Northgate Street.—Commercial Buildings.—The Rows.—The Exchange.—Music Hall and Old Theatre.—Chester Cathedral.—St. Oswald’s Church.—The Cloisters and Chapter-House.—Promptuarium, Refectory, and King’s School.

Our tours of inspection have, so far, been all down hill; let us now, then, take higher ground, and move glibly onward up Northgate Street.

Passing St. Peter’s Church, at the corner of the street, we come immediately to that classic pile of white freestone—the Commercial Buildings and News Room, erected in 1808, from the designs of Mr. T. Harrison, the architect of the Castle and of the Grosvenor Bridge.

To this succeeds Shoemaker’s Row, extending about a hundred yards along the left side of the street. The Row upon the right hand used formerly to be known as Broken-shin Row, from the rugged and uneven character of the thoroughfare, and the manifest dangers that threatened the shins of those who ventured along it. Originally it is said to have been double its present length; but modern innovation—that wolf in sheep’s clothing—has here, as elsewhere, played terrible havoc with “ye good olde citie.”

A little higher up than this latter-named Row, we may profitably turn round, and survey, from this slight eminence, the lower part of the Street we have just traversed, together with the curious architecture of the houses in Shoemaker’s Row. The scene is a picturesque one, with its oddly-carved beams and overhanging gables, which look as if ready to fall down on the beholder. But in order more fully to impress it on your memory, we present you farther on with a faithful sketch of Northgate Street, as seen from this point.

Onward we go, until an open space upon our left introduces us to the Market-Place of Chester’s famed city. The market for vegetables is held in this area, with no other covering save the “bright blue sky;” but the sale of fish is conducted in that airy looking building, which occupies, we will not say adorns, the lower end of the Market-Place.

Northgate Street

But what is yon new-looking structure, overlooking the Marketplace? New, did you say? Why, it is not very far from a couple of hundred years since that building, the Exchange, first delighted the eyes of the old-fashioned citizens. True, the stone-work has been lately restored, and the bricks newly pointed; but practically this is the same Exchange which, in 1698, was completed at a cost of 1000l.,—Roger Whitley, the then Mayor, being a large contributor. The statue embellishing yonder niche on the south front is a graceful representation of Queen Anne, of glorious memory, in her coronation robes,—a work which must have emanated from no mean chisel. The superstructure of the Exchange stood originally upon four rows of stone columns, the ground floor being otherwise entirely open; but in 1756, just a hundred years ago, owing to some well-grounded fears for the safety of the structure, the lower tiers of shops, &c., were erected, as an extra support to the fabric; the greater portion of these are now occupied as police-offices, lock-ups, &c. On the higher story are the Assembly Room, the Pentice or Council Chamber, and the spacious Town Hall. The Assembly Room was a popular resort in the last generation, when corporation feasts, redolent of venison and primest turtle, were perpetually being discussed there; but it is many a long day since these savoury viands graced the aldermanic board. Oh, for the good old days! The winter Assemblies, too, wont to be held here, are now transferred to more congenial quarters at the Royal Hotel. The Town Hall, which is the Common Hall of the city, is a noble apartment, the walls ornamented with full-length portraits of numerous city notables, among whom figure Recorders Townsend, Leycester, Comberbach, and Williams; and Sirs Henry Bunbury, and John Egerton, members for the city, of eminence in their day. Here are held the Quarter Sessions for the city, official public meetings, and the Elections for the city representatives in parliament. Immediately beyond this room is the Pentice or Council Chamber, where the mayor and magistrates settle the accounts of the drunk and disorderly, and take preliminary depositions in cases of felony, &c. This room, in which the Mayor is also annually chosen by the Council, has on its walls full-length portraits of George III., several members of the Grosvenor family, and of William Cross, Esq., the first Reform Mayor of Chester. Yonder series of large panels, contain portraits of Owen Jones, Offley, and other famous benefactors to the poor of the city. In a room in Abbey Square, the City Records, extending from the reign of the first Edward to the present time, are wretchedly huddled together—we wish we could say preserved; but surely the day is not far distant when a custodian of these important documents shall be appointed by the Council,—one who shall not only understand, but also glorify his office; then will many a dark epoch in the city’s history be unravelled, and many a fact revealed which now lies hidden in the dust of obscurity.

