nearly three weeks, fell into the hands of the invaders through treachery from within. Alphege, the good old archbishop, was obliged to witness the savagery of the Danes when they burst through the gates and began a horrible slaughter, which included the monks of Christ Church, and it is said that about 7,000 Saxons perished. Not content with all this butchery, they burnt the cathedral. Archbishop Alphege was carried off by the victorious Danes, who at Greenwich gave way to drunken excesses, and in brutal fashion killed their prisoner. The body was brought from London, where it had been buried, back to Canterbury ten years later by Canute, the first Danish King of England, who made what atonement he could by lending his freshly painted state barge for the ceremonious translation of the martyr's remains. Arrived at Canterbury, the King proceeded to further demonstrate his submission to the Church his people had devastated by hanging up his crown in the cathedral which Alphege's successor, Archbishop Living, had reroofed. Canute, having made a journey to Rome in 1031, among other pious resolutions, declared that he would amend his life and conversation, and it was with his help that the Saxon cathedral was properly repaired and decorated.

During the year following the Norman Conquest a fire began in Canterbury, which, besides destroying many houses, reduced the unfortunate cathedral to a roofless ruin once more. Three years later, in 1070, when Lanfranc was made the first Norman archbishop, he decided that the Saxon walls were worthless, and he swept away every trace of the building, which may have been partially Roman, before proceeding to erect a larger and grander pile in the Norman style familiar to him. One feature of the original church has, nevertheless, left its mark on the Norman cathedral. This was a crypt described by Eadmer, the monkish historian, who, as a boy, saw the Saxon church being demolished. It was only a small affair, but it must have been the most remarkable feature of the comparatively small oblong building, for it was not, properly speaking, a crypt at all, but an undercroft beneath the eastern altars. "To reach these altars," says Eadmer, "a certain crypt, which the Romans call a confessionary, had to be ascended by means of several steps from the choir of the singers. Thus the Norman archbishop, in planning a larger cathedral, constructed a crypt under the choir of his new building, and the steps one ascends to-day are there as the direct outcome of the structural methods of rude Saxon times."

Lanfranc completed his new cathedral in 1077, and in his lifetime he also founded the great Benedictine priory of Christ Church, whose considerable remains add so much medievalism to the surroundings of the vast cathedral. Anselm succeeded Lanfranc after an interval of a few years, during which Rufus found it exceedingly desirable to keep the see vacant while the revenues were diverted into the royal coffers, and scarcely twenty years after his predecessor's church was finished, Prior Ernulph pulled down the east end and constructed in its place the magnificent Norman choir, with its transepts and chapels standing with various alterations to-day. This great work was finished by Prior Conrad, who succeeded Ernulph, and the noble work, which became known as Conrad's Choir, was consecrated in 1130 by Archbishop de Corbeuil. To make this bald statement and omit to mention the ceremony attending it would be misleading; for not only were Henry I. and David of Scotland present, but Canterbury saw such a gathering of dignitaries of Church and State with their splendid retinues that the historian found nothing to compare with it but Solomon's dedication of the Temple!

This splendid church, representing the finest achievement of Norman master-builders and workmen, rising high above the domestic quarters of the monastery and standing forth conspicuously from every part of the little walled city, then consisting, to a considerable extent, of low wooden houses, had now reached the stage in its development when it was to be the scene of the murder which was to make Canterbury the most famous resort of pilgrims in Europe. This occurred forty years later; but no change in the great Norman church had taken place in that period.

So thrilling is the whole story of Becket's murder that there is every temptation to tell again the tale of Henry II.'s hasty exclamation, and the headlong journey from Normandy to Canterbury made by those four knights whose foul deed history has not ceased to condemn; but for a full account the reader is advised to turn to Dean Stanley's "Historical Memorials of Canterbury." It was in the same year and the same month as his death that Becket had returned from exile to Canterbury after an absence of six years, and at the close of a decade of continual struggle with the King. The Archbishop, having landed at Sandwich on his arrival from France, had been received with the greatest enthusiasm, and the people of Canterbury showed their delight in every possible manner. There were imposing banquets, and hangings of silk were put up in the cathedral for the great occasion; but at the end of this December, on the gloomy afternoon of the 29th, the four murderers arrived in the city. The day was a Tuesday, the day on which all the great events of Becket's life had taken place; for not only had he been born on a Tuesday, but on that day he had been exiled, on that day he had been warned of his impending martyrdom, and on that day he had returned from exile.

THE "ANGEL" OR "BELL HARRY" TOWER AND THE BAPTISTERY.
The massive Norman work is seen here in strong contrast with the lightness and delicacy of the Perpendicular tower.

While leaving the long story to be told with the amazingly ample detail Dean Stanley was able to employ, one is tempted to quote his account of the first interview between Becket and the four knights, for too often the memory recalls nearly every fact of the murder except the indictment, if it may be so called. The four knights had discarded their weapons and concealed their armour under the cloak and gown of ordinary life on entering the cathedral precincts, so that on their first appearance in the Archbishop's private room their aspect was sinister without being immediately threatening. Becket had just finished dinner, and was seated on his couch talking to his friends when the four knights were announced, and he pointedly continued, his conversation with the monk who sat by him and on whose shoulder he was leaning.