal gates or “bars” to the walls of the city—walls which contain Norman and Early English work, but principally belong to the Decorative style. Micklegate Bar is the south entrance, upon which were exposed the heads of traitors, and is Norman. Monk Bar leads on to the Scarborough Road, and probably belongs to the fourteenth century. It was formerly called Goodramgate, which was changed after the Restoration to Monk Bar, in honour of General Monk. Walmgate Bar dates from the reign of Edward I., and still retains the barbican rebuilt in 1648, whilst Bootham Bar, with a Norman arch, is the main entrance from the north. Stonegate is situated practically in the heart of the city, not far from the minster. It is a curious piece of architecture. York has been most happy with regard to the birth of men who have distinguished themselves. It has yielded to the Church of Rome eight saints and three cardinals, and to England no less than twelve lord chancellors, two lord treasurers and lord presidents of the north. But the earliest recorded birth of an eminent native takes us out of the ordinary ranks of men. If any name is well known it is certainly that of the first Roman emperor who embraced Christianity. He is Constantine the Great. Flaccus Albanus was also born here. He was a pupil of the great ecclesiastical historian, the Venerable Bede. Waltheof, Earl of Northumberland and son of Siward; Thomas Morton, in turn Bishop of Chester, Lichfield, Coventry, and Durham, first came into the world at York; whilst of more recent times there was Gent, an eminent painter and historian; Swinburn, a distinguished lawyer; and Flaxman, one of England’s most celebrated sculptors, who is perhaps as well known by his beautiful designs for the Wedgwood pottery as by any other work of his. Not to know who Flaxman was is almost as bad as to admit ignorance of the existence of Michael Angelo.

THIS ancient city on the river Itchen in Hampshire is inseparably bound with William of Wykeham. He it was who rebuilt a great part of the magnificent cathedral now extant, and who founded the great public school of Winchester, at which so many celebrated men have received their education. These form the great attraction of the city, and rescue it from oblivion. It is with sorrow we foresee that the inevitable restoration will take place in the east end of this venerable structure. For many years past the foundations were known to be in an unsafe condition, but recently great alarm was caused by the appearance of large cracks in the upper masonry and of the bulging in of the groining of the crypt. There was no doubt that the foundations were slowly subsiding, and speculation was rife as to the cause. With a view to ascertaining the state of the foundations, excavations were made. It was discovered that the original builders had rested them on marshy ground, strengthened with oak piles, which have gradually decayed during the lapse of centuries. At the same time the presence of an underground stream, thought to be part of the river Itchen, was seen to be bubbling up through the gravel, saturating the upper soil of peat.

In much the same way as the site of St. Paul’s Cathedral in London probably was covered, in the first instance, with buildings for pagan worship, so we find that the Romans at Winchester erected temples to Apollo and Concord upon the ground that eventually came to be the precincts of the Cathedral. The presence of a Christian church appears to have been in the third century, when the city is said to have become one of the chief centres of the Christian Britons. This first church, however, was destroyed during the persecution of Aurelian and was rebuilt in 293, to be made a wreck in 495 by the Saxons, who fired it. What with the religious convulsion of England, which, with the exception of Kent, fluctuated with the rise and fall of circumstances chiefly controlled by the policy of kings either heathen at one time and Christian at another, or the deposition and death of a Christian monarch, caused by one more powerful and deeply imbued with heathenism, the See of Winchester does not appear to have come into existence till about the middle of the seventh century. The establishment of its bishopric in a way marks the commencement of a new epoch in the English Church.

