ege, Cambridge. A little before
this time the old stalls, which had survived the Puritan period were
replaced: a writer describes them, in the early half of the seventeenth
century, as standing in two rows, an upper and lower, on each side, with
the archbishop's wood throne above them on the south side. This chair he
mentions as "sometime richly guilt, and otherwise well set forth, but now
nothing specious through age and late neglect. It is a close seat, made
after the old fashion of such stalls, called thence _faldistoria_; only in
this they differ, that they were moveable, this is fixt."

Thus wrote Somner in A.D. 1640: the dilapidated throne of which he speaks
was replaced, in A.D. 1704, by a splendid throne with a tall Corinthian
canopy, and decorated with carving by Grinling Gibbons, the gift of
Archbishop Tenison, who also set up new stalls. At the same time Queen
Mary the Second presented new and magnificent furniture for the altar,
throne, stalls of the chief clergy, and pulpit. Since then many alterations
have been made. The old altar and screen have been removed, and a new
reredos set up, copied from the screen work of the Lady Chapel in the
crypt; and Archbishop Tenison's throne has given place to a lofty stone
canopy. In 1834 owing to its tottering condition the north-west tower of
the nave had to be pulled down. It was rebuilt on an entirely different
plan by Mr. George Austin, who, with his son, also conducted a good deal
of repairing and other work in the cathedral and the buildings connected
with it. A good deal of the external stonework had to be renewed, but the
work was carried out judiciously, and only where it was absolutely
necessary. On the west side of the south transept a turret has been pulled
down and set up again stone by stone. The crypt has been cleared out and
restored, and its windows have been reopened. The least satisfactory
evidences of the modern hand are the stained glass windows, which have been
put up in the nave and transepts of the cathedral. The Puritan trooper had
wrought havoc in the ancient glass, smashing it wherever a pike-thrust
could reach; and modern piety has been almost as ruthless in erecting
windows which are quite incredibly hideous.

In September, 1872, Canterbury was once more damaged by fire, just about
seven hundred years after the memorable conflagration described by
Gervase. On this occasion, however, the damage did not go beyond the outer
roof of the Trinity