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 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
 THIRD DAY.
The City Walls — Danemead — Eastgate — Northgate — Westgate — Southgate
— Kingsgate — The College — Wykeham — Wolvesey — Raleigh.

From the Roman occupation, and perhaps from an earlier date,

Winchester has been a fortified town. Long after that time, people
were slow in laying to heart the saying in Plutarch that a city which
contains men who can fight has no need of walls.
The modern defences seem to have been chiefly raised in the time
of John and Henry III.,[46] just before Winchester ceased to be the
royal city of England. In the first year of John an inexpensive way
was discovered of obtaining land to make the fosse. Andrew Clerk,
of Winchester, gladly gave ground for the purpose, on condition that
he should have confiscated lands “which had belonged to Aaron the
Jew, in Shortenestret, and a messuage near it in which Bona the
Jewess lived.”[47] In the patents during Henry’s reign “murage,” that
is, money for wall-building, is often mentioned.[48]
We now pass down the High Street in the same direction that we
took yesterday, and, after reaching the site of the Eastgate, cross
the bridge, as we cannot walk close to the river on the western side.
We pass down Water Lane, where a Roman urn was discovered a
short time since; and, crossing the river by the mill, come to
Durngate Terrace, marking the site of a postern in the walls. This
gate was made for foot passengers in 1259. It was ordered to be
entirely closed during the plague in 1603, whence we conclude this
was a squalid part of the town.
Thence as we proceeded up the City Danemead.
Road we found the modern walls largely
studded with pieces of old cut stone. The foundations of the city
walls ran close to the houses on our right, and a gentleman we met
told us that during some excavations he had seen a part of them
uncovered six feet in thickness. On the left we soon came to Trinity
Church, a handsome new structure, and on the right, beside
Newman’s the grocer’s, there is a gate leading to some sheds in the
famous meadow called Danemead. Farther on we found a turning on
the right, and walking up it a few yards came to the Steam Laundry,
which stands on the western edge of this field. Sceptics maintain
that Dane is a corruption of Dene, and signifies low-lying ground,
but we cannot afford to give up the old story. Tradition says that
here Athelstan sat on the city wall to see the combat between Guy,
Earl of Warwick, and the gigantic Dane, Colbrand: Rudborne
luxuriates in the conflict, and records all the mighty cuts and blows
and their results with as much detail as if he were a Homer or a
reporter at a modern prize fight.
But there seems about the whole affair much hollowness and
“sounding brass.” Guy cuts off Colbrand’s head, and the Danes,
seeing their champion dead, run away, and are pursued. We wonder
whether Rudborne had been reading about David and Goliath. He
was a monk of Winchester in the fifteenth century, and as he says
that Colbrand’s axe was laid up before the high altar, and could in his
day be seen in the vestry of the Cathedral, so we may assume there
was here some celebrated Dane of the name of Colbrand.
Further up the City Road the deep fosse before the walls can be
traced in the slope of “Hyde Abbey Bowling Green,” and in the
garden of a ladies school called Fossedyke House. In the centre of
the cross roads here formed by Jewry Street, Hyde Street, and the
City Road, stood the Northgate. This structure was at length
considered, as Temple Bar has been in our times, to be a hindrance
to traffic. Some people went so far as to say that their lives had
been endangered by carriages when crossing its narrow bridge.
Purchasers of hay and straw said that the arches of the North and
South gates were so low that they could not obtain a full load for
their money. Antiquaries have never been able to offer much
resistance to commercial interests, and so in 1771 an order was
made for the removal of the time-honoured obstacles.
 The foundations of the walls now cross Towers of the Wall.
the road and run on our left, a fragment of
them behind Westbury Villa can still be seen from the street; and if
we look upwards we shall observe among the branches of the trees
a round tower, which a patriotic citizen, Mr. Budden, has built to
mark the foundations of one of the towers of the wall.[49] We now
pass down Sussex Street, and turning to the left and then right,
enter Tower Street. At the end of the last century the picturesque
ruins of the wall, among shrubs and ash trees, ran here on the right
to the Westgate. Passing through the gate, already described, we
make for the barracks, where the Castle formed part of the city wall;
and, crossing the railway, walk in front of the pretty gardens and
houses of St. James’ Terrace, and just before recrossing the line see
the entrance to the new cemetery on our right.
Then we proceed down St. James’ Lane (called sometimes Barnes
Lane), at the end of which in Southgate Street, just beyond St.
Thomas’ Church, stood, till 1771, the Southgate with its bridge. The
city wall then ran down between St. Swithun Street and Canon
Street. Some portions of it three feet thick can still be seen about
four yards behind the cottages, half way down the northern side of
the latter street. There was formerly a postern for the friary
somewhere here.
 King’s Gate.