Exchange, and Markets

Opposite to the Exchange is Saint Werburgh Street, down which we must straightway roam, having a glorious treat awaiting us, in our long-promised visit to Chester Cathedral.

But before we set foot within the sacred fane, let us proceed a little further, in order to examine yonder stately-looking pile, only just completed,—to wit, the New Music Hall. Perhaps no structure within the city has undergone greater or more numerous changes of character than the shell of the one we are now surveying. The first we hear of it is as the Chapel of St. Nicholas, built, it is supposed, early in the fourteenth century. About this time, we read that the monks of St. Werburgh (monks were greedy dogs!), wishing to have the whole Cathedral to themselves, transferred the parish Church of St. Oswald, then as now occupying the south transept of the Cathedral, to this Chapel of St. Nicholas, which latter had perhaps been built with that idea “looming in the future.” But the parishioners and corporation repudiated the change, and after much litigation recovered their old parish Church,—so the chapel of St. Nicholas was speedily deserted. After being “to let” for some fifty or sixty years, we next hear of it as the Common Hall of the city, removed here from Common-hall Street in 1545. In this service it remained, the arena of law, if not of justice (for the two do not always go hand in hand), until 1698, when the magisterial chair was removed to its present resting-place in the Exchange. The third phase in its existence was its conversion into the warehouse of a common carrier, and into a mart for the sale of wool; the name it then bore was the Wool Hall. Again was St. Nicholas the victim of transformation; for, at least as early as the year 1727, the walls, which once echoed forth the sounds of prayer and praise, were made to ring with the ribald jests of a common playhouse. Thirty years afterwards, there were two Theatres open at one time in Chester,—one here, and the other at the Tennis Court in Foregate Street; but about 1768, the latter establishment was closed up, and its “galaxy of talent” transferred to the Wool Hall. In 1777, the necessary patent from the crown was obtained for the licensing of the premises, and the Wool Hall forthwith developed into a Theatre Royal. We will not stay to run over the numerous “stars” which have from time to time graced this theatrical firmament; it is enough to know that this “light of other days has faded” away, and that, so far as this building is concerned, the Chester Theatre exists only as matter of history. In 1854–5, the Theatre was wholly obliterated, and the building in great part taken down; but the massive buttresses and sidelight arches of the original ecclesiastical structure were suffered to remain, and are yet plainly visible upon the north and south sides of the building. And now comes the last scene of the drama,—the scene we are now contemplating. On the ruins of the fallen Theatre, and on the foundation walls of the ancient Chapel of St. Nicholas, modern enterprise has raised a pile more in unison with its first estate, and far more worthy its close proximity to the Cathedral,—the New Music Hall. The Hall has been erected from the designs of Mr. James Harrison, architect, whose other important works about the city we have already noticed. Its peculiar position, beset with heavy private buildings on three of its sides, prevented much attention being paid to the exterior; but the east front, being comparatively free, has afforded Mr. Harrison an opportunity for displaying his professional skill. Seen from the other end of St. Werburgh’s Place, the handsome Tudor windows and porch of this front have a rich and truly picturesque effect; our artist, however, has chosen a nearer view, in order to give strength and definition to his sketch. In addition to a refreshment room, ladies’ waiting and retiring rooms, and other offices, the interior presents to us a large and noble hall, 108 feet long, 40 feet wide, and 50 feet high, capable, with its two handsome galleries, of accommodating an audience of 1400 people. Its spacious orchestra, adorned with an organ of superior excellence, by Jackson, has ample room for 250 performers. The neatly panelled roof, resting upon shafted cross-beams tastefully ornamented, gives to the Chester Music Hall a richness and elegance wholly unapproached by any similar room in the city. The Hall is, in every respect, a credit alike to the architect and to the city; and it is not too much to add that Mr. J. D. Williams, the builder and decorator of the structure, has done his part of the work faithfully and well. One man only was killed during the progress of the works, by an accidental fall from the ceiling of the Hall. It was opened Nov. 26, 1855, with a grand concert, at which Clara Novello and others officiated.

