Close in 1347. Whatever this prelate undertook he would seem to have done with vigour, for, as he was partial to the chase in his leisure hours, he pursued it with such success, that during his prelacy he is said to have destroyed the game of the vast Mendip forest; but one of his predecessors, who bore an excellent name, Reginald Fitz Joceline, seems to have smoothed the way for the pursuit of hunting, as he obtained a charter from Richard I. entitling all bishops of Wells to keep dogs for hunting throughout the entire county of Somerset. He was much esteemed in his day, and relieved the citizens of Wells from some servile duties. This excellent man, when offered the dignity of archbishop, replied with emotion, that “so far was he from having any ambitious desire for that place, that it was a great grief unto him to be chosen, and he would be very glad if they would take some other in his room: howbeit,” says he, “if they must needs stand to their election, though with grief and sorrow I must and will accept the same.” His “nolo episcopari” was not put to any very severe test, however, for though he reluctantly permitted his nomination, he never enjoyed the dignity, for he was very soon after taken ill, put on a monk’s cowl, and died.
The beneficence of this prelate in procuring the right to keep hunting dogs for all clergy is celebrated apparently in the monument of Ralph de Salopia, who has two dogs collared at his feet on the effigy in Wells Cathedral.
Little would all this advantage another bishop of later date whose name is intimately connected with the scene here given,—Bishop Ken. He was one of the “seven bishops” who was tried in James II.’s time, and in a summer-house from which this beautiful scene is taken, he wrote the Morning and Evening Hymns.
It is impossible to travel far in Glastonbury without being reminded of its once famous monastery. The buildings are either constructed from its spoils, or else are themselves parts of the original structure, and many walls and farm buildings in the neighbourhood owe their existence to materials quarried as it were from its vast stores. The durability of the stone is something marvellous: most of the enrichments on the chapel of St. Joseph, though they date back to the thirteenth century, are as perfect as when first chiselled, and retain all their original sharpness. The Tribunal here shown was intended for very different purposes than a suite of lawyer’s offices, to which use it is now adapted. It is fortunate that
it remains at all, as its destruction was decreed, but a gentleman in the neighbourhood, a son of the late Dean of Windsor, came forward and purchased it; he now represents the county in Parliament. The oriel window and deeply-recessed lights of the lower storey have a very venerable appearance. The tower is characteristic of the Somerset towers of the fifteenth century. A little lower down on the same side of the street is the celebrated “George Inn,” built for the convenience of the Pilgrims, and this yet remains as an inn, and is the best in Glastonbury. A gatehouse with some fine work inside, forms another inn, not very far distant. The tradition of “Weary-all-Hill” is so familiar as hardly to need repeating here. It says that Joseph of Arimathea, toiling up the steep ascent, drove his thorn staff into the ground, and said to his followers, “Here let us rest.” This was regarded as an omen, and to it the monastery owed its origin. The thorn budded, and now flowers, it is commonly said, at winter. The grand Abbot’s kitchen is familiar to every one, and it is said to be owing to a boast of the last Abbot, when Henry VIII. threatened to burn down his buildings, that he would have a kitchen all the wood of Mendip Forest would not suffice to burn down. Here St. Patrick spent the latter part of his life, and here also, it is said, King Arthur was buried.
Giraldus Cambrensis says he was an eyewitness of his disinterment in the twelfth century, on the return of Henry II. from the Irish wars; and seven feet below the surface a large stone was discovered with the inscription “HIC JACET SEPULTUS INCLYTUS REX ARTHURIUS IN INSULA AVALONIA.” Nine feet below this they found the remains of the King, and by his side those of his wife. The shin-bone of the King, says Giraldus, when placed side by side with that of a tall man, reached three fingers above his knee, and his skull was fearfully wounded. The remains of his wife were singularly perfect, but fell into dust on exposure to the atmosphere,—a statement that seems rather to confirm than otherwise the curious discovery, for some similar phenomena have occurred among much more ancient remains, as ancient indeed as the mysterious people of Etruria.
Edward I., it is said, had these remains subsequently exhumed. The skulls were deposited in the Treasury, to remain there, and the rest of the bones were returned to their resting-place, Edward placing an inscription over them, which recorded the circumstances.
Though Dorsetshire is rich in relics of the Roman and Celtic period, the towns generally have a somewhat modern appearance. Sherborne is finely situated in the northern part of the county, on the slope of a hill rising from the vale of Blackmoor, and was a place of importance even in the early Saxon times; indeed it was for three centuries the seat of a bishopric, which included the southwestern counties. The see was afterwards removed to Old Sarum. Sherborne Castle was the seat of Sir Walter Raleigh, who received the estate from Queen Elizabeth.