138 A CITY OF MANY WATERS 



very much remains. English holiday-makers, trooping 

 off to Continental towns, find no slum too foul to be 

 ransacked in search of architectural remains. That is 

 very well ; but it is also well to bear in mind that there 

 is a great deal to explore at home. Winchester perhaps is 

 less changed internally and in her surroundings from the 

 city that used to be the 'morning gift' of the kings of 

 England to their brides, than any other English town in a 

 similar time. No manufactures have sprung up to sully 

 her bright air or soil her brighter stream ; even the South- 

 western Railway approaches her reverently under screen 

 of deep cuttings in the chalk, and passes, scarcely seen, 

 outside her ancient walls. 



Standing in the old Roman roadway at the Westgate, 

 and looking down the High Street across the Soke to St. 

 Giles's Hill, one sees few things, except the dress of the 

 citizens, that would have startled the understanding of 

 Philip of Spain's grandees, or Sir William Waller's Iron- 

 sides. Some of the shops have sported plate-glass, and 

 nearly all the roofs, alas ! are covered with Welsh slate, 

 that provokingly cheap and excellent material which is 

 swiftly ruining so many landscapes by superseding red 

 tiles ; but besides these novel features, the old town basks 

 in the summer haze with much the same aspect of leisurely 

 occupation and decorous quiet as it must have worn, but 

 for exceptional episodes, for centuries. The eight execu- 

 tioners provide no spectacle now, so people stroll up to 

 the station to watch the passengers in the London train ; 

 the bishop's proclamations are no longer of pressing 

 moment, but there are the evening papers to con over and 

 discuss ; and the old military feeling is kept astir, as befits 

 a city built on the lines of a former Roman camp, by the 