The Kingsgate is an interesting relic. There is a little chapel (to St.

Swithun) over it, as there was over the Northgate and Eastgate. In
the porter’s lodge, at the entrance to the close, the city wall can be
seen over six feet thick.
The Kingsgate was the scene of some Excommunication.
remarkable events in the middle of the
thirteenth century. Henry III. wished to appoint the uncle of the
Queen to the bishopric of Winchester, but the monks sturdily
refused. For five years the conflict lasted—the chapter suffered
stripes, imprisonment, and starvation while insisting that William de
Raley and no other should be the bishop. But when this prelate
came to Winchester at Christmas he found the city gates closed
against him. He made a circuit of the walls barefoot, and at last
stopped at Kingsgate, the nearest point to the Cathedral, and there
“preaching” pronounced a general interdict and excommunication
upon all the Cathedral and Church authorities, the Mayor, bailiffs,
and clerks, and others, who opposed his entrance. He then withdrew
to France, but was soon afterwards received to his diocese in peace.
Fifteen years after this occurrence there was a rebellion in
Winchester against the clerical and other governing bodies, and in
the tumult the Kingsgate was partly burnt, and some of the servants
of the monastery were murdered.
At this time the chapel over the gate was destroyed, but the whole
was soon afterwards restored. The chapel in which service is now
performed was rebuilt at a later date.
Beside the gate of the precincts a “Druidical” monolith can be
seen placed upright in the ground. Passing back through the
Kingsgate we can see the line of the wall continuing along the little
garden of the head-master, and here is a pretty bit for the artist.[50]

THE PORTER’S LODGE AND CHEYNEY COURT.

