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"Here naked stand the melancholy walls, Lash'd by the wint'ry tempests, cold and bleak, That whistle mournful through the empty aisles, And piece-meal crumble down the towers to dust," When viewed by moonlight, the solemnity and grandeur of the effect is charming. An enthusiastic friend of mine, on paying the abbey a visit a year or two ago, had it lighted up with tapers.
In the following schooltime I was, of course, "put in the bill," but was not flogged, in consequence of pleading my "first fault," another and too fleeting privilege of a new boy. On returning to my room in the evening, I found my two friends looking unutterable things, while around them lay, "like leaves in wint'ry weather," the fragments of our prided crockery ware!
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