ation of the
seven choristers and their master, but which was pulled down by de
Cloune, Master of St. Cross in the fourteenth century, who also allowed
other parts of the fabric to fall into a state of great dilapidation.
Here also, on the south side of the quadrangle, stood the original
houses of Beaufort's foundation, which were not pulled down until 1789.

No groups of buildings are in their way more charming or more
impregnated with human associations than the famous episcopal foundation
of St. Cross--an asylum of peace and rest, comfort and repose, to those
who find shelter within its ancient walls, and a standing monument to
the memory of the pious Henry de Blois and the princely churchman,
Cardinal Beaufort. Winchester, like many an English city, would be shorn
of much of its interest were this benevolent institution to be removed.
The general air of peace and quietude, the grass-bordered walks, the
stately church, all contribute to convey an appeal which is almost
sacred in its simple eloquence. In the words of one who loved it well:
"No one can pass its threshold without feeling himself landed, as it
were, in another age. The ancient features of the building, the noble
gateway, the quadrangle, the common refectory, the cloister, and, rising
above all, the lofty and massive pile of the venerable church, the
uniform garb and reverend mien of the aged brethren, the common
provision for their declining years, the dole at the gatehouse, all lead
back our thoughts to days when men gave their best to God's honour, and
looked on what was done to His poor as done to Himself, and were as
lavish of architectural beauty on what modern habits might deem a
receptacle for beggars, as on the noblest of royal palaces. It seems a
place where no worldly thought, no pride, or passion, or irreverence
could enter; a spot where, as a modern writer has beautifully expressed
it, a good man, might he make his choice, would wish to die."

The country around this beautiful city by the Itchen is full of quiet
charm, for life's ever-changing drama has but one and the same
background. The actors come and go, but the stage remains much the same,
and the devotions, the meditations, and the acts of men who lived
centuries ago were set in the amphitheatre of the same green hills, and
took place beside the same winding river as those we gaze upon to-day.

[Illustration: PLAN OF WINCHESTER CATHEDRAL]

Literature, too, has worthy names here in I