Nearly opposite we saw a number of college boys streaming into a

small confectioner’s shop. Inside sat a young lady in a cage. I had
always felt that the fair possessed potent charms, but I never before
knew of one who was obliged to be protected in this way. We soon
learned, however, that the wire was put up for the preservation of
other sweets, and because some of the boys had been studying Dr.
Smiles’ work on “Self-help.”
On the same side we came to one of the Sustern Spytal.
College houses, with an iron railing in front
of it; this was the site of the ancient nunnery,[51] the Sustern Spytal.
Here were afterwards the “Commoners,” or boys not on the
foundation, and now are class-rooms. It has been said that there
was no fosse along this part of the city wall; but in the French map
of 1650, one is marked as existing. The question is doubtful.
And now we arrive at the famous College, Wykeham.
and, as in duty bound, pay a passing tribute
to its founder. Wykeham was of yeoman birth, of comely person, and
had a strain of noble blood in him, from his mother’s family. He was
educated at a little old school on St. Giles’ slope, which boasted that
it had numbered among its pupils Athelwolf and Alfred the Great. No
doubt, he attended to his lessons, for we find him while still a youth,
appointed to be secretary to the Governor of the Castle. This was
the happy accident in Wykeham’s life; without it, though he had a
genius for architecture and geometry, and was a rare draughtsman,
he might have remained in obscurity. The governor, De Scures, knew
Bishop Edington—himself a builder—and both knew the King. They
introduced Wykeham to him, and from that moment, at twenty-three
years of age, his career was assured.
“He was one of those men,” observed Mr. Hertford, “whom fortune
carries to the top of the ladder without asking them to walk up the
rounds.”
“So it appears,” I continued. “He took, as many of his day, the
priest’s office that he might eat a piece of bread, and soon had it
richly buttered. Not only did he become ‘a pretty considerable
pluralist’ and a bishop, he was also made Surveyor of the King’s
castles and palaces, Keeper of the Privy Seal, Secretary to the King,
and Chancellor. In short, he was the leading spirit in the country, and
‘everything was done by him, and without him nothing.’”
“But I have read somewhere that he had a fall,” said Mr. Hertford,
“and was obliged to appeal to Alice Perrers. Imagine the grave
bishop in his long robes, bowing down to Edward’s impudent little
favourite! Perhaps his words were golden on this occasion, for she
said she would go and see whether a spark of love for her remained
in the old king. And the spark did remain, and its light was sufficient
to guide Wykeham back to his temporalities.”
 “Well,” I replied, “that story has been questioned, but, at any rate,
he only wanted his own, and that for a good purpose. His pet
college was in danger of suffering, and though the building was not
commenced he had appointed a warden and scholars. When the
college was finished, he began the transformation of the Cathedral
and had done good work upon it before he closed his eyes. He left
2,500 marks to carry it on. Until the last few years of his life he
planned everything himself, and employed no architect. He is
considered to be the father of the Perpendicular style, and was
national as opposed to Papal in his architecture and his politics.
Altogether he laid out upon building what would now be equal to
half a million. For such brilliant success, learning and integrity were
indispensably requisite, and he summed up his estimate of them in
his famous motto ‘Manners makyth man.’”
Beneath the great and good deeds of Wykeham, we may here
mention a little kindly act, not less indicative of a noble character.
When he had purchased Dummers Mead from St. Swithun’s
Monastery for the site of his College, a tailor claimed a part of it and
took legal proceedings. The man failed to establish his right, and
was condemned to pay the heavy costs, which would have ruined
him. Wykeham generously defrayed them.
There are preserved in a curious vaulted Relics of Wykeham.
strongroom over the College sacristy,
among other manuscripts, a modest pedigree, tracing Henry VII.’s
descent from Adam, a Life of St. Thomas à Becket deposited here by
Wykeham,[52] and a roll of the household expenses of the founder in
1394.[53] But if we wish to see his most interesting relics we must
go to New College, Oxford. Judging from what remains there, we
might almost conclude that Wykeham was a giant in stature as well
as in mind.[54] There we find a pair of large crimson silk gloves, with
I. H. S. amid golden rays, worked on their backs. His ring is about an
inch wide, of great solidity, with the crucifixion embossed on the
gold at each side. The stone, about the size of a sovereign, is in the
shape of a heart and colourless, probably rock crystal. This was
doubtless a thumb ring, but it is large even for that. His mitre case is
an extraordinary structure, made of thick stamped leather, girded
with iron bands and locked at the top. It is a foot wide and nearly
two feet high, in shape resembling a beehive. From the strength of
the case we should expect valuable contents. But no; the fragments
of the mitre show it to have been little superior to a stage “property.”
Its rods adorned with trefoil leaves are of silver gilt, but the “jewels”
are plentiful and spurious. The tissue bearing the I. H. S. was
worked with seed pearls. The purfling which went round the brow of
the mitre was of brass, with sham gems, alternated with small
squares of silver brightly enamelled with figures of men, animals,
and flowers.
The most costly of these “jocalia” is the central piece of a morse
or clasp for the cope. It is about two inches wide, and is called a
Mary crowned, being in the form of an old-fashioned M, like a
horseshoe.[55] It is surrounded with pearls, emeralds, and garnets.
In the centre stand two little figures in gold, Mary and an angel, and
between them is a vase of garnet, from which springs a lily with
emerald leaves and flowers of pearls.
Behind a glass in New College Chapel is Wykeham’s crozier; a
magnificent work of silver adorned with pinnacles and other
ornaments, and especially rich in scriptural figures in enamel.
At Oxford is, also, the only letter extant, written by Wykeham—
purchased at Sir Edward Dering’s sale. It is in the clerkly hand,
adopted by penmen of the time, and the lines, now much faded, are
a foot long, but so few that the whole writing is scarcely an inch
wide. The letter, thus short and long, was written from Shene,[56] to
Lord Cobham, in 1367, when he was on an embassy to the Pope, of
whose whereabouts Wykeham seems doubtful. It is in French, and
signed
 William de Wykeham
Among these curiosities is the ivory horn of a fish called a
narwhal, which seems out of place in the collection, unless it be
considered emblematic of the vocation of the first preachers of
Christianity. It probably belonged to Wykeham, and is sixty-five
inches long, the pointed end—supposed to be an antidote for poison
—having been cut off. When Lord Leicester was Chancellor of Oxford
in 1569, he asked the College to give him this horn. They made a
compromise, and by sending him this prized extremity were allowed
to keep the rest.
We enter the first court, and look with The College.
veneration at the kneeling figure of
Wykeham. Here was impressed by a master-mind the prototype of
our public schools. The prelate chose the site outside the walls of
Winchester, in the Soke, which extended round the south-east of the
city, so that the College might be entirely in the Bishop of
Winchester’s jurisdiction. As early as 1373, he engaged a
schoolmaster at Winchester, and three years later had a warden and
seventy scholars.

