III gave them many presents, of which
the largest were two of five pounds, and his daughter, Princess Mary,
gave them seven shillings and sixpence. But the friary fell, of course,
at the Dissolution and after that, apparently, Henry used the building,
which he enlarged, for his own purposes when he came to Guildford to
hunt. Later, probably before the time of James I, the old friary
buildings were demolished and another house built which went with the
Guildford Park estate through several families. One of its owners was
Daniel Colwall, a founder of the Royal Society, who conferred on its
annals the dismal distinction of a suicide. He pistolled himself in an
armchair, and the chair is still shown, black with blood, in the
master's quarters of the Abbot's Hospital. Later still, the house was
used as cavalry barracks, and three years after Waterloo, when perhaps
barracks seemed less necessary than before, the buildings were pulled to
pieces.

Guildford once had nine "gates"; eight have disappeared. They are marked
on an old map of the borough, classically described as the "Ichnography
or ground plan of Guildford." Of six "gates" or streets south of the
High Street, Ratsgate, Bookersgate, Tunsgate, Saddlersgate, Bakersgate,
and Shipgate, only Tunsgate remains; and on the north side Swangate,
Bull's Head Gate, and Coffeehouse Gate have vanished. The charm of the
chief buildings remains, but here and there modern needs have spoiled
the smaller houses. In the High Street, for instance, Number 25, not
much more than a hundred years ago, must have been a quite perfect
little house, with its large casements and their curious iron
fastenings, its noble staircase, and its delightful doorway. It was once
the private residence of the Martyr family, who were hereditary town
clerks of Guildford, but unfortunately it has now been turned into a
shop. The proprietor very courteously allows visitors to examine the
interior, but much of the fascination of the ground floor, with its
panels under the windows and its delicate iron railing, has vanished
altogether, and can only be recovered in imagination with the help of an
old drawing. This house, by the way, a century ago contained a strange
relic, strangely lost. When Peter de Rupibus, the great Bishop of
Winchester, died at his castle at Farnham, his body was buried in
Winchester Cathedral, but the heart was taken to Waverley Abbey. About
1730 it was accidentally dug up among the Abbey rui