tone partitions on each side of the sanctuary, dividing it from
the aisles, are six mortuary chests, three on a side, containing the bones
of many of the most eminent Saxon princes. The bones which, from the
repeated rebuildings and alterings of the cathedral, must have been in
danger of being disturbed, and the places of their burial rendered
obscure, or lost altogether, Bishop de Blois, in the twelfth century,
collected and placed in coffins of lead over the Holy Hole. At the
rebuilding of the choir, as it was necessary again to remove them, Bishop
Fox had them deposited in these chests, and placed in this situation. The
chests are carved, gilt, and surmounted with crowns, with the names and
epitaphs, in Latin verse and black letter, inscribed upon them.

But if we had quitted Winchester Cathedral without paying a visit to the
grave of one of the best and most cheerful-hearted old men who lie in it,
we should have committed a great fault. No, we stood on the stone in the
floor of Prior Silkstede's chapel in the old Norman south transept, which
is inscribed with the name of Izaak Walton. There lies that prince of
fishermen, who, when Milner wrote his history of this city, was so little
thought of that he is not once mentioned in the whole huge quarto!

WELLS [Footnote: From "Old England: Its Scenery, Art and People."
Published by Houghton, Mifflin Co.]

BY JAMES M. HOPPIN

The city of Wells, which we now visit, has a romantic situation on the
southern slope of the Mendip Hills, twenty miles equi-distant from Bath,
Bistol, and Bridgewater. It takes its name from the ancient well dedicated
to St. Andrew, which rises within the Episcopal grounds, and runs through
the city down the sides of the principal streets in clear, sparkling'
streams.

There is no place which, taken altogether, preserves a more antique air of
tranquil seclusion than Wells. In the precincts of Chester Cathedral, and
at many other points in England, there broods the same antique calm, but
here the whole place is pervaded by this reposeful spirit of the past; and
this culminates in the neighborhood of St. Andrew's Cathedral, the
bishop's palace, the old moat, the conventual buildings, and the three
venerable gates, or "eyes," as they are called, of the cathedral yard. The
moat about the bishop's palace, overhung by a thick curtain of aged elms
mingled with ivy, growing like a warrior's crest upon the high-turreted
interior walls, and reflecte