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      Westgate.

      Now let us come to a nearer date, and imagine this street a hundred years ago. An open drain ran down it, and lines of gables and overhanging storeys nodded across at each other in grotesque infirmity. A pretty picture they made, and there was one night in the year on which they seemed to me to be sadly missing—the fifth of November—when tar barrels were lit at the Westgate and kicked down the street by an exulting mob. A grand scene it was of riot and wildfire, and only wanted the quaint, irregular buildings to complete the effect.

      West Gate, Winchester.

      The first object that attracted our attention on our walks was the Westgate, which crowns the High Street, and is beautiful with its ivy, arches, and two Decorated windows. There is a warm semi-domestic character in the fortifications of a town—a charm distinct from that of the colder grandeur of the Castle and Cathedral. As we approach the gate, we pass the Star Inn.

      “Graves of unknown age, Roman coins and vases were found there when digging for the foundations in 1885. It is thought that a palace of Queen Emma stood on or near its site. There was a hostel named ‘La Starre’ in Winchester in the reign of Henry IV.”

      Prisoners.

      The Domesday Book.

      “In order to see this castle we must ante-date our existence three hundred years.”

      “I wish we could,” said Mr. Hertford, “then we should have no trouble about Home Rule or County Councils.”

      The Castle.

      

      “A remarkable, if not fabulous event, took place ‘in the hall of Winchester Castle’ (or palace) in Edward the Confessor’s time. The story goes that one of the serving-men in bringing in a dish slipped one foot, but saved himself with the other. Earl Godwin being in good spirits, perhaps, at the termination of the almost endless grace, attempted a joke—a somewhat hazardous venture before the Confessor. ‘So should one brother support the other,’ quoth he. Edward was down upon him in a moment. ‘So might I have been now assisted by my brother Alfred, if Earl Godwin had not prevented it.’ The Earl protested that he had no connection with that murder; ‘might the next morsel be his last if he had.’ He ate and tried to swallow, but the food and the lie stuck in his throat, and he fell dead under the table.”

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