Music Hall, and Consistory Court

And now for our long-deferred visit to the venerable Cathedral. Turning aside from the Music Hall, we pass a small gate, and are at once in close communion with the south-west side of this massive structure. We can see from this point, distinctly enough, the ancient cruciform character of the edifice, that fittest symbolical form of a Christian Church; the east end forming the choir and Lady Chapel,—the south transept the Parish Church of St. Oswald,—the north transept almost unappropriated,—and the west end the nave, into which latter we are now passing through a rich and handsome Tudor porch. And here let us observe that, as our knowledge of architectural detail is unhappily small, we must rely for our descriptions on the “dogmatic teaching” of other and abler heads. But first a word or two on the foundation and history of this fine old Cathedral.

Tradition avers that under the imperial dominion of pagan Rome, a temple, dedicated to Apollo, occupied the spot now consecrated to the Triune God; and that this temple had itself supplanted a still older fane of the superstitious Druids. However this may be, it is an historical fact, amply corroborated, that Wulpherus, King of the Mercians, who flourished about A.D. 660, and Ermenilde, his queen, perceiving the attachment of their daughter, St. Werburgh, to a religious life, built an Abbey at Chester, for her and such other pious ladies who should, in like manner, prefer a conventual life. To St. Peter and St. Paul this Saxon Abbey was dedicated. St. Werburgh, being prioress or patron of three Abbeys—Chester, Trentham, and Hanbury—died and was buried in the latter edifice; but owing to the threatened incursions of the Danes, her sacred relics were thence removed, two hundred years afterwards, to Chester, for greater security, and lodged in the Abbey her royal father had founded in her honour. About 907, Ethelfleda, Countess of Mercia, erected on the same site a nobler Abbey, dedicated to her whose shrine then rested there—the immaculate St. Werburgh. Thus matters remained for nearly two centuries, when Earl Hugh Lupus, nephew and favourite of the Conqueror, having lived a life of debauchery and excess, compounded for his sins by the erection of an edifice larger and more splendid than the last, founding there a Monastery of St. Bennet’s order, under the superintendence of Anselm, then abbot of Bec, in Normandy, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury. A day or two before his death, Earl Hugh was shorn a monk of the Abbey his own remorseful bounty had founded. Immense possessions accrued to the Abbey, both from Hugh Lupus, the founder, and from his successors in the earldom. Early in the reign of Edward I., and in the abbacy of Simon de Albo Monasterio (Whitchurch), the rebuilding of the Abbey was commenced. It continued slowly to progress, under succeeding abbots, for about two hundred years, and until Abbot Simon Ripley virtually completed, in 1492, the erection of the Cathedral as we see it in the present day. Only fifty years afterwards, the foul blast of destruction fell like an avalanche upon the monastic institutions of Britain—Chester among the number. Bluff King Hal, that shameless polygamist, in a fit of pretended religious zeal, dissolved all these fraternities, and, pocketing the spoil, dealt out their lands to his creatures with right royal munificence. True, he left us the shell, in his new foundation of a Cathedral and Chapter; but he gulped up the kernel in the shape of the manorial possessions of the Abbey. John Bird was the first peculiar Bishop of Chester; and Thomas Clarke transposed himself from the last Romanist Abbot to the first Protestant Dean of Chester.