The mission of St. Augustine, backed with the royal countenance of Ethelbert, had, though not completed, done much towards conversion; but on their death practically the whole of the Christian territory, excepting Kent, relapsed into heathenism, and to such an extent that Augustine’s successor, Laurentius, was on the point of giving up the whole mission and taking refuge in Gaul. Not until 625 did a mission again venture forth from the Kentish kingdom, and then their tentative efforts were rendered abortive by the battle of Hatfield in 633, which for a while seems to have crushed all hope at Rome. But a couple of years later an independent missionary, Birinus, was consecrated in Italy, and was sent by the people to make fresh attempts to break down the barriers of heathenism in England. Through his influence Cynegils became the first Christian king of the West Saxons. To inaugurate his conversion the monarch decided to establish a bishopric, and immediately began to collect materials for building, at his capital of Winchester, a cathedral, which was eventually constructed by his son Cenwahl in 646. The Danes in 867 broke up the establishment, and the year following, secular priests were substituted. They remained till 963, when Ethelwold, by command of King Edgar, expelled them to make room for the monks of the Benedictine Order from Abendon. They enjoyed uninterrupted possession, and were richly endowed with royal donations, as the dissolution revealed the extent of its revenue. Henry VIII. then refounded it for a bishop, dean, chancellor, twelve prebendaries, and other subordinate officers. The Cathedral was first dedicated to St. Amphibalus, then jointly to St. Peter and St. Paul, and afterwards to St. Swithin, once bishop here. With Henry VIII.’s régime the title was altered to the Holy and undivided Trinity. The church of Cynegils having become entirely ruined, a new cathedral was commenced in 1073-98 by Bishop Walkelyn. The two Norman transepts and the low central tower, as also the very early crypt, still exist. The church is a spacious, massive, and splendid cruciform building of Norman architecture with subsequent additions in the Gothic style. The whole of the Norman nave was demolished and re-erected on a far grander scale by William of Wykeham at the end of the fourteenth century, though not quite completed till after his death. The choir was much restored in the fourteenth century, whilst it underwent considerable alteration by Bishop Fox from 1510 to 1528. Here is the tomb of William II. A great feature is the magnificent reredos behind the altar. It extends the full width of the choir, with two processional entrances pierced through its lofty wall, and covered with tier upon tier of rich canopied niches. They once contained colossal statues. Behind this reredos there is a second stone screen, which enclosed the small chapel in which stood the magnificent gold shrine studded with jewels. It contained the body of St. Swithin, and was the gift of King Edgar. The Cathedral, in fact, received at one time and another great treasures of gold and jewels by many of the early kings of England. Canute is said to have caused his crown of gold and gems to be suspended over the great crucifix above the high altar.

The magnificent chantry of Cardinal Beaufort is of the Later style of English architecture. Bishop Waynfleet’s chantry is in the same style, and has been kept in excellent repair by the trustees of his foundation at Magdalene College. Both chantries contain tombs of their founders. There are several other chapels, all deserving close study of their beautiful architecture. The most notable of the many examples of mediæval recumbent effigies are those of the monuments to Bishops Edingdon, Wykeham, Langton, and Fox. The famous authoress, Jane Austen, is buried here.

The black marble font is an interesting relic of eleventh-century skill. The sides are composed of scenes taken from the life of St. Nicholas. The Cathedral, situated in an open space near the centre of the city towards the south-east, is a marvellous combination of beauty and dignity, surpassed, if at all, by few. It is the central feature of Winchester, and will always command the greatest admiration. One of England’s great public schools is that founded by William of Wykeham and built between 1387 and 1393. The foundation originally consisted of a warden, ten fellows, three chaplains, seventy scholars, and sixteen choristers. The prelate had previously established a school here in 1373. Thus the oldest of England’s great schools was called “Seinte Marie College of Wynchester,” the charter of which was dated October 1382. The ancient statutes were revived in 1855, and were still further influenced by the Public Schools Act of 1868. The establishment has a fine chapel, hall, cloister, and other necessary buildings, all in excellent preservation. Another interesting structure is that afforded by the hospital of St. Cross, founded in 1136 by Henry de Blois, Bishop of Winchester. It lies about a mile out of town. Its general plan can be readily seen by a glance at Mr. Collins’ drawing. Henry de Blois intended it to provide board and lodging for thirteen poor men, and a daily dinner for one hundred others. It was mostly rebuilt by Cardinal Beaufort between 1405 and 1447. The whole has undergone much restoration, which was not entirely happy, though it has certainly kept the buildings in a good state of preservation. On the precincts is also the very stately cruciform chapel, dating roughly from the year 1180. The city of Winchester was at one time proverbial for its splendour, which was owing to the many kings that preferred to reside within its walls than elsewhere.

