Through a pleasant meadow, and by a clear stream, I made my way to the hospital of St. Cross, founded by Bishop De Blois seven hundred years ago: yet, in conformity with the will of that prelate, when I knocked at the porter’s lodge, I was duly presented with a slice of bread and a horn of wholesome beer, which I was just then quite thankful to receive, and to despatch in honour of his memory. To such a dole is everybody entitled who applies in the same manner: and a larger charity is, at stated times, distributed at the same place, to the neighbouring poor. The establishment to which I was admitted, after such an introduction, is one of the most interesting objects I ever saw. Its old courts and halls reminded me not a little of Haddon; a pair of leathern pitchers were shown me, as vessels which once held ale for Cardinal Beaufort: but its chapel is indeed a relic of surpassing interest. It is built in cathedral form, and combines both Saxon and Norman details, with the first formal step towards the pointed arch. From the intersection of two of its circular arches, according to some, sprang Salisbury cathedral—the whole idea, from crypt to the vanishing point of its spire. And from this last remnant of conventual life, why should not the true idea of such establishments be in a similar manner revived throughout Christendom? Here live some dozen poor and aged men, who else would have no home on this side heaven. Each wears a flowing garment of black, with a silver cross shining on its cape: they call one another brother; they study to be quiet; prayer is their only business; and order and neatness reign throughout the holy place. No one can visit St. Cross without praying that the Church of England may be blessed with hundreds more of just such homes for aged poverty, and that wherever wealth abounds in her communion, it may be devoted to erecting them. CHAPTER XXIX. _Winchester Cathedral—Relics—Netley Abbey._