CHESTER CATHEDRAL*.

Chester was a station of considerable importance in the time of the Romans. In all probability Christianity had, under their rule, extended its blessings to this remote corner of the world. But, when the legionaries were recalled to Italy, and the Saxon pagans had overspread the land, the light of the gospel was well-nigh, if not entirely, extinguished here. Ere long, however, Christianity was again introduced, and paganism entirely rooted out. There is a legend-it does not appear to deserve a better name-that Wolphere, the first Christian king of Mercia, founded a nunnery at Chester in 670, for his daughter Werburgh and some other virgins. But, whatever foundation there may be for this story, it would seem certain that there was here, pretty early in the Saxon times, a religious house, dedicated to St. Peter and St. Paul, to which it is said that in 875 the relics of St. Werburgh were brought, as to a place of safety. This monastery was afterwards repaired by Elfleda, countess of Mercia, as a foundation for secular canons, and it was also largely indebted to the munificence of kings Edmund and Edgar, and other benefactors. But in the year 1093, at the instigation of the celebrated Anselm, then archbishop of Canterbury, Hugh Lupus, earl of Chester, ejected the seculars, and settled in their place a company of Benedictine monks from Bec, in Normandy, Anselm's own monastery; Richard, Anselm's chaplain, being the first abbot. In the possession of this order St. Werburgh's church continued

Winkles's Cathedrals and other accounts have

been consulted. It is satisfactory to see that Winkles's work is now likely to be completed. VOL. XII.-No. CCCXLVI.

till the dissolution by king Henry the eighth.

It seems probable that Chester was in the early Saxon times the seat of a bishop. In a later age we know that it was united to the see of Lichfield, and that, shortly after the conquest, the bishops of Lichfield fixed their residence here for many years. At the reformation, a separate see was erected in this city; and the abbey-church of St. Werburgh became the cathedral of the new diocese, being dedicated to Christ and the blessed Virgin.

No

part of the present fabric can be supposed earlier than the time of Hugh Lupus; and even the portions of that date are few. They are chiefly to be found in the north transept, the northern aisles of the nave and choir, and a part of the cloister court. The choir, as at present existing, is supposed to have been begun about the middle of the thirteenth century; while the nave was not completed as it now stands till nearly three hundred years later.

Chester cathedral is in the form of an The western front is not irregular cross. imposing in fact, it is in an unfinished state, and is disfigured by a building jutting out against it. It was doubtless the original design to erect two western towers; and of the northern one the foundations still remain : the place of the southern is occupied by the consistory court. The west entrance exhibits a Tudor arch, inclosed within a square head. On each side are four niches, and pedestals, on which statues were placed. Above is the great west window of eight lights, with elaborate tracery. This front is flanked by octagonal turrets, with belts of panelled

CC

to the south, we find behind the consistory court a rich and deep porch. The south side of the nave with its aisle is plain, yet striking; but the most remarkable feature of this part of the church is the south wing of the transept. Instead of resembling the northern wing, as is generally the case, this is nearly as long as the nave or the choir, broader than either, and with aisles on each side; while the north wing is very short, only as broad as a side of the central tower, and without aisles. The aisles of the choir extend to the east beyond the choir itself, and form the aisles of the Lady chapel at the extreme eastern end of the church. The eastern window of the choir is seen over this chapel; but the whole of this part of the cathedral is of very plain pretensions. On the north side is the chapter-house and cloister, to which is attached a building used as a school. By far the best external feature of this cathedral remains yet to be described. This is the central tower, rising at the intersection of the transepts with the nave and choir. It is only of one story above the roof: still it is lofty, and of imposing appearance. In each side are two pointed windows, with a single mullion down the middle, and aquatrefoil at the top. All of them have crocketted canopies with finials. At the four angles of the tower are four octagonal turrets, terminated, as the tower itself is, with an embattled parapet. The material of which this church is composed is a red and crumbling sandstone. This detracts from its character, causing it, on nearer inspection, to look dilapidated: still it is not under some circumstances a disadvantage. When the writer first visited Chester, it was on a splendid summer's evening that he approached this antique city. The rays of the departing sun gave the old tower of the cathedral a richer hue, and its dark red walls glowed with the mellow light, impressing on his memory a picture which will not easily be effaced.

Entering through the western doorway, we descend by several steps into the nave; and the first feeling is perhaps one of disappointment. There is no triforium: the ceiling is flat, and of wood, resting on wooden brackets. It would seem, however, that it was the original plan to vault the roof with stone, and some indications are left of the commencement of this work. The clerestory is lofty; the windows deeply recessed with galleries, constructed through the intervening piers. The pillars of the nave are clustered with rich bases and foliated capitals; the arches are pointed. I have before had occasion, in describing other cathedrals, to animadvert on the miserable taste which separates these

tions, by lofty screens, destroying thus the sense of vastness which their magnitude and the character of Gothic architecture are well calculated to inspire in the spectator: but nowhere have I seen, except in Scotland, an interior so marred as in Chester cathedral. There are actually two churches formed under the same roof. For not only is a heavy screen and organ interposed between the nave and choir, but the southern wing of the transept is partitioned off to make a parish church. There may be a scarcity of churches in Chester, and this, as a temporary expedient, might be unobjectionable; but surely an additional church ought to be erected, and the cathedral left free to its own particular office.

