Original Communications.

PETERBOROUGH AND ITS

CATHEDRAL.

IN the days of old, even so early as the sixth century, Peterborough is believed to have been, if not a considerable town, at least a village of some importance. It was, however, not then called Peterborough. Medeshamstede, we are told by Britton, was its ancient name. He adds, "During the Anglo-Saxon or Anglo-Norman-dynasties, it was of great note when monachism and warfare occupied nearly all the time, resources, and attention of society. It was afterwards called Gildersburgh, from its riches or gilded minster; next it bore the name of Burgh, or Burigh, from its fortified walls; and lastly Petersburgh or borough, the minster being dedicated to St Peter. In the time of King Edgar, about 960, it was a sort of viceNo. 1205.]

papal see, or second Rome, and was afterwards visited by several of the English kings. Like many other rich monasteries in the eastern counties, this was often assailed, plundered, and burnt by the marauding Danes, and its inmates were either murdered or driven from their homes. No sooner did the barbarian pirates withdraw than the surviving monks returned to their ruined houses, and exerted all their powers and resources to re-edify their dwellings, reinstate their sacred church, and replenish their granaries and store cellars."

K

The foundation of the abbey was laid by Penda, eldest son of Penda, king of the Mercians, in 655, or the following year, but he dying in the fourth year of his reign, it was completed, in 664, by Wolfere, his brother, who succeeded him, assisted by Etheldred, the remaining son of Kynesburga, and Kyneswitha, the two daughters of Penda and Saxulf, a pious [VOL. XLIV.

earl, who was made the first abbot. It was dedicated to St Peter, at an assembly of nobles and bishops, and endowed with large immunities and possessions, which were confirmed by the charter of Wolfere, in the seventh year of his reign. Pope Agatha ratified these endowments, and constituted it a vice-papal see, where persons might be absolved from their sins for a consideration, and receive the apostolical benediction. The monastery flourished for nearly 200 years, under a succession of seven abbots, when the Danes, in 870, after desolating the abbies of Croyland and Thorney, nearly annihilated Medeshamstede. In the year 1116 it experienced almost a repetition of the catastrophe from an accidental conflagration. John de Salisbury, in 1118, the abbot, commenced a new church, which was finished under Martin de Vecti, in 1144. Improvements and additions were made to it by William de Waterville. The abbots were called to the House of Peers in the time of Henry III, and made bishops in 1440. Katherine, the consort of Henry VIII, was buried here in 1535. The monastery was converted into an episcopal see in 1541, and the conventual church into a cathedral, the government of which was given to a bishop, a dean, and six prebendaries, whose juris. diction extended over the city, and nearly over the counties of Northampton and Rutland. In the time of Queen Mary the church was again placed under the authority of the pope, but in the reign of Elizabeth this arrangement, as a matter of course, was set aside. In 1587 the obsequies of Mary Queen of Scotts, "few and brief," were here solemnized, unattended with the vain parade and splendour which in the case of royalty commonly marks the return of "dust to dust." The remains of the unhappy queen were removed to Westminster in the following reign, 1612. In the course of the civil wars which broke out thirty years afterwards, the cathedral was violently assailed by the parliamentarians. The stalls, organ, books, monuments, and decorations were destroyed. After remaining eight years in a state of ruin it was repaired, and divine service was again celebrated within its walls.

The architecture of this building has been erroneously called Saxon. It is in the Norman style, of which the circular arch, large columns, and analogous mouldings form the leading characteristics. Like most cathedrals, it presents a nave, with side aisles, a transept, a choir finishing at the east end semicircularly with a continuation of the aisles. The whole is terminated at the east by what is called the new building of St Mary's chapel. In the centre is a tower rising from four large arches at the intersection of the nave, choir, and transept. The west front is formed

It appears the dates at which the various parts of this cathedral were erected are as follows. The choir, with its aisles, from the circular extremity at the east to the commencement of the transept, was begun in 1118, and finished in 1144. Between 1155 and 1177 the transept was erected, and between the latter year and 1193 the nave, with the aisles, were completed. An addition was made about the year 1288, when the space between the extreme western pillar and the door of entrance was finished, forming a projection on each side of the western extremity, and terminating by two towers. lady's chapel, said to have been on the east side of the north transept, was built by William Parys, the prior, in the fourteenth century. When the west portico, with its three arches, was finished, is not known, but it is supposed before the year 1274, as Abbot Richard de London raised one of the western towers before that year. The chapel in the centre arch is in the style of architecture of a much later date than the western front.