Chamber Court.
 The buildings we see, with the exception of the Chantry Chapel
and schoolroom and tower, are those erected by Wykeham. In
March, 1393, the warden, fellows, and scholars, took possession of
their new magnificent abode, marching in a triumphal procession,
headed by a cross-bearer, and chanting songs of praise.
Nevertheless, the accommodation would not have seemed liberal in
our days. Three fellows had only one room; the seventy scholars had
six chambers, and those below fourteen years slept two in a bed.
These were in the inner quadrangle. The outer quadrangle must
then have formed a somewhat unpoetical entrance to the abode of
the muses, although the warden and head-master lived in it. In the
front of it, built partly for defence, were the brewery, bakehouse,
and malt-rooms; on the west side, the stables; and on the east, the
slaughter-houses.
Cloisters.

The Cloisters.

The Cloisters were built by Wykeham’s steward; and I should like

to have walked their “studious pale” at my leisure, and to have spent
some time in musing over the past. These arches, this pavement,
and this clean roof of chestnut or Irish oak, have been present to
the mind and eye of many a learned man as he here mused upon
the great master works of the Greeks and Romans. And after his
ambition had been kindled, and his breast inspired for a brief period,
he had laid him down to rest, and left nothing to inform us that he
ever lived, except a tablet on these silent walls. I can conjure up the
pensive figure of Henry VI., who was often here, and attended the
chapel services. He presented the College with a chalice, cruets, and
tabernacle, all of gold, and gave the little boys some pocket-money,
which, no doubt, was more valued by them.[57]
Here are brasses to some of the fellows who died in the sixteenth
century. We see that John Watts (Watto), reached the patriarchal
age of a hundred years. Some are commemorated in Latin verses—
the solemnity of death could not prevent a poetaster from punning
on the name of Lark, and one John Clerk, who on earth “distilled
rosy liquors,” is now “rejoicing in living waters.” But we are also
reminded of younger and gayer scenes, of spirits full of hope looking
forward joyously to years of expected happiness. The walls are
scored with the names of these aspirants, most of them afterwards
unknown—for studious boys rarely mark themselves upon wood and
stone—but we see here “Thos. Ken, 1646,” the celebrated bishop,
whose glorious hymns, “Awake, my soul,” and “Glory to Thee, my
God, this night,” first appeared in a Manual of Prayers he composed
for Winchester College.
Alas! as I look through these arches to the grassy enclosure, I see
some small tombstones to the memory of boys not destined even to
feel the disappointments of life. The rosebud has fallen upon the
sod! The thought is too melancholy, let us change to something
cheerful—and look at those young girls on the sward, sketching the
little old chapel which stands in the centre with all its pristine beauty.
It dates from 1430. There is a fine stained east window in it which
has old figures in the lower part. Over the chapel—intended for
private masses—is an apartment, now used for a library. The whole
is a little bijou.
The large schoolroom, built by Warden Nicholas in 1687, is now
used merely for concerts and other entertainments. But the great
grim signboard still remains, warning the festive company that they
must learn, leave, or be whipped! This unpleasant notification is
impressed by a representation of a sword, and something which
looks alarmingly like a pitchfork, but is really meant for a rod. In
these days of competitive examinations, it seems strange to be told
that the army is to be the last refuge for dunces. This work of art is
older than the building; its scholastic designer remains among the
great unknown. Prominent here among other names, is that of
Herbert Stewart, painted with ink in letters of heroic size.[58]
The height of the Hall gives it a magnificent appearance, while the
old oak in the panelling, benches, tables, and roof, make it sombre
and venerable. Some old pieces of wood, about six inches square,
were shown us, which are still used by the foundation boys for
plates at breakfast and supper. In early times the hall was warmed
by a fire in the centre.
Over the high table there is a full-length The Portraits.
portrait of William of Wykeham. It is on
oak, but scarcely looks as old as the days of Holbein. All we can
hope is that there was some likeness of Wykeham of which it is a
copy. There is also here a picture of Bishop Morley with rosy cheeks,
pointed beard, and a somewhat cynical expression. He was in exile
with Charles II., and returned with him, and, to judge by the
carmine here freely used, had shared in his master’s good living.
Beneath this, by way of contrast, I suppose, hangs the lantern face
of Bishop Fox—dark, close-shaven, ascetic—not altogether unlike his
patron Henry VII. He was the man who collected the bones out of
the crypt, and placed them in the chests.
On the wall of the passage to the kitchen there is the picture of
the “Trusty Servant,” almost as well known as the College itself. The
Latin verse dates from 1560; the figure, from Queen Anne.
“I remember that at first sight I thought it was intended for the
devil,” said Mr. Hertford, “and I am not sure that the designer was
not a plagiarist in this respect. I have seen valentines like it.”
 “But when we read the lines,” I replied, “we find the intention is to
represent virtues, not vices. The cloven feet are to signify celerity,
not bestiality; the ‘porker’s snout’ contentment, not greediness; and
the donkey’s head patience, not stupidity; the formidable weapons
and bundle of implements he carries are for defensive and industrial
purposes. This combination of man and beast has a moral as well as
a comic side, and has much taken the public fancy.”
When we were opposite this picture, the porter recited with some
dramatic power the description of this model domestic:—

