where lay his remains, after having been removed from the old mynstre,
till Hyde Abbey was built.

It is impossible to walk over this ground, now so peaceful, without
calling to mind what scenes of havoc and blood, of triumph and
ecclesiastical pomp, it has witnessed--the butchery of the persecution of
Diocletian, when the Christians fell here by thousands; the repeated
massacres and conflagrations of the Danes; the crowning of Saxon and of
English kings; the proud processions of kings and queens, nobles, mitered
prelates, friars, and monks, to offer thanksgivings for victory, or
penance for sins, from age to age; and, finally, the stern visitation of
the Reformers and the Cromwellian troopers.

The venerable minster itself bears on its aspect the testimonies of its
own antiquity. The short and massy tower in the center, the work of Bishop
Walkelin, the cousin of the Conqueror, has the very look of that distant
age, and, to eyes accustomed to the lofty and rich towers of some of our
cathedrals, has an air of meanness. Many people tell you that it never was
finished; but besides that there is no more reason that the tower should
remain unfinished through so many centuries than any other part of the
building, we know that it was the character of the time, of which the
tower of the Norman church of St. Cross affords another instance just at
hand. In fact, the spire was then unknown.

Having arrived at the west front, we can not avoid pausing to survey the
beauty of its workmanship--that of the great William of Wykeham; its great
central doorway, with its two smaller side-doors; the fretted gallery over
it, where the bishop in his pontificals was wont to stand and bless the
people, or absolve them from the censures of the church; its noble window,
rich with perpendicular tracery; its two slender lantern turrets; its