There is no better starting-point than the “George,” in the centre of the High Street, for exploring Winchester. This was the chief street in Roman times, and perhaps terminated in such a round arch as we see at Lincoln. In the palmy days of the city good houses probably adorned the street. There seems to have been a fashionable tailor here in the days of John and Henry III. His cut was evidently appreciated, for he was not only employed by the King, but given wood to repair his house, Limafelda, the rent of which was a grey pelise for the King. We may conclude there was also a grand harness maker: for John ordered the Mayor to give the constable of Corfe Castle a handsome (pulchra) saddle, with a scarlet saddle-cloth and gilt bridle.[3] The scene had greatly changed by Henry VIII.’s time. The houses, mostly wooden and thatched, had gardens in front of them, of a somewhat Irish character, for the walls were dilapidated,[4] and they contained few flowers, but many sweet--pigs. A civic order was now made that householders should no longer keep “hog-sties” within the boundaries of the “hie” street. Those were times of darkness--there were no town-lights, and some apprehension was felt that even the supply of candles might run short. And so, in the fifteenth year of Henry VIII., it was ordered by the Winchester “assemble” that the chandlers “should make” good and well-burning candles, and “should see there was no lack of them.”[5] In Charles II.’s time the citizens were bidden to hang out lights while the King was in residence. [Sidenote: 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. “When Keats was here in 1819,” said Mr. Hertford, “he found the place much modernized and ‘improved.’ He says the side streets were excessively maiden-lady-like; the doorsteps were always fresh from the flannel, and the knockers had a staid, serious, almost awful quietness about them. Never did he see such a quiet collection of lions’ and rams’ heads.”[6] [Illustration: 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. “That unpretentious building,” I said, “stands on holy ground.[7]