“A trusty servant’s portrait would you see,

The emblematic figure well survey:
The porker’s snout—not nice in diet shows;
The padlock shut—no secrets he’ll disclose;
Patient the ass, his master’s wrath to bear,
Swiftness in errand—the stag’s feet declare;
Loaded his left hand, apt to labour with,
The vest his neatness; open hand his faith;
Girt with his sword—his shield upon his arm,
Himself and master he’ll protect from harm.”

We pitied the man who rehearsed these hackneyed lines to every

visitor, but hoped that to his ear they had a musical, or perhaps, as
Shakespeare says, a silver sound.
In the College Chapel we have the Brasses.
original roof, and the brasses are exact
reproductions of those formerly existing here; which, though
carefully stored, were stolen when the pavement was undergoing
repair some twenty years ago. Fortunately a boy with the suitable
name of Freshfield had kept rubbings of them, and by these they
have been restored. Warden Nicholas, though not a man of
puritanical views, removed the screen.
 The College Chapel

The College was visited by Charles I., and when reverses came it
was still safe, for Nicholas Love, the regicide, son of a warden of that
name, exerted himself for its preservation, and Colonel Nathaniel
Fiennes, who was an old Wykehamist, when Cromwell took
possession of Winchester, placed a guard at the gates of the College
to prevent any depredations.
Poetic memories cluster richly around these old walls. Ken has
been mentioned, and Otway should not be forgotten, but time
ripened more abundant fruit. There was Young, to whom so many
wise reflections came when—

“Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne

In rayless majesty now stretches forth
Her leaden sceptre o’er a slumbering world.”
and whose lines, “Procrastination is the thief of time,” “At thirty man
suspects himself a fool,” and “All men think all men mortal but
themselves,” have become household words. Then there was “Tom
Warton,” of whom Johnson said that he was the only man of genius
he knew that had no heart. In one sense the remark was perhaps
true. Although he was eminently sociable and genial, he seems, from
his writings, to have been free from those amorous perplexities in
which most poets are involved. But he had a fine imagination, great
power of expression, and a considerable vein of humour. Next came
poor Collins, who died insane. His father, a hatter, determined, like
Sugden the barber, to give his son the very best education. Collins
was a strange, fantastical fellow, though not unworthy of the feather
he wore in his cap. He became a demi of Magdalen College, Oxford,
and wrote three odes—to Evening, to the Passions, and on the
Death of Thompson—never surpassed in the English language. Truly
the tree of knowledge was here hung with golden fruit. Many other
eminent men have issued hence to adorn the Church and State,
whose solid acquirements must not cause us to undervalue the gifts
of Sydney Smith, another Wykehamist, who “could make not only
the guests and servants, but even the portraits laugh.”
Warton in his panegyric on ale, and in the School Fare.
affection he practically showed for it, may
have been influenced by the remembrance of the joyous drinks of
his school life. He says:—

“Let the tender swain

Each morn regale with nerve-relaxing tea
Companion meet for languor-loving nymphs;”

and adds that he prefers a “material breakfast,” consisting of a crust

and tankard of ale. As late as seventy years ago the boys continued
to have beer for breakfast, indeed that, and that only, was allowed
them liberally. Winchester seems to have been long in forgetting the
good old Saxon times when each alderman consumed two gallons of
beer at a sitting. As for the boys’ dinner, what between fagging, and
the seniors having the first cut at the joint, the juniors often had
none—vegetables, never. When the square bits of board were their
only plates, they were certainly not indulged with gravy. No wonder
that they heartily sang the “Dulce Domum” in the college meads
when the time came for them to disperse for their summer holidays.