The

The building has a noble aspect. Mr Britton, from whose superbly embellished work we have copied the engraving which adorns our present number, observes"The cathedral, as seen from various points, groups well with the trees in its vicinity. Excepting the tower of the parish church, which is neither remarkable for altitude or beauty, there is no commanding edifice in the city to combine or contrast with the minster. Viewed from the west, the latter presents an august appearance from the exposition of the great arches of the front; and when lighted up by the setting sun, and relieved by a dark or hazy sky, it is peculiarly striking and impressive.

DEEDS OF BLOOD. THOUGH James I was no warrior, the tragedies of his day with which he was connected were not few. The manner in which the Earl of Murray was attacked and killed cannot, even now, be read without shuddering. Roger Aston's account, as it exists in the State Paper Office, runs thus :--

"The 7th of February the King hunted; and Huntly, giving out that he meant to accompany the royal cavalcade, assembled his followers to the number of forty horse. Suddenly he pretended that certain news had reached him of the retreat of Bothwell; extorted from the King permission to ride against this traitor; and passing the ferry, beset the house of Dunibristle, and summoned Murray to surrender. This was refused; and in spite of the great disparity in numbers, the Stewarts resisted till nightfall, when Huntly, collecting the cornstacks, or ricks, in the neighbouring fields, piled them up against the walls, commanded the house to be set on fire, and compelled its unhappy inmates to make a desperate sally that they might escape being burnt alive. In this outbreak the Sheriff of Murray was slain; but the young Earl, aided by his great stature and strength, rushed forth all burned and blackened, with his long and beautiful tresses on fire and streaming behind him, threw himself with irresistible fury on his assailants, broke through their toils like a lion, and escaped by speed of foot to the sea shore. Here, unfortunately, his hair and the silken plume of his helmet blazed through the darkness; and his fell pursuers, tracing him by the trail of light, ran him into a cave, where they cruelly murdered him. His mortal wound, it was said, was given by Gordon of Buckie, who, with the ferocity of the times, seeing Huntly drawing back, cursed him as afraid to go as far as his followers, and called upon him to stab his fallen enemy with his dagger, and become art and part of the slaughter, as he had been of the conspiracy. Huntly, thus threatened, struck the dying man in the face with his weapon, who, with a bitter smile, upbraided him with having spoilt a better face than his Own.'"

The circumstances of the Gowrie conspiracy, as narrated by Mr Tytler in the last volume of his History of Scotland,' are fearful enough for a melodrama. Gowrie is described to have devised a plot unlike any hitherto known in his country's history, although fertile in conspiracies; more Italian than Scottish; crafty, rather than openly courageous; and, from its very originality, not, perhaps, unlikely to have succeeded, had the parts assigned to the conspirators been differently cast. His design appears to have been to decoy the King, by some plausible tale, into his castle of Gowrie, on the Tay; to separate him

from his suite, and compel him, by threats of instant death, to suffer himself to be carried aboard a boat which should be waiting on the river for the purpose. This was the first act in the projected plot: in the second, the vessel was to push instantly out to sea; and the royal prisoner was to be conveyed, in a few hours, to an impregnable little fortalice which overhung the German Ocean, and where, if well victualled, a garrison of twenty men could, for months, have defied a royal army. To communicate with England, and administer the government in the royal name, but under the dictation of Gowrie and his faction, would then be easy. The parties who engaged in this daring plot were, the young Earl; Alexander Ruthven, his brother ; Robert Logan, of Restalrigg, a border baron and a follower of Bothwell; one Laird Bower, whose sobriquet was "Davie the Devil;" and a fifth, a person unknown. Gowrie, besides seeking his own preferment, it is to be borne in mind, had to revenge his father's death. James was to be seized while hunting. The King being in the Great Park at Falkland, attended by his nobles, Alexander Ruthven came to him and spoke to him in private, telling him that he, the evening before, had met a suspicious-looking fellow without the walls of St Johnston, with his face muffled in a cloak; and perceiving him to be terrified and astonished when questioned, he had seized him, and, on searching, had found a large pot-full of gold pieces under his cloak. This treasure, with the man who carried it, he had secured, he said, in a small chamber in Gowrie House; and he now begged the King to ride with him to Perth on the instant, and make sure of it for himself. James disclaimed having any right to the money, but when the Master, to one of his questions, stated that it seemed foreign gold, the vision of crowns of the sun and Spanish priests rose to the royal suspicion; and he was about to dispatch some servant of his own, with a warrant to the Provost, and seize the treasure. When the chase was ended, James galloped off, followed by the Duke of Lennox and Sir Thomas Erskine, and a train not exceeding twelve or fifteen persons, without armour, and without defensive weapons, save their swords and deer knives, to Perth. Gowrie House James took dinner, the Earl meanwhile placing Henderson, fully armed, in a little chamber.