Entering the Cathedral by the South Porch, we find ourselves in the Nave, and close to a lofty chamber now used as the Consistory Court. Here are tried, before the chancellor of the diocese, the validity or otherwise of disputed wills, actions for slander, and other causes falling within the province of ecclesiastical law. Beyond, and to the left of this Court, near the baptismal font, is the great West Entrance of the Cathedral, built during the energetic rule of the Abbot Simon Ripley. It was the design of Ripley to erect two massive towers at this end of the Cathedral, and the foundations of these towers are still existing there; but owing to an unexpected “fall in the funds,” or to some other cause, the original intention was never carried out.

The West Entrance, as we now behold it, has a large and magnificent window of delicate tracery, recently filled with a series of designs in stained glass, illustrating the final sentence of the Apostles’ Creed, “The Resurrection of the Body, and the Life Everlasting.” In the centre of the main opening, we have the “Appearance of our Lord to St. Mary Magdalene in the Garden;” and beneath, “Our Lord’s Supper with the Disciples at Emmaus.” The three lights south of the centre illustrate the “Resurrection of our Lord,” above Whom are seen the Heavenly Host, while below are the affrighted soldiers, the angel at the tomb, with the apostles and holy women. In the three divisions on the north side is depicted “Our Lord in Judgment,” surrounded by the patriarchs, prophets, apostles, and saints: beneath is the Archangel Michael trampling upon Satan, with groups of “the Just” on their way up to Heaven, accompanied by guardian angels. The rich tracery overhead is filled with the “Genealogical Tree of our Lord,” commencing with the reclining figure of Jesse, and its branches spreading through more than one hundred openings, finishing with the birth, death, and glorification of Jesus Christ. This is a memorial window, erected by the widow of the Rev. P. W. Hamilton, of Hoole, near Chester, and cannot fail to be an object of surpassing interest to every visitor. It was designed and executed by Messrs. M. and A. O’Connor, of London.

West Entrance to the Cathedral

The door being open, let us step out to the open air, and refresh our eyes with a momentary glance at the West Entrance of the Cathedral. This is, externally, the most beautiful remaining portion of this glorious edifice. Time has, of course, been at work here, as elsewhere, gnawing away at the old red sandstone; but there is still enough left to give us an idea of its ancient beauty.

Forms of saints are meekly kneeling
The Cathedral door above:

the which door is a beautiful double Tudor arch of chaste design, supported on either side by four canopied niches, once ornamented with statuettes, but now fast going to decay. Over this is the great west window of eight lights, the whole flanked by two fine octagonal turrets with embattled parapets. Altogether, this front is a sight grateful to look upon, but one eminently suggestive of the ephemeral character of all things here below.

Returning to the Nave, we find at the head of the north aisle a flight of stairs leading up through the arched doorway into the Episcopal Palace; through this door the bishop ordinarily enters the Cathedral in his robes. The external wall of this aisle is one of the most ancient portions of the entire structure, being part of the Norman edifice of Hugh Lupus. It has two doors, one at each end, opening to the east and west walks of the Cloisters, of which more anon. The windows of the Nave and of the clerestory above it, are all of the perpendicular character, and throw a flood of dim religious light into the interior. There is but one stained-glass window, and that an obituary one, in the south aisle of the nave. Numerous monuments deck the walls, and disfigure the pillars of the nave, conspicuous among which are those to Dean Smith, translator of Longinus, Thucydides, and other classic authors; also memorials of the Mainwaring, Dod, Buchanan, Matthews, Ward, and Hilton families. One in the north aisle to the memory of Captain John Moore Napier, who died in India of Asiatic cholera, is worthy of special remark, from the spirited and touching epitaph, written by his uncle, that brave and gallant soldier, Sir Charles Napier, the veteran hero of Scinde. It runs thus:—

The tomb is no record of high lineage;
His may be traced by his name.
His race was one of soldiers;
Among soldiers he lived, among them he died,
A soldier falling where numbers fell with him
In a barbarous land.
Yet there died none more generous,
More daring, more gifted, more religious.
On his early grave
Fell the tears of stern and hardy men,
As his had fallen on the grave of others.