Corner of a College Study.

Passing on down College Street, and admiring some Virginian

creepers, more bright than Henry VII.’s stained glass, we soon came
to the large gates of Wolvesey Castle. There was a fortress here in
Saxon times, built, it is said, by Cynegils, and made over by his son
to the bishops of Winchester. There is a mystery about the name.
Some think it means Wolf’s Island. Milner says the name came from
Edgar having required a Welsh prince to find 300 wolves’ heads and
deposit them here every year. These animals were then great pests,
and when Alfred wrote requesting the Archbishop of Rheims to
permit St. Grimbald to come over, he sent him a present of wolf
hounds. The prelate acceding, says that the saint is “not a dumb
dog, but able to bark and drive away evil spirits.”
The earlier castle which stood on this site had a literary celebrity.
Here Alfred’s scribes compiled the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, assisted
by the King himself. He ordered the precious volume to be kept at
Wolvesey—it is now in Corpus Christi College, Cambridge. This was
the first English prose book.
The structure of which we now see the ruins was built by Bishop
de Blois, brother of King Stephen, out of the materials of the former
castle, and of the Saxon palace in the square. It was not long
constructed before it was used in a manner which showed that the
bishop’s weapons were not entirely spiritual.
In 1141, during the civil wars, the Burning of
southern part of the city, including the Winchester.
Bishop’s palace and the Cathedral,
supported King Stephen, while the northern, containing the best
houses and Royal Castle, held out for the Empress Matilda. A storm
of fire-balls poured forth from Wolvesey Castle, destroying the Abbey
of St. Mary, twenty churches, large private buildings, the suburb of
Hyde, and the splendid monastery there situated. Fighting and firing
raged in the heart of the city for seven weeks! The Northern party
were at last driven into the Royal Castle, and the water cut off. The
Empress now adopted a clever expedient; she kept out of sight,
caused a report to be circulated that she was dead, and had
preparations made for her funeral. Her body was enclosed in lead
like a corpse, and was thus allowed to be carried out in a horse-litter
through the besiegers’ camp. Once safely in the open country she
soon was out of her coffin and into her saddle, and, bestriding her
good steed, galloped off towards Devizes. Stephen, upon his
obtaining the castle, prepared it for vigorous defence, but before he
was ready heard an army was collecting against him and took to
flight. The monks of Hyde Abbey maintained that during this conflict
Bishop de Blois intentionally fired from Wolvesey upon their
monastery.
The war which devastated the country at this time greatly
interfered with agriculture, and a synod was convened at
Winchester, at which it was resolved, “that plough and husbandman
should have the same privileges of sanctuary with churches,” and
the whole assembly, with torches in their hands, pronounced a
blazing excommunication against any one who injured an
agriculturist.
Wolvesey saw Henry II.—who had been crowned at Winchester—
in one of his worst moments. After the murder of À Becket he found
a great storm of public feeling raised against him, and felt no longer
safe. On the 6th of August he passed through Winchester, and
visited this grim old Norman castle, where Henry de Blois was dying,
and here he heard the bishop’s last words of bitter reproach, as he
foretold the great calamities which Divine vengeance would pour
upon the murderer of the Archbishop. From this Henry hurried to
Wales and to the subjugation of Ireland. As late as Leland’s time this
was “a castelle, or palace well tow’red,” and it was a residence till
the Civil War.
Here, in Henry VIII.’s time, Bishop Fox, as Raleigh.
a blind and aged man, was interrogated
about Prince Arthur, who was born here, and gave very interesting
and lucid replies. Here Mary first saw Philip. Here took place the
famous trial of Raleigh before Popham and others, during which the
apartments of the warden and fellows of the College were
requisitioned for the judges, sheriffs, and principal lawyers. The fine
old sailor kept a very cheerful countenance, we are told, though so
unwell and feeble that he was accommodated with a seat. He was
charged with attempting to induce foreign enemies to invade the
King’s dominions; with attempting to restore the Romish religion;
and to place on the throne Arabella Stuart, whom he was to meet in
Jersey. The celebrated Coke was the Crown counsel against him, and
indulged in virulent and coarse invectives, calling him a terrible and
detestable traitor.
“He hath a Spanish heart. You are an odious man. See with what
a —— forehead he defends his faults. His treason tends not only to
the destruction of our souls, but to the loss of our goods, lands, and
lives. This is the man who would take away the King and his cubs.”
Raleigh sometimes smiled during this tirade. The last accusation
was the only one which moved him, and he said, referring to it, that
Coke was a base slave. “Humble, but not prostrate,” he answered for
himself; “showing love of life rather than fear of death.” The charges
against him were on the authority of only one man, his former
friend, Lord Cobham. Raleigh quoted Scripture, that “in the mouth of
two or three witnesses shall every word be established,” and
demanded that Cobham should be brought face to face with him.
This was refused. He said that in the Tower he got a poor fellow to
throw up an apple with a letter tied to it to Cobham, who said, in
reply, that he had wronged him. But all was of no avail, and Popham
condemned Raleigh to be hanged till half dead, and then cut down,
quartered, and disembowelled. He left the court without showing
any signs of dismay. This account is the more interesting and
valuable, as it comes from the pen of Sir Thomas Overbury, an
estimable man, poisoned by Carr, who afterwards married his wife.
Raleigh, though he remained afterwards thirteen years in the
Tower, until his unfortunate and dishonest expedition, was finally
executed under this sentence passed at Winchester.
All is now peaceful enough at Wolvesey. Wolvesey.
Time has gnawed the walls, the
Roundheads destroyed the defences, and Bishop Morley peeled the
whole to erect the new palace which now stands beside these sad
remains. The string courses in the walls seem to be a continuation of
Roman architecture, and we observe two good Norman windows and
a couple of imperfect arches; the outside of the keep can still be
recognized and the refectory. But nearly all the interior is in a
confused state of disintegration, and the man who can call the ruins
picturesque must have a happy imagination. Morley’s palace, now
used for school classes, is uninteresting; so is the chapel, though, as
a builder who had to repair the roof assured me, the wood there,
the east window and south wall existed in the days of the castle.
 The Tower of the College Chapel from the Itchen.

