green, purple—of every tint; for in those
days the sober shades of modern fashions had
not driven out the gayer and more pictorial hues
of the past. The very names of the various
fabrics have for the most part passed away from
memory. Among many others were baizes,
bayetones and bayetillas, serafines and sempiternas,
segathees and duroys, linsey woolseys, templars,
and worleys, druggets and castors, estamenes
and Franciscans (used for the clothing of the
Peninsular monks), and, above all, long ells,
which were sent by the East India Company by
hundreds of thousands, and are still supplied,
mostly by Yorkshire, to that country where
fashions change so little.

Of the localities, many of the ancient names
are left. Some are found in Doomsday Book,
showing their Saxon or Norman origin. There
are Larrochbere (now Larkbear), Linhays
(woollen walks), Bonhay, Shilhay, Northernhay,
Southernhay, Friernhay (the walk of the friars).
The castle is called Rougemont (mentioned by
Shakespeare). The changing titles of the city
itself may be traced through its many stages of
Keltic, Roman, Saxon, Norman, and modern
history, Caer Isca, Isca Danmoniorum, Exonia,
Exceancester, Exon, Exeter.

The tenter-fields are turned into garden-grounds,
and covered with villas now. There is
scarcely a vestige left of the ancient glories of
the woollen trade.

The quay was crowded with vessels of many
nations. The principal trade was with Spain,
Portugal, France, Italy, Germany, and Holland.
The merchants of Exeter, most of them
travelled men, were thorough masters of the
languages of the countries with which they had to
do. Their correspondence was carried on, not
in English, but in the various European tongues,
and the captains and crews of the vessels from
the Continent were quite at home when they
were anchored in the Exe. Quarrels with the
Courtenay family had interrupted the navigation
of the river; but they were enabled to reach the
heart of the city by a canal which presented
none of the obstructions of bars, sand-banks, or
weirs. A serge-market was held every Friday
in the open street, where merchants, manufacturers,
ship-masters, and others congregated,
gave or received their orders, made their
payments, and settled the business of the week.
The place of recreation was "Moll's Coffee-
house"—a curious gable-faced old building,
which still stands in the cathedral-yard. There
they played at chess, cards, or dominoes, or held
confabulations on passing events, or vibrated
backwards and forwards in the then unenclosed
space, in whose centre rises the venerable edifice,
with its two massive towers, and that western
front of almost unparalleled beauty, whose
multitudinous and ruined statues have become
picturesque in their niches, and whose noble Gothic
window is equally attractive even now, seen from
without or within. One of the prettiest, the most
picturesque of ecclesiastical edifices in Devonshire,
was the chapel of St. Leonard's. It has been
replaced by perhaps the very ugliest of modern
architectural abominations. The ancient building
was covered and crowned with ivy, through
which portions of Gothic arches were here and
there visible; but over the tower the green
branches rose like a self-supported tiara, which
was swayed backward and forward by the wind,
and numerous birds made their nests and found
shelter in its recesses. There are traditions
enough connected with the chapel and its
cemetery to furnish materials for a novel of the
middle ages. There lived in a cave, hewn out
of the bank opposite the entrance to the belfry,
which had one cracked bell, a holy woman,
whose steps never led her further than to the
church-altar, or to a miraculous spring called
Parker's Well, only a few hundred yards
distant. This well had the reputation of restoring
sight to the blind, and, even in my recollection,
was visited by multitudes afflicted with eye
diseases, who still attached supernatural virtues
to the waters. A subterranean passage was said
to give access from this neighbourhood to the
galleries of the cathedral; and the road bears
even to this hour the name of "Holloway." I
have been often bidden when a child to listen to
the rumbling echoes of the carts and waggons
as they passed above, giving undoubted evidence
of the existence of the ancient communication
below. The fact is, that one of the common
sewers of the city has its passage beneath the
street. In former days a red-stone tower
projected into the road, which was so narrow that
two vehicles could with difficulty pass one
another; and, as there was a rapid ascent and
descent on both sides, accidents and interruptions
frequently occurred. There is indeed a
marvellous contrast between the business and
bustle and urging ever forward which characterise
the present time, and the lazy indifference
and slothfulness which then seemed to influence
both man and beast. Near to this spot, at the
top of the hill, was a bank—though the hill has
been lowered, and the bank walled up—
overshadowed by enormous elms, of which a few still
remain. Upon that bank a row of peasants and
waggoners were almost always to be seen, their
teams standing still, while they enjoyed their
barley bread, and drunk their rough cider out of
the little barrels. These were filled from time
to time by their employers as part of their wages.
Comparing the condition of the peasantry now,
with what it was sixty years ago—wages
advanced sixty per cent, instruction spreading,
crime diminishing, domestic comforts, food,
dress, furniture, wonderfully improved—who
would venture to say that the former times were
better than these!

The churchyard was as remarkable as the
church; it was the common receptacle for the
neighbourhood. It had never been consecrated,
at least in Protestant times, and the dead of
many discordant sects repose in peace under its
once daisied turf. In fact, the place is full of