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crypt (figured in Russell's 'Guildford'). The groining, supported by rude circular columns without capitals, does not indicate a date anterior to the thirteenth century. What its purposes were-whether for prayers or connected with the fortress-is an enigma yet unriddled by antiquaries. Facing the Angel stood the "Fyshe Crosse," which was removed in Queen Elizabeth's days. Passing upwards, we must not overlook the picturesque dwellings of Masters Cooke the brazier, or Clarke the hatter, or the large-windowed house of Crosskey, a hatter also, and the high-gabled residence of Lyon the butcher farther eastward. Their wares look doubly attractive in their interesting old houses. On the opposite side we should explore the back yard of the Red Lion Inn, where Pepys, at his coming to Guildford in 1688, as he notes in his Diary, was unable to get a bed, the house being so full of people and a wedding; and we may remark with admiration the double gables of the Bull's Head, which form the fore ground of our sketch. The town is, indeed, very picturesque at this point. The broad-faced, gabled town-hall is, with its campanile, by far the best thing in the corporation, and the projecting clock is beyond price. Yet we grieve to record that some people, blind and senseless to its great artistic merits, actually proposed a short time back to remove it. Nothing half so typical of the place and so manifest a token of its genuine respectability could be substituted for this town hall and its gilded dial. No modern gimcrack, cost what it might, would have half the virtue. We may imagine the big-wigged corporation of the "merry" monarch's days, actually marching out of it on their high red-heeled shoes. If the Queen were to offer to substitute the marble archway of Buckingham Palace, which cost nearly 80,000l., we would not exchange it for this ancient timber house of 1683. Let the burgesses prize and preserve it with religious care. It is part of their historical importance. The visitor should penetrate between the sacks of corn, which block the entrance, into the interior. The massive forms of the woodwork throw deep picturesque shadows. The lower room is fitted up for assizes, and some indifferent paintings are hung about the walls. We may ascend into the council room; it is an oak-panelled apartment, with an elaborate sculptured chimney-piece, transferred from Stoughton House, illustrating four species of the genus homo, the Sanguineus, Phlegmaticus, Cholericus and Melancholicus, in emblematical figures.

Opposite the Town Hall is the Corn Market, a plain Tuscan temple, just as unapt a form for a granary as could well be taken. The dealers and the corn itself are exposed to as much cold and wet as is possible in any covered building. Ôur modern architects seem to see a peculiar aptitude in Tuscan and Doric porticoes for corn markets, for we find them everywhere. Here the market is like a great heavy impertinence. Adjoining the market is the White Hart Inn, and opposite is the Crown. The first we can commend from personal experience, and we report on hearsay a good character of the latter. The White Hart is an old inn; the rooms spacious, with well-worn, comfortable furniture. Dapper spick-span new furniture does not assimilate with our æsthetics of inns. It creates an instant prejudice that there is no experience in the place; and inn-keeping is a business that only reaches perfection by years of experience. It takes two hundred years to make a good chop-house. The best in London, Dolly's, Will's, Tom's, Dick's, all can boast of the green old age

of at least two centuries. Country inns may be judged by the same rule. The White Hart is certainly a hundred years old. The bed-rooms are most comfortable; charge 2s. It is not dear, but if it included the fee to the chambermaid people would recollect the bed for its cheapness as well as comfort. Breakfast, with meat and eggs, costs 2s.; tea 1s. 6d.; dinners 3s.; a lady companion creates an additional charge of 1s. 6d. per day for sitting room. Our visitor, before he proceeds further, should step into the White Hart, and make the necessary arrangements for his stay. We are not aware that Guildford boasts of any local peculiarities in feasting. A stuffed roast fowl and bread sauce, or a duck stuffed with onions previously boiled, whereby their sting is extracted, may always be had. Having lunched and ordered dinner we will step across and survey Abbot's Hospital, first glancing at Trinity Church, with its ugly red brick face, a few paces above the White Hart, on the same side of the way; it is a modern substitute for the old church which fell down in 1740. This structure was not completed till 1790. Its greatest point of interest, the chimes, may be enjoyed without entrance. There is nothing whatever at all tempting in the inside, except two or three sixteenth-century monumental brasses, the cinque-cento monument of Archbishop Abbot, and a Roman senator recumbent on an altar tomb, to the memory of Arthur Onslow, the speaker of the House of Commons, a native of the town. The old building of the Chauntry of the Westons of Sutton remains on the south-west corner of the church. Close before the church, on a Saturday, the pig market is held, and the scene makes a capital picturesque foreground when looking down the street.

