“Wykeham did not like the sight,” I replied; “it was, I suppose, not an uncommon one, for we find in Henry III.’s reign complaints that the dogs of the Abbot of Hyde and Abbess of St. Mary’s were committing depredations in the King’s forests.” [Sidenote: Swithun’s Tomb.] Hence we made for the north side of the Cathedral, where we passed through the iron gate to walk on the grass. Close to the Cathedral on the north-west near a water drain, I observed that the ground had been recently moved, and the sod was broken, revealing a piece of wall. This was, in fact, the site where St. Swithun had by his own desire been humbly buried, “so that the sun might not shine upon him.” Since the translation of his body the earth here had not been moved until two years ago, when in digging, several coffins of chalk and stone were found with bones, and also the mysterious ring already mentioned. Proceeding towards the east we noticed the doorway into the north transept by which the pilgrims entered to have their squint through the grille gate. Beyond the north transept another cut in the grass showed a wall of great solidity--probably part of the foundations of the “New Minster,” whose monks moved to Hyde. This wall, lately discovered, was traced northwards to a point where a stone has been placed in the grass, and two other stones show the building was square. The old Saxon church might have been here--some fragments stood above ground in the beginning of the last century. We here saw close to us a pointed arch standing alone. It formerly led to some of the prior’s premises. To the north of it I saw a line of small, dilapidated houses, bearing the pretentious name of “Paternoster Row,” which, I fear, does not always awaken religious feelings in the hearts of authors. Some of these dwellings were very old, and boasted a little external ornamentation. In the doorway of one of them sat an aged woman sunning herself. Her features were finely chiselled, and she had a profusion of white glossy hair. She must have been handsome when young, and was still “Bearing through winter The joys of the spring.” I asked her if she could tell us the age of her house. “No, I cannot, sir,” she replied, “but it must be very old from the way it is built. There are five doors to this room. Pray walk in.” We complied, and found a very neat little apartment with tables covered with ornaments, and a brave show of glass. There was a beam across the ceiling, which I could touch with my hand. “You can see at the back how old the houses are. Some of the cottages in the corner have lately been taken down,” she added. [Sidenote: Bourne.]