It is in vain to write about it;
nowhere but in England can there be such a spot, nor anywhere but in the
close of Peterborough Cathedral.
May 28th.--I walked up into the town this morning, and again visited the
cathedral. On the way, I observed the Falcon Inn, a very old-fashioned
hostelry, with a thatched roof, and what looked like the barn door or
stable door in a side front. Very likely it may have been an inn ever
since Queen Elizabeth's time. The Guildhall, as I supposed it to be, in
the market-place, has a basement story entirely open on all sides, but
from its upper story it communicates with a large old house in the rear.
I have not seen an older-looking town than Peterborough; but there is
little that is picturesque about it, except within the domain of the
cathedral. It was very fortunate for the beauty and antiquity of these
precincts, that Henry VIII. did not suffer the monkish edifices of the
abbey to be overthrown and utterly destroyed, as was the case with so
many abbeys, at the Reformation; but, converting the abbey church into a
cathedral, he preserved much of the other arrangement of the buildings
connected with it. And so it happens that to this day we have the
massive and stately gateway, with its great pointed arch, still keeping
out the world from those who have inherited the habitations of the old
monks; for though the gate is never closed, one feels himself in a sacred
seclusion the instant he passes under the archway.
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