True poetry this, albeit expressed in modest prose! The Nave is 160 feet long, 74½ feet wide, and 78 feet high.

The following are the present dignitaries of the Cathedral:—

Bishop—The Right Rev. John Graham, D.D.
Dean—The Very Reverend Frederick Anson, D.D.

Through an oaken door at the extremity of the north aisle, we pass into the north wing of the Transept,—like the Nave, not appropriated to any of the ordinary services of the church. The lower portion of its walls is indisputably Norman work, as is evidenced by the seven-arched triforium, which traverses midway its eastern side. A small doorway in the corner of this wall leads up, by a spiral staircase, to the triforium and great tower, as also to the clerestory gallery, which “threads its devious course” almost wholly round the sacred edifice. The archway under the great north window of the Transept conducts to the Chapter House and Cathedral Library. Two monuments in this wing deserve our notice,—one to the memory of Sir John Grey Egerton, Bart., sometime M.P. for Chester,—and the other to Colonel Roger Barnston, of Chester, erected by the subscriptions of his admiring friends and fellow-citizens. Immediately over the monument of Sir John Egerton is placed a piece of magnificent tapestry, copied from one of Raphael’s masterpieces, representing “Elymas the sorcerer struck with blindness before Sergius Paulus.” This is stated to have been brought over from a nunnery in France, and, until the recent alterations, usurped the place of the reredos at the back of the High Altar.

Thence returning to the Nave, we pass under the massive stone screen into the Choir, and are at once filled with admiration of its noble proportions, and of the taste and elegance which everywhere pervade it. The great features of the structure we have hitherto examined have been chiefly architectural, but here we are introduced to a scene in which all the resources of human art have been brought to bear by the creature man in honour of his Creator God. Look at this gorgeous canopy of ancient oak, adorning and supporting the fine organ overhead—at that magnificent range of Stalls, also of old oak, four-and-twenty on either side, crowned with canopies of the richest tracery, no one stall a copy of the other—at those pews of fairest form and choicest elaboration—at yon Shrine of St. Werburgh, now the Episcopal Throne—at the handsome stone pulpit—at the bold oak lectern, the eagle bearing upon his wings the glad tidings of salvation—at the graceful Altar-screen and Holy Table—and at the stained-glass enrichments of the two great east windows, through which gleams the morning sun,

Dyed
In the soft chequerings of a sleepy light.—

As all these meet our wondering eyes, then do we awake to the consciousness that this is the Lord’s House, and, as it richly deserves to be, the Mother Church of the city and diocese. The seats of the Stalls, or misericordiÆ, are worthy of our inspection, every one bearing some device different from its companions. The Throne is composed, in great part, of the pedestal on which rested, in Romish days, the sacred relics of St. Werburgh,—those relics which, according to Father Bradshaw, performed such great and astounding miracles. The images surrounding it are supposed to be those of Mercian kings and saints, to which royal line St. Werburgh belonged. The Throne has been improved and raised some feet within the last fifteen years. The stone Pulpit replaced an older one of monarch oak, which has since been transformed into a long open seat for the Lady Chapel. The Communion Table and its appointments are all in good taste; and the elegant stone Reredos, which divides the Altar from the Lady Chapel, is of exceedingly chaste and appropriate character. The subjects in the east clerestory window represent “Our blessed Lord between the four Evangelists,” over whom are depicted five incidents in Christ’s career on earth,—the Agony in the Garden—Jesus bearing His Cross—the Crucifixion—the Resurrection—and the Ascension. The entire length of the Choir is 125 feet, breadth 74½ feet, and height 78 feet.