At

Mr Tytler goes on: They had nearly finished their repast, when James, in a bantering manner, accused Gowrie of having been so long in foreign parts as to have forgotten his Scottish courtesies. 'Wherefore, my lord,' said he, 'since ye have neglected to drink either to me or my nobles, who are your guests, I must drink to you my own welcome. Take this

cup and pledge them the King's scoll in my name.' Gowrie, accordingly, calling for wine, joined the duke and his fellows, who were getting up from table; and at this instant Alexander Ruthven seizing the moment when the king was alone, whispered him that now was the time to go. James, rising up, bade him call Sir Thomas Erskine; but he evaded the message, and Erskine never received it. Lennox too, remembering the king's injunctions, spoke of following his majesty; but Gowrie prevented him, saying his highness had retired on a quiet errand and would not be disturbed; after which, he opened the door leading to his pleasure-ground, and with Lennox, Lindores, and some others passed into the garden. Thus really cut off from assistance, but believing that he would be followed by Lennox or Erskine, James now followed Ruthven up a stair and through a suite of various chambers, all of them opening into each other, the master locking every door as they passed; and observing, with a smile, that now they had the fellow sure enough. At last they entered the small round room already mentioned. On the wall hung a picture with a curtain before it; beside it stood a man in armour; and as the king started back in alarm, Ruthven locked the door, put on his hat, drew the dagger from the side of the armed man, and tearing the curtain from the picture, showed the wellknown features of the late Earl of Gowrie, his father. 'Whose face is that?' said he, advancing the dagger with one hand to the king's breast, and pointing with the other to the picture. Who murdered my father? is not thy conscience burdened by his innocent blood? Thou art now my prisoner, and must be content to follow our will, and to be used as we list. Seek not to escape; utter not a cry (James was now looking at the window, and beginning to speak); make but a motion to open the window, and this dagger is in thy heart.' The king, although alarmed by his fierce address, and the suddenness of the danger, did not lose his presence of mind and as Henderson was evidently no willing accomplice, he took courage to remonstrate with the master; reminded him of the dear friendship he had borne him; and as to your father's death,' said he, I had no hand in it; it was my council's doing; and should ye now take my life what preferment will it bring you? Have I not both sons and daughters? You can never be king of Scotland; and I have many good subjects who will revenge my death?' Ruthven seemed struck with this, and swore he neither wanted his blood nor his life. What racks it, then,' said the king, 'that you should not take off your hat in your prince's presence?' Upon this Ruthven uncovered, and James resumed.

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'What crave ye, an ye seek not my life?' But a promise, sir,' was the reply. 'What promise?' Sir,' said Ruthven, my brother will tell you.' 'Go, fetch him, then,' rejoined the king; and to induce him to obey, he gave his oath, that till his return he would neither cry out nor open the window. Ruthven consented; commanded Henderson to keep the king at his peril; and left the room, locking the door behind him."

James does not seem to have regarded his oath, at least if there is any truth in the old saying, "Qui facit per alium facit per se," for he induced Henderson to open the window. He had, however, not ap proached it when Ruthven came back to bind his hands. Gowrie was in the garden with the king's suite, when an attendant came to announce that the king had left the castle. Gowrie then ran back into the house, and at this moment James's loud cry of treason was heard, and he appeared at the window.

"All was now horror and confusion. Sir Thomas Erskine collared Gowrie, exclaiming, Traitor, thou shalt die! This is thy work!' but was felled to the ground by Andrew Ruthven, whilst Gowrie asserted his innocence. Lennox's first impulse was to save the king; and he, Mar, and some others, rushed up the great staircase to the hall; but finding the door locked, began to batter it with a ladder which lay hard by. John Ramsay, one of the royal suite, was more fortunate. He remembered the back entry; and running swiftly up the turnpike stair to the top, dashed open the door of the round chamber with his foot, and found himself in the presence of the king and Ruthven, who were wrestling in the middle of the chamber. James, with Ruthven's head under his arm, had thrown him down almost on his knees, whilst the mas. ter still grasped the king's throat. Ramsay was hampered by a hawk, a favourite bird of James, which he held on his wrist; but throwing her off, and drawing his whinger, he made an ineffectual blow at Ruthven; the king calling out to strike low, as the traitor had on a pyne doublet. Ramsay then stabbed him twice in the lower part of the body. The king, making a strong effort, pushed him backwards through the door, down the stairs; and at this moment Sir Thomas Erskine and Dr Herries rushing up the turnpike, and encountering the unhappy youth bleeding, and staggering upon the steps, despatched him with their swords. As he lay in his last agony, he turned his face to them, and said, feebly,