Mainly owing to its central position on the high roads in the south of England, Winchester was from early times a town of great importance. This Hampshire city is first ascribed to the Celtic Britons, who settled here in 392 B. c., having emigrated from the coasts of Armorica in Gaul. They remained in undisturbed possession till within a century prior to the Christian era, when they were expelled by the Belgæ, who advanced from their settlements on the southern coasts into the interior. Soon after it had become the capital of the Belgæ, the settlement passed into Roman occupation. The Cœr Gwent (White City) of the Britons became the Venta Belgarum of the Romans. The Roman word Venta eventually became transformed to “Winte,” “Winte-ceaster,” from which was derived Winchester. Under Cedric, about 520 A.D., it became the capital of the West Saxons, and of England in 827 by Egbert. He had obtained the sovereignty of all the other kingdoms of the Octarchy, and was crowned sole monarch in the Cathedral of Winchester. On this occasion the monarch published an edict commanding all his subjects throughout his dominions to be called English. The union of the kingdoms gave that importance to Winchester which it had never had previously, and the fact of being not only the capital of Wessex, but the metropolis of England, caused it to leap into great prominence. This state, however, suffered a severe check when London, in the reign of William the Conqueror, began to rival it, and was brought almost to the verge of ruin through the dissolution of the monasteries by Henry VIII. However, at different periods, Winchester received much unwelcome discomfiture. It was seized by the Danes in 871; whilst in 1013 it was ravaged by Sweyn on his path of vengeance. In 1100 the body of William Rufus was solemnly interred in the Cathedral. During the parliamentary war the city was taken and retaken by Cromwell, and the castle dismantled. Here it was that Charles I. commissioned Wren to build a palace in 1683, which was only begun. Previous to this the plague of 1666 greatly reduced the number of inhabitants, and it was possibly to help the city recover itself that Charles thought of building a palace.

Though the great regal prosperity has long since departed, the many old houses and the great extent of the city still bear testimony to the once great importance of Winchester.

OF the three cathedrals in London, Westminster Abbey may be said to possess the greatest charms. Compared to it St. Paul’s is a new church, whilst St. Saviour’s, Southwark, is little known. It is true that the foundation of St. Paul’s is coeval with that of the Abbey, and St. Saviour’s is an old church, but St. Paul’s dates from the Great Fire of London, and the merit of its architecture is the wonderful genius of Wren. In more ways than one Westminster is bound up with the history of the great empire. Within her precincts repose the greater number of reigning heads who inaugurated their reigns in the sacred interior with the coronation, a ceremony which was last performed when our present king came to the throne, though the last monarch to be laid to rest in the venerable pile ceased with the interment of King George II. in 1760.

The Abbey is also the favourite sepulture for eminent statesmen, poets, authors, and great travellers,—men whose intellects have done far more for the wonderful rise of Great Britain than the average crowned head, men whose ability and personality in many cases were little understood during life, preyed upon, as is often the case, by others who could turn it to good pecuniary account. But when death claims them, the nation, sensible of their loss, pay homage by interring the remains in the noble sepulchre of a cathedral, or perpetuate the memory by an epitaph on the wall.

To wander around the Poets’ Corner along the echoing aisles, and stand in front of each memorial and read off the few cold lines that seem a mockery to regard as a record of some mighty intellect, serve only to awaken the imagination and to recall their sad biographies read at one time or another. Were Chaucer, Shakespeare, Spenser, Dryden, Milton, Oliver Goldsmith, Handel, Thackeray, David Garrick, to mention only a few, ever made peers, much less knights? No; yet many of their contemporaries of inferior intellect enjoyed such worldly distinction. To stand in the presence of the great dead, or in lieu to read their epitaphs, casts a great fascination over the mind, and makes one linger within the precincts of the historic abbey till a rude awakening comes from the verger that it is closing-time. With a sigh we emerge from the great mausoleum into the hard, glaring daylight, for a few seconds dazed. The fascination still clings to us, and when we get home we are eager to consult authorities and learn more of the beautiful church at Westminster.