The north aisle of the Choir has one stained-glass obituary window, but no other object of interest, save a few old monuments, and a vestry for the Canons, the latter being a portion of the old Norman edifice. We pass hence to the Lady Chapel, at the east end of the Choir, supposed by some to be the oldest portion of the present re-edified Cathedral. It is 65 feet long, 74½ feet wide, including the side aisles, and 33 feet high. The Chapel consisted originally of one central aisle only, the two side aisles having been added at a later period. At the east end stood the Shrine of St. Werburgh, until the Reformation saw it removed to the Choir, and converted thenceforward into the Bishop’s Throne. The east window of the Lady Chapel is embellished with stained glass of the richest description—the subjects being severally, the Annunciation, the Nativity, the Wise Men’s Offering, the Presentation in the Temple, Christ disputing with the Doctors, the Baptism of John, the Water turned into Wine, Healing the Lame, Walking on the Sea, Feeding the Multitude, the Transfiguration, the Raising of Lazarus, the Entry into Jerusalem, Washing the Disciples’ Feet, and the Last Supper,—the whole crowned with symbolical figures of the Twelve Apostles. In this Chapel George Marsh was condemned to be burnt for heresy in the days of Queen Mary.

The south aisle of the Choir and Lady Chapel has all its windows adorned with stained glass, the one at the east end being an obituary memorial for the late Hugh Robert Hughes, Esq., of the Bache, erected by his son, inheritor from his uncle, Lord Dinorben, of Kinmel Park, Flintshire. Obituary windows to the Humberston and Anson families, and two others piously erected by the present worthy Dean, complete the adornment of this aisle. Dean Anson has done more to beautify his Cathedral than all his predecessors put together! Under an indented arch in the east wall recline the dust and ashes of one of the abbots of St. Werburgh, the slab adorned with a cross floree. In the centre of this aisle stands an altar-tomb, once built into the wall of the Sedilia. This tomb tradition assigns to Henry IV. of Germany; but it appears that monarch died and was buried in his own dominions: other and better authority surmises it to be the tomb of one of the later abbots.

From this aisle we pass into the south wing of the Transept, time out of mind appropriated to the parish Church of St. Oswald. So early as the ninth century, a Church existed here, independent of the Abbey; but on the enlargement of the latter in the thirteenth century, St. Oswald’s became incorporated with the Abbey, as its southern transept. This was the Church, the functions of which were transferred by the monks to St. Nicholas Chapel, now the Music Hall; but the parishioners could not forget their first love, and soon wormed their way back again to St. Oswald’s. The Church contains some handsome monuments, worthy the attention of the visitor.

Crossing the nave, we see opposite to us a door, introducing us to the Cloisters of this once powerful Abbey. The arch we are now passing under is a Norman specimen of exceeding purity; and disfigured as it has been by modern improvements, yet affords a high degree of interest to the intelligent antiquary. The Cloisters once formed a quadrangle of 110 feet square; but the south portion has almost entirely disappeared, the bases of some of the pillars alone remaining. The east walk has a doorway leading into the Chapter House, through a vaulted Vestibule of great architectural beauty. These two apartments were the favourite places of sepulture of the puissant Norman earls, as well as of the earlier abbots of the Monastery. In the Chapter House, which is a noble building of the twelfth century, are deposited the Cathedral Library, as well as some vestiges of antiquity found within the Abbey and its precincts. Of these, a part of the stone coffin of Abbot Simon Ripley, and a Roman red sandstone inscription found near the present Deanery, are the most prominent and interesting. Over the door hang two bullet-tattered flags, once belonging to the 22nd (Cheshire) Regiment. A passage beyond the Chapter House leads, by the Maiden’s Walk, into the Abbey Court; and a doorway at the northwest corner to the Dormitory, now totally destroyed. A beautiful Norman chamber runs along the side of the western walk, and is variously designated the Promptuarium and Abbot’s Hall. This apartment, although an engraving of it appeared in Ormerod’s “History of Cheshire,” was but little known to Chester antiquaries until the year 1849, when this city was honoured with a visit from the British ArchÆological Association. A vast amount of rubbish, the accumulation of centuries, at that period blocked up the chamber; but the greater part of it was removed at the expense of the Association, and an able paper delivered on the subject, by Mr. Ashpitel, at their Chester Congress. That gentleman pronounced it to be the Promptuarium, or Buttery of the Abbey; but a room, originally 105 feet long, seems of undue proportions for such a purpose. Mr. W. F. Ayrton, Secretary of the Chester ArchÆological Society, with greater apparent probability conceives it to be the secunda aula of the Monastery, such as we find described in the charter of Henry VIII. Here it was that audience was given to strangers and dependants, and where friends of the abbot were temporarily entertained during their visits to the Monastery.The wall of the obliterated south walk, notwithstanding the cloister itself is ‘no more,’ is yet not without interest to the real lover of antiquity. Two rude arcades of late Norman work stretch along this wall, the arches of which mark the place of sepulture of four early abbots of the foundation. Some of the bases of the pillars once supporting the roof of the south walk are still visible on the Preese, or Cloister Green.

