visit some old towns where we hope to discover some
buildings that are ancient and where all is not distressingly new,
hideous, and commonplace. First we will travel to the old-world town
of Lynn--"Lynn Regis, vulgarly called King's Lynn," as the royal
charter of Henry VIII terms it. On the land side the town was defended
by a fosse, and there are still considerable remains of the old wall,
including the fine Gothic South Gates. In the days of its ancient
glory it was known as Bishop's Lynn, the town being in the hands of
the Bishop of Norwich. Bishop Herbert de Losinga built the church of
St. Margaret at the beginning of the twelfth century, and gave it with
many privileges to the monks of Norwich, who held a priory at Lynn;
and Bishop Turbus did a wonderfully good stroke of business, reclaimed
a large tract of land about 1150 A.D., and amassed wealth for his see
from his markets, fairs, and mills. Another bishop, Bishop Grey,
induced or compelled King John to grant a free charter to the town,
but astutely managed to keep all the power in his own hands. Lynn was
always a very religious place, and most of the orders--Benedictines,
Franciscans, Dominicans, Carmelite and Augustinian Friars, and the
Sack Friars--were represented at Lynn, and there were numerous
hospitals, a lazar-house, a college of secular canons, and other
religious institutions, until they were all swept away by the greed of
a rapacious king. There is not much left to-day of all these religious
foundations. The latest authority on the history of Lynn, Mr. H.J.
Hillen, well says: "Time's unpitying plough-share has spared few
vestiges of their architectural* grandeur." A cemetery cross in the
museum, the name "Paradise" that keeps up the remembrance of the cool,
verdant cloister-garth, a brick arch upon the east bank of the Nar,
and a similar gateway in "Austin" Street are all the relics that
remain of the old monastic life, save the slender hexagonal "Old
Tower," the graceful lantern of the convent of the grey-robed
Franciscans. The above writer also points out the beautifully carved
door in Queen Street, sole relic of the College of Secular Canons,
from which the chisel of the ruthless iconoclast has chipped off the
obnoxious _Orate pro anima_.

*Transcriber's Note: Original "achitectural"

The quiet, narrow, almost deserted streets of Lynn, its port and quays
have another story to tell. They proclaim its former greatness as one
of the chief ports