The Abbey, like nearly all our great cathedrals, is the growth of centuries. Looking at it under present-day conditions, we can hardly realise that in the dim past the site was an island of dry sand and gravel, bound on the one side by the river Thames, and on the other by marshes watered by the little stream called the Eye. This stream still runs, though out of sight, under New Bond Street, the Green Park, and Buckingham Palace, to empty itself into the Thames near Vauxhall Bridge, and has lent its name to Tyburn (Th’ Eye Burn). In the early years of the seventh century, possibly within a few months of his restoring the church on the site of St. Paul’s, which would take us back to about the year 610, Sebert, the King of the East Saxons, decided to build a church to the honour of St. Peter on this Isle of Thorns, or, as it is sometimes called, Thorney Island. The fact of the vicinity being westward of the neighbouring hill of St. Paul’s eventually gave rise to the name of Westminster. According to tradition, on the eve of the new church being consecrated by Bishop Mellitus, the boatman Edric, whilst attending to his nets by the bank of the island, was attracted by a gleaming light on the opposite shore. Rowing across, he found a venerable man, who desired to be ferried over. On landing at the island, the mysterious stranger proceeded towards the church, accompanied by a host of angels, who gave him light by candles as he went through the forms of church consecration. On his return to the boat, the old man bade Edric tell Mellitus that St. Peter had come in person to consecrate the church, and promised him that fish would always come plentifully to his nets, provided he did not work on a Sunday and did not forget to offer a tithe of that which he caught to the Abbey of Westminster. On the morrow, Mellitus, hearing the fisherman’s story, confirmed by the marks of consecration in the chrism, the crosses on the doors, and the droppings from the candles of the angels, acknowledged the work of St. Peter as sufficient consecration, and changed the name from Thorney Island to Westminster, to distinguish it as being to the west of the city of London and to the Church of St. Paul’s on the neighbouring hill. However incredible Edric’s story may be it bore fruit, in that till 1382 a tithe of fish was paid by the Thames fisherman to the Abbey, in exchange for which the bearer had the privilege to sit, on that day, at the Abbot’s table, and to ask for bread and ale from the cellarman. By degrees the neighbourhood became peopled, partly on account of the church and partly from the erection of a palace close to it, which led the nobility to build houses in the vicinity. The Abbey, becoming ruinous through the Danes, was rebuilt by Edward the Confessor as the “Collegiate Church of St. Peter at Westminster.” In fact this monarch is usually regarded as the founder of the Church. According to Matthew Paris, it was the first cruciform church erected in England, the immense size and beauty of which can be seen in the Bayeux tapestry. The foundation was laid somewhere about 1052, and the church was consecrated in 1065, a few days prior to the Confessor’s death. The monastery was filled with monks from Exeter, whilst Pope Nicholas II. constituted the Abbey for the inauguration of the kings of England. Throughout the succession of reigning heads, Edward V., who died uncrowned, was the only exception.

Of the Confessor’s church and monastery the only remains appear to be the Chapel of the Pyx, the lower part of the refectory below the Westminster schoolroom, a portion of the dormitory, and the walls of the south cloister.

The Abbey, with these few exceptions, was demolished and rebuilt on a magnificent scale by Henry III. between 1220 and 1269. The material employed was first a green stone and afterwards Cæn stone. The portions that remain to us from that rebuilding are the Confessor’s chapel, the side aisles and their chapels, and the choir and transepts, all beautiful examples of the Geometrical Pointed period of architecture. Henry’s work was continued by his son Edward I., who added the eastern portion of the nave after the same style; it was afterwards carried on by successive abbots till the erection of the great west window by Abbot Estney in 1498. The College Hall, the Abbot’s House, Jerusalem Chamber, and part of the cloisters had also in the meantime been added by Abbot Littlington in 1380. Amongst various improvements Henry VII. built the west end of the nave, his own chapel, the deanery, and portions of the cloisters in the Perpendicular style.

The choir, a fine specimen of Early English with decorations added in the fourteenth century, is where the coronation of English sovereigns takes place, and contains the tombs of Sebert, King of the East Angles, Anne of Cleves, and Edmund Crouchback, Earl of Leicester. Henry VII.’s chapel displays the architect’s skill to perfection, with the wonderful fretted work of the roof and the graceful fan-tracery. It contains the glorious tomb of Henry VII., the work of the great sculptor Pietro Torrigiano. It is composed chiefly of black marble with figures and pilasters of gilt copper. The figures once wore crowns, but some sacrilegious hands have stolen them. In the chapel of Edward the Confessor are the shrine of Edward the Confessor in Purbeck marble, the altar-tomb of Edward I., the coronation chairs of the English sovereigns, besides the stone of Scone, the old coronation seat of the Scottish kings. The beautiful chapels of St. Benedict, St. Edmund, St. Nicholas, St. Paul, St. Erasmus, and St. John the Baptist chiefly contain the monuments of ecclesiastics and nobility.

