Winchester Cathedral! How futile will be the attempt to speak worthily of it; but the reader should have some facts concerning it. The longest of all the twenty-nine cathedrals, it has the finest nave in the kingdom, and a history of more than nine hundred years. It is another of the architectural wonders of Great Britain. The lawn and great trees furnish a befitting environment, and a genuine cathedral atmosphere envelops the venerable ecclesiastical residences near by. The ruins of the monastery and abbey lend their charm, and the grand cathedral stands solemn and majestic in their midst. Founded in 648, in 980 the stones were refashioned into their present forms, which have continued to this day. Centuries have now passed since all was complete; and save for the repair of a crumbling stone, or a restoration of some portions to original conditions, nothing needs to be done. It is 527 feet in length, seven more than Quincy Market in our Boston, and 186 feet wide at the transepts. The low demure-looking tower, only 26 feet taller than the roof, is 130 feet high. In color, it is much like Salisbury Cathedral,--a dark indistinct gray, with thin moss-patches. Parts of the exterior are very rich in decoration, and a feeling akin to admiration is inspired as one gazes at the turreted walls. We enter the nave. This part was built under the administration of William of Wykeham, who was also the architect. He was made bishop of the See in 1366, and died in 1404. It is imposing in its proportions; and simple, though gracefully elegant, is the decoration of columns, arches, and ceiling. White throughout as new-fallen snow, every moulding and carving is of such admirable size as to be clear and distinct in outline. The interior is more than one hundred feet high. The light is solemnly toned down, and everywhere there is an impression of vastness. And how can pen or tongue adequately picture the great reredos, the strange monuments, and the countless mementoes of departed worth? Again comes the impression, this is _the_ cathedral.
Here sleeps Isaac Walton. Wood, the historian, says of him: "In his last years he lived mostly in families of eminent clergymen of England, of whom he was much beloved." Dec. 15, 1683, at the age of ninety, he died in Winchester, at the residence of his son-in-law. Who that reads his "Complete Angler, or the Contemplative Man's Recreation," does not admire the sweet temper and good sense, the cheerful disposition and honest purpose of the old saint, enthusiastic in his devotion to his pastime and calling? Nature and his spirit were in remarkable harmony. A large flat stone tells us that here his dust was deposited nearly three centuries ago, but the bookstores of England and America prove that, like the great Webster, he still lives.