in the nave, where the new pavement has obliterated them. After viewing
the choir and the chapels, the young woman led me down into the crypts
below, where the dead persons who are commemorated in the upper regions
were buried. The low ponderous pillars and arches of these crypts are
supposed to be older than the upper portions of the building. They are
about as perfect, I suppose, as when new, but very damp, dreary, and
darksome; and the arches intersect one another so intricately, that, if
the girl had deserted me, I might easily have got lost there. These are
chapels where masses used to be said for the souls of the deceased; and
my guide said that a great many skulls and bones had been dug up here.
No doubt a vast population has been deposited in the course of a thousand
years. I saw two white skulls, in a niche, grinning as skulls always do,
though it is impossible to see the joke. These crypts, or crypts like
these, are doubtless what Congreve calls the "aisles and monumental caves
of Death," in that passage which Dr. Johnson admired so much. They are
very singular,--something like a dark shadow or dismal repetition of the
upper church below ground.

Ascending from the crypts, we went next to the cloisters, which are in a
very perfect state, and form an unbroken square about the green
grass-plot, enclosed within. Here also it is said Cromwell stabled his
horses; but if so, they were remarkably quiet beasts, for tombstones,
which form the pavement, are not broken, nor cracked, nor bear any
hoof-marks. All around the cloisters, too, the stone tracery that shuts
them in like a closed curtain, carefully drawn, remains as it was in the
days of the monks, insomuch that it is not easy to get a glimpse of the
green enclosure. Probably there used to be painted glass in the larger
apertures of this stone-work; otherwise it is perfect. These cloisters
are very different from the free, open, and airy ones of Salisbury; but
they are more in accordance with our notions of monkish habits; and even