The entrance generally used is the North Porch, known as Solomon’s Porch. It was erected in the reign of Richard II., but entirely changed its character in the hands of Wren, who appears not to have appreciated the beauties of Gothic architecture. The same architect is said to have built the two western towers, though they are sometimes ascribed to his pupil Hawksmoor. Wren’s work upon the north porch was again altered by Sir G. G. Scott, who introduced the present triple portico. On passing under it we come to the north transept, generally known as the Statesmen’s Aisle. Here in the same grave lie the Earl of Chatham and his famous son, William Pitt. Close to them are either the graves or monuments of Fox, Castlereagh, Grattan, Palmerston, Peel, the three Cannings, and Disraeli. Right in the centre of the aisle is a slab marking the resting-place of W. E. Gladstone and his wife (1898 and 1900), over whom unconsciously the people tread, gradually wearing out the simple words of memorial. The south transept is the Poets’ Corner, containing the memorials from Chaucer to Ruskin. In the nave lie David Livingstone (1873), a great missionary and traveller, whose remains were reverently brought from Central Africa; Robert Stephenson (1859), the famous engineer; Sir Charles Barry (1860), architect of the Houses of Parliament; Sir G. G. Scott (1873); George Edmund Street (1881), architect of the Law Courts; Colin Campbell; Lord Clyde (1863), who recaptured Lucknow. We have mentioned these names, not for the sake of invidiousness, but have chosen them at random.

Leading from the cloisters up a flight of stone steps is the Chapter House. The original structure was built by King Edward in the eleventh century, and it is noticeable in that it departed from the usual Benedictine form. In 1250 it was rebuilt by Henry III., and is an octagonal structure, second only to that at Lincoln in size. Here the monks were accustomed once a week to hold their chapters. In ornamental stalls opposite the entrance the Abbot and his four chief officers were enthroned, whilst the monks ranged themselves along the stone benches which go around the walls. Criminals were tried, and if found guilty were tied up to the central pillar of Purbeck marble (thirty-five feet high) and were flogged publicly. The monks, however, were not left in undisturbed possession of the Chapter House, for on the separation of the Houses of Lords and Commons in the reign of Edward I., the House of Commons held sittings here and continued to do so till 1547. The last parliament held here was on the day that Henry VIII. died, when it sat to discuss the Act of Attainder passed upon the Duke of Norfolk. At the dissolution of the monastery the Chapter House passed to the Crown, and seven years afterwards the House of Commons removed to St. Stephen’s Chapel in the Palace of Westminster.

From that time the Chapter House was used as a Record Office till the removal of the records in 1865 to the Rolls House.

There are now two or three glass cases filled with interesting ancient deeds and illuminated parchments relating to the history of the Abbey. Adjoining the Abbey is the great public school of Westminster, or St. Peter’s College as it was called when founded by Queen Elizabeth in 1560 for the education of forty boys, denominated the Queen’s scholars, and prepared for the university. Since then the numbers have greatly increased, and to have been educated there is something to boast of, for it is so much sought after that preference is given to the sons of old Westminster boys. We might go on for ever, so vast is the subject-matter, but before closing we would draw attention to St. Margaret’s Church, which stands in front of Solomon’s Porch. It was founded by the Confessor, and is the especial church of the House of Commons. Curiously enough, it gives scale to the whole Abbey. The Houses of Parliament are across the road to the east of the Abbey and on the bank of the river Thames. In the Tudor style Sir Charles Barry, R.A., built the New Palace of Westminster, containing the two Houses of Parliament (1840-1859). It is a stupendous work and a marvellous mass of rich architecture. Some authority states that the clock tower is much after the style of the belfry at Bruges. This statement, we would point out, is hardly correct. The two no more resemble each other than do black and white.

How is it possible to describe in a few cold words the wonderful beauties that lie hidden in the architecture of the Abbey, the best artistic expressions of its several architects? Impressions created depend upon the temperament of the individual who gazes upon them. All acknowledge the great beauty, but each from his own standpoint, according to his tastes and inclinations, which are moulded by his pursuits in life, or more rarely endowed by that inherent sense of all that is noble and refined he is enabled to sink his own individuality for a moment, and to enjoy the brain-product of a fellow-being. To the dull intellect the Abbey appeals as a mystery; to the commercial man it represents so much outlay of capital, and a proud possession of the empire’s city; to the poet and artist the memorials must recall the wonderful lines of Longfellow:

“Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime”;

to the architect a marvellous insight into the great possibilities offered by architecture; to the musician the ambition to create a great composition that will be worthy to echo throughout the lofty and beautiful aisles, whose music is so unconsciously based upon those laws of harmony which should exist in architecture, sculpture, painting, and literature.