Yonder, at the lower end of this Street, we catch a glimpse of the WALLS; and, turning ourselves about, take a rapid look at ABBEY SQUARE (the only Square old Chester can boast!) with its DEANERY and BISHOP’S PALACE,—the former occupying the site of the ancient CHAPEL OF ST. THOMAS, nay, resting indeed on the foundations of that sacred edifice. The latter is a gloomy-looking pile of red sandstone, erected by Bishop Keene in 1753; but within it have resided as goodly a fellowship of mitred heads as ever graced the episcopal bench. Markham, Porteus, Cleaver, Law, Blomfield, Sumner, and last not least, Graham, our present amiable diocesan, have each in turn found here their house and home. But what is this massive and substantial structure, under which we are now passing,—so massive and strong as almost to have defied the ravages of time? Behold in it the principal GATEWAY of the ABBEY, an imposing edifice even in this our day, but one which had seen the meridian of its splendour ere Harry the Eighth, hypocritical Harry! sacrilegiously sealed and decreed its doom. In those, its halcyon days, few gates indeed might “stand between the wind and its nobility;” for ‘regal pomp and lordly retinue’ sought ever and anon a welcome here. And not in vain: for as we have already shown, when once its ponderous doors moved back to give them ingress, the tables of the Refectory and the _bonhommie_ of the monks never failed to sustain the hospitable character of the Abbey. Look up, through the gloom, at the solid masonry of this ancient pile, and at the admirable groining which supports the superstructure;—gingerbread architecture was all unknown in those mediæval times! On the west side of the archway, we can still see the rust-coated staples, on which, three or four centuries ago, swang the oaken gates of the Abbey. Times have changed; and the hoary old porter, with his shaven scalp, and keys of ‘trewyst steele,’ has flitted away from the scene, while the tide of life now flows freely, and without obstruction, ’neath this venerable Gate. Here, in 1554, it is traditionally said that GEORGE MARSH, a ‘champion for the glorious truth,’ was first imprisoned, preparatory to his trial and martyrdom at the stake. And why,—what evil had he done? What was “the height and might of his offending?” Simply this,—that “after the manner that man then called heresy, so worshipped he the God of his fathers.” The _heretics_ of one age are not unfrequently the _saints_ of another; and certain it is that the memory of Marsh and the faith he died for, gained rather than lost by those Marian fires! Not long afterwards, if not indeed before, this structure was turned into the Episcopal REGISTRY; and here are deposited, in its well-kept archives, the ‘last wills and testaments’ of all who have died, and ‘left aught to leave,’ within the scattered limits of this widespread diocese. The beautiful condition and systematic arrangement of these important records put other