Returning to the north walk, we pass thence, under a richly ornamented arch, into another apartment on the right hand, now and for three centuries past occupied as the Grammar School of the Cathedral. Few portions of the conventual buildings are so little known to visitors as the one we are now entering,—few will so amply repay their inspection as will this, the ancient Refectory of this once famous Monastery. Time was,

And a gay time it was then, O!

when this noble apartment, the Frater House of the Abbey, re-echoed with the sounds of feast and revelry,—when the monks of St. Werburgh, and their privileged friends, discussed, in joyous mood, the good things of this life, dished up to them from the kitchens and buttery of the Abbey. Fancy how the tables groaned with the savoury venison and other titbits from the granges of the abbot,—with the products of their favourite kaleyards and fisheries,—and their wines and liquors brought from beyond sea,—and say, if you think these degenerate times can show aught to equal those palmy days! After all, though

Many have told of the monks of old,
What a saintly race they were;
Yet ’tis most true that a merrier crew
Could scarce be found elsewhere.
For they sang and laughed,
And the rich wine quaffed,
And lived on the daintiest fare.

And the Abbot meek, with his form so sleek,
Was the heartiest of them all,
And would take his place, with a smiling face,
When the Refectory bell would call;
And they sang and laughed,
And the rich wine quaffed,
Till they shook the olden hall!

Say what you will of the austerities supposed to belong to the monastic life, those recluses of old lived a life as jolly, as careless, and as free, as the gayest of us in this 19th century! Yonder, at the head of that staircased recess in the south wall, is the ancient Oratory, from which one of the ‘knights of the cowl’ daily ‘said grace,’ and pronounced a classic oration, while his brethren were at meals in the spacious hall beneath him. Oh, what a sight for carnal eyes like his to dwell and gloat upon! But we must not soliloquise. The Fratry, or Refectory, in the days we are describing, was of nobler dimensions even than now; for it then extended some twenty or thirty feet farther westward, and was doubtless shorn of its fair proportions at the time the present road was constructed from the Abbey Square. This room, which is 98 feet long and 34 feet high, has a range of six pointed windows on the one side, and four on the other, and had once an eastern lancet-shaped window of considerable beauty. Of the window of the present day we forbear to speak; simply let us hope that the hour is at hand, when so hideous an abortion of all that is “chaste and beautiful in art” shall vanish from the scene, and be replaced by a window worthy of the apartment it was meant to adorn! The steps leading up to the Oratory communicated originally with the Dormitory of the Abbey, which prior to the present century occupied the higher range of the eastern cloister, but has now entirely disappeared.

At the Reformation, when King Henry VIII. transformed the Abbey into a Cathedral, he founded here, in the thirty-sixth year of his reign, a Grammar School for twenty-four boys, and endowed it with a Head Master, and numerous privileges, some of which it was our lot, twenty years ago, personally to share. The history of the School, and of the many Cheshire worthies educated within its walls, would furnish matter for a distinct treatise, and it is not improbable that such may one day appear from our humble pen. For the present, then, we will retire from this scene of our boyhood’s delight, and ascending the range of steps near the entrance door, emerge from the “bosom of our spiritual mother” at a point very close to the head of Abbey Street.