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Abbot's Hospital-founded by the archbishop in 1619, for a master, twelve brethren, and eight sisters-is opposite the Holy Trinity Church. This also is in red brick attire, with stone dressings of a late Tudor style; but it affords a triumphant example, in the face of the church, of the picturesque effect with which brick may be endowed. This structure is one of the decided features of the town. It looks so substantial, durable and comfortable. It has no air of the modern contractor about it. The

court-yard in the brightness of the summer's sun, with the trailing vines and flowers against the walls, is positively beautiful. The glow of the sun on the red brick walls is of a delicious orange colour, which no painter, except Mulready and Turner, has hitherto been bold enough to represent. The library, dining and meeting halls, chapel and kitchen of the hospital, all abound in pictures suggestive of old English life. The colour and forms in all offer most seductive studies to make one loiter here with a sketch-book. The visitor should survey all these parts, which retain almost untouched their ancient features. The kitchen especially would furnish a famous study for William Hunt's imitative pencil. Adjacent is the dining-hall, rich with the colour of the red-tile pavement and the oak-panelled walls. Above it is a chamber of nearly similar dimensions, which has an elaborately-carved chimney-piece. Further east, on this side, is the chapel. The windows are vivid with bright coloured glass, attributed to Albert Durer; but without reason,

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we think, for the date seems nearly a century later, and there is nothing in any of the compositions to warrant the assumption that the famous old German had anything to do with them. The subjects are taken from the Old Testament. The founder's portrait hangs in the chapel. The Abbot family produced three children, all distinguished men. The parents, Maurice and Alice, were honest cloth-workers in Guildford. Their children were educated at Edward VI.'s free-school, higher up the street. The eldest became Bishop of Salisbury; the second, George, the founder of the hospital, Archbishop of Canterbury (he died at Croydon, August 4, 1633); and Maurice, the third son, who, as a merchant, was one of the earliest East India directors, represented the city of London in Parliament, was knighted by Charles I., and ended by being Lord

Mayor of London in 1638. The original Maurice and Alice Abbot must have been noble, sound-hearted folk, to have had three such sons. The library or presence-chamber, as well as the master's apartments, should be seen if possible. The library belongs to the deanery, and is the place of meeting for the clergy. In the master's room are portraits of Wickliffe, Fox (the martyrologist) and Calvin.

Pursuing our course further eastward, the Grammar School, with its gables, square-headed Tudor windows, buttresses and pinnacles, is the next object which attracts notice. It is on the opposite side of the street to the hospital, near to where the High-street unites with Spitalstreet. It bears the legend, "Schola Regia Grammaticalis Edwardi Sexti, 1550," though it owes to the young king rather its enlargement than its foundation. Its founder was one Robert Beckingham, a citizen of London, in the preceding reign:

"For first in Guildford, by his gyft,

The name of free-schole came."

Edward VI. endowed it with 201. a year out of the dissolved Chauntry revenues, and it henceforth has borne his name. Its buildings-the schoolroom, dining-hall, library, dormitories, which form a quadrangleall retain their old massive and solid features, and are worth exploring when there is time, which will not be the case with the visitor of a single day. The library was founded by one of its scholars, Parkhurst, bishop of Norwich, in 1574, one of the translators of the "Bishops' Bible." It is rich as a provincial library in early typographical specimens, and at one time could boast of a Caxton's Historye of Troye Towne. The number of scholars is limited to a hundred, and, by an ancient statute, every scholar is bound to pay quarterly one penny towards the provision of brooms and rods to be used in the said school."

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The school is the last of the features of the town to tempt the visitor further eastward. Continuing in this direction, he will come to a large modern building the "Union;" but it is a thing, in respect of its architectural appearance at least, rather to fly from. We therefore retrace our steps as far as Trinity Church, glancing for a moment at Spital-street-which, until late years, could boast of its maypole-and take a passage around the churchyard, leading southward, whereby we may reach South Hill. We pass in our way some old cottages, not wanting in picturesque forms and colours. We will not pause just now to examine the Castle, but proceed up the hill. We could have wished the Jail had been placed anywhere but on this spot. It is one of the most commanding points of the town, and presents some of its most delightful prospects. Crossing a stile, we reach a very beautiful spot, and there is a bench, formed out of the trunk of an old tree, called "Warwick's Bench," where we may rest and enjoy the scene. foreground of corn-fields, at the summit of the chalk cliff, is sufficiently broken and varied; the river winds through the valley between steep banks of rich foliage and sand-rock. In the midst are the ruins of St. Catherine's Chapel, on a steep knoll of sand, with a background of dense wood, and the distance, as far as the eye reaches, presents a view of immense extent and variety-hill, dale, water-delicately graduating into every exquisite diversity of tints. Before we descend

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to the water's edge, we should bear to the eastward for about half a mile, until we gain a view of the ruins of St. Martha's Chapel, also situate on an eminence, which terminates the most lovely valley of Albury. But a walk to this spot must be a theme for a separate Excursion; so at present we can only say to the tourist, take a short peep at what is in store for another occasion.

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Descending the hill, through the fields, a well-worn pathway leads us into a high road: this we cross, and, passing through a gateway into a park-like enclosure, we reach the ferry at the base of St. Catherine's. A shout summons the ferryman quickly to us. If the tourist is not afraid of a scramble, let him pass round the sandy hill, and ascend it through a steep-wooded path, which will lead to the summit. The position of the ruined chapel, without roof, or even a mullion in a window left, is its sole attraction, but that is great indeed. Both St. Catherine's and St. Martha's are spots which will be recalled

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to mind whenever the finest scenery is spoken of, whether in England or abroad. On this hill, and under the shadow of the ruins of the chapel, the annual fair of Guildford is held. The bustle of the scene and its picturesque groupings, in the midst of the beautiful are worth witnessing.

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We may descend from the hill, by the side of the cottages, to the ferry, and so return into the town on the banks of the river, or keep to the main road, which has its beauties, and passes by St. Catherine'sterrace, where some rather attractive houses have recently been erected, and close to Booker's Tower, a beacon visible on all sides. The pedes

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