The central tower stands on four massy piers: above the arches is a flat wooden ceiling. Five pointed arches separate the choir from the aisles on each side: above these is an arcade of pointed arches, supported by slender shafts: higher still are the clerestory windows. The pavement is of black and white marble; and there are stalls on each side. The bishop's throne is interesting. It is the stone case of the shrine of St. Werburgh, and is a rich specimen of Gothic architecture, finely decorated with carved work, and embellished with a range of thirty curious little statues, variously habited and gilt, holding in their hands scrolls originally inscribed with their names, but now defaced. It has been supposed that they were intended to represent kings and saints of the royal Mercian line, relatives of St. Werburgh. In the south aisle of the choir is an altar tomb, which tradition appropriated to Henry the fourth, emperor of Germany; but, as this prince was interred first at Liege, and afterwards at Spires, it seems difficult to imagine what connexion he could have with a sepulchre in Chester cathedral. The tomb was doubtless that of one of the later abbots. In the choir are also the monuments of bishops Stratford and Peploe. Under the east window is an arch opening into the Lady chapel, which consists of a middle and two side aisles, the stone vaulting of which is ornamented with richly carved key-stones.

The chapter-room is an elegant building, 35 feet high, 50 feet long, and 26 broad. The cloisters form a quadrangle of 110 feet square: the south walk and the dormitory over the east walk are destroyed.

The dimensions of the cathedral are

PT. IN.

78 0 33 0 127 0

80 0 39 0

The old diocese of Chester contained the counties of Chester and Lancaster, with parts of Westmoreland, Cumberland, Yorkshire, Denbighshire, and Flintshire. By the new arrangement it is to comprise Cheshire, Flintshire, and part of Shropshire, and to be altogether in the province of York.

S.

weapon in his hand, and fixing intently his eyes upon his fallen victim. They were both personally known to me: the wounded man was a Mr. H., at whose hospitable board I had sat but that day week, and

saw him in health and cheerfulness, the beloved The other was a

husband, the honoured parent. captain F., an officer quartered at a neighbouring

market-town. Just as I reached the spot, the surgeon, rising, said in mournful accents, "I am deeply grieved to tell you that there is no hope: the wound must prove mortal in a few hours." Captain F.

No. VI. THE DUEL.

ABOUT a mile from my residence at E- was a retired little nook, whither in summer I used often to resort with some favourite volume, on which I could occupy myself secure from interruption. In order to reach this sequestered spot, I had to turn off from the high road just by a water-mill, where a narrow winding lane conducted me to the entrance of a small wood. Passing through this, I came into a triangular field, enclosed on two sides by the wood, and on the third by a remarkably high quick-set hedge. In this field a few cows were generally grazing; but other living being was rarely seen there. At the further extremity I used to climb a gate, and, pursuing for a few yards a tangled path, I turned short round a jutting limestone rock, and found myself in a kind of natural alcove, with overhanging trees, and a clear stream murmuring and sparkling about twenty feet below me. I took a little pains to make myself a rude seat; and here I often spent an hour in the freshness of the morning, or sought shelter from the hot rays of the noon-day sun.

One day in the latter end of June I had risen early, and, with my favourite Herbert in my pocket, sought my pleasant hermitage. After reading about an hour, I was reminded by the distant church-clock striking seven, that it was time to return home to my solitary breakfast. I therefore closed my book, and, while gazing for a moment at the ocean, which I could just see through a break in the range of hills to the far east, glowing like molten gold in the sun, I was startled by the double report, as it seemed, of a gun at no great distance behind me. It was not the shooting season, and I could not at first account for the explosion; but, soon settling it in my mind that some farmer's boy was protecting, as he imagined, his master's corn, I commenced my walk homeward. I had just climbed the gate into the meadow, when before me, by the side of the wood, I espied three or four

"Merciful God, forgive me! am I then a murderer?" He staggered a few paces and leaned against a tree, almost overcome with mental agony.

It was deemed unadvisable to convey Mr. H. to his own house, and therefore he was carried as gently as possible to the mill at the head of the lane turning from the high road, which was but a quarter of a mile distant. Here he was laid upon a humble but very clean bed, and received every attention that could be paid him from the miller's family; while I was despatched on the miserable errand of acquainting Mrs. H. with the fearful tidings. I was soon at H-park, and as 1 passed up the avenue-endeavouring with little success to calm my own mind, so as in the gentlest way to break the news-I was unexpectedly met by Mrs. H. herself, who, leading one of her little boys by the hand, was enjoying a stroll through the delightful grounds. "Good morning, Mr. Emerson," she said, "I hope you are come to breakfast with us. I expect my husband every moment: he went out about an hour ago to give some directions, I fancy, at the farm. He will be delighted to see you." Then observing my uncontrollable emotion, she suddenly changed her tone-"O! Mr. Emerson, are you ill? or has-has-any accident happened?" I cannot describe the scene which followed: it was one of the most painful moments of my life. She was speechless for some moments. I feared she would have fainted. But Mrs. H. was a real Christian, and she looked in that trying hour for more than earthly help. At last she said "This is indeed a heavy dispensation." Kneeling upon the grass, she made her child kneel too, and raising her clasped hands and streaming eyes to heaven, "O my God, my compassionate Saviour," she cried, "lay not upon me a weightier burthen than thou wilt enable me to bear: O Father of the fatherless, Husband of the widow, have pity upon us." Little Henry sobbed too; but he was too young to comprehend the extent of his misfortune. Then, suddenly rising, she said to me—“ Lead me to him: I must go to him directly." The child was carried back