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Alas! I had not the wyte o't.' All this passed so rapidly, that Ramsay had only time to catch a glance of a figure in armour, standing near the king, but motionless. When he next looked, it had disappeared. This seeming apparition was Hen

derson, still trembling and in amazement from the scene he had witnessed; but who, seeing the door open, glided down the turnpike, and as it turned out, fled instantly from the house, passing in his flight, over the master's dead body. At this moment, as Erskine and Ramsay were congratulating the king, a new tumult was heard at the end of the gallery; and they had scarcely time to hurry James into the ad. joining chamber, when Gowrie himself, furious from passion and armed with a rapier in each hand, rushed along the gallery, followed by seven of his servants with drawn swords. His vengeance had been roused to the utmost pitch, by his having stumbled over the bleeding body of his brother; and swearing a dreadful oath that the traitors who had murdered him should die, he threw himself desperately upon Erskine and his companions, who were all wounded in the first onset, and fought at great odds, there being eight to four. Yet the victory was not long doubtful, for, some one calling out that the king was slain, Gowrie, as if paralyzed with horror, dropt the points of his weapons, and Ramsay, throwing himself within his guard, passed his sword through his body, and slew him on the spot. The servants, seeing their master fall, gave way, and were driven out of the gallery; and Lennox, Mar, and the rest, who were still thundering with their hammers on the outside of the great door, having made themselves known to the king and his friends within, were joyfully admitted."

PHILOSOPHY OF RESPIRATION

AND DIGESTION.

DR KEENAN, in his lectures On the New Philosophy of Respiration and Digestion,' in the lecture room of the Royal Polytechnic Institution, after recapitulating that part of the first lecture which proved that the act of breathing is the generation of an electrical force, which constitutes strength, proceeded to point out the law of the distribution of this force. He demonstrated that the quantity of strength available by each individual was in the proportion of the quantity of charcoal and hydrogen (of the food) which could be combined with atmospheric air; that he who was able to properly digest much food, and who had large and healthy lungs to pump a large quantity of air into contact with the blood so as to effect chemical union, would have much animal strength and animal spirits; so that large, well-acting lungs generally made the stomach digest well, and small, contracted lungs were often connected with very delicate digestion, which has not been sufficiently recognised. After showing that the animal spirits for the same indi

vidual under the same circumstances of food and air and moral approbation is constant, he proceeded to show that when much was applied in actuating the forehead in thinking, there was consequently a deficiency for the middle and back part of the head in feeling, and concluded that whilst a man may be rationally exalted with much exertion of the forehead, he runs the risk of being morally deteriorated by cooling the ardour of the moral sentiment, which, in his opinion, was the sublime and godlike portion of humanity. In like manner it followed, that when more than a proportionate share of electricity was required by the limbs in hard labour, less can be afforded to the forehead in thinking, and to the back and middle parts of the head in instinctive and high moral feeling respectively.

It followed, from what had been stated, that when a man has to expend much of his energies one way, he must not expend much another-e. g. when a clergyman has to preach a sermon at a distance, he should not walk, for then the electrical power being expended in walking could not be expended in exciting his congregation; neither should he eat a heavy meal before the sermon, for then the animal vigour being applied in digestion would flow less fluently to the brain, and consequently his discourse would be less energetical, and therefore less pleasing to his congregation.

With regard to the economy of the animal spirits in the various classes of animals, it is remarked that nature exacted little expenditure where little was generated; thus, with respect to fishes, they breathed little, but they accordingly required little energy to move them in a fluid of nearly their own specific gravity. But a still greater adaptation of the fish to the scanty energy that can be manufactured from the small quantity of air contained in water is seen in the fact that the fish breathes by gills, as it were on the outside of the body, and is saved the expenditure of force so great in a man, namely, that of drawing the air into the chest. Why man breathes different from a fish is a question not yet answered by comparative anatomists.