Leaving Wolvesey, we continued by the line of the city wall, and

marked in places the insertion of Roman tiles. There is little here to
recall the conflicts of men, but much, in the dark fruit-laden boughs,
to make us reflect on the generosity of nature and on piping times,
when every man can sit happily beneath his own vine and fig-tree.
And now we continue our walk by the smooth river and by cottage
gardens bright with everlastings and “gipsy roses” (scabious), till we
find ourselves again on the site of the Eastgate from which we
started.

FOOTNOTES:

[46] Called of Winchester from having been born there.

[47] These town ditches were let to different parties, the
grass being of some value. In the Black Book we find,
in Henry IV.’s reign, a grant by the Mayor of
Winchester, giving to the Abbot and Convent of the
Church of St. Barnabas, of Hyde, a certain part of a
ditch called Walldych, extending from the Northern
Bridge to a certain place called the Bowe, where flows
Kyngesbroke. The convent to resign all claim to the
 fishing in the ditch, and give free ingress to a certain
part at the end of the bridge called Northbrigge, for
nets and all instruments for cleaning.
[48] In the Pat. Rolls, 43 Ed. III., there is an order for
towers and walls to be repaired.
[49] Near this, at the commencement of the Andover Road,
a Roman coin of the year 340 was found at a depth of
sixteen feet. The staple grounds were within the walls
here.
[50] The monks of St. Swithun had “Viridaria” or pleasure
grounds outside the precincts.
[51] Founded by the brethren of St. Swithun’s for fifteen
nursing sisters.
[52] Wykeham seems to have had a peculiar reverence for
St. Thomas à Becket. The election of scholars into New
College and Winchester School was to take place every
year between the festival of the Translation of St.
Thomas à Becket (July 7), and the 1st of October.
[53] There are here also three Anglo-Saxon charters, and in
the Audit-room some fifteenth-century tapestries and
the coats of mail worn by the warden’s escort.
[54] His father’s name was John Longe, perhaps from his
stature.
[55] Does this similarity account for the proverbial good
luck of the horse shoe?
[56] That is, Richmond, where Wykeham improved the
palace.
[57] When Henry VI. founded Eton on the plan of
Winchester, Wayneflete (the headmaster here and
afterwards bishop) migrated with five fellows to the
new foundation.
[58] Wykehamists are proud of this gallant soldier who fell
recently, fighting in the Soudan, and have erected a
memorial gateway in his honour.
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