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DUNSTABLE CHURCH.

The priory church, dedicated to St. Peter and St. Paul, seems to have been a large and magnificent fabric; for Henry VIII. pitched upon it for a cathedral church, and is said to have intended Dr. Day as the first bishop. But, this design not being carried into effect, a great part of it was demolished; and that left standing is but from the west end to the choir entrance, consisting only of a nave and two side aisles; each of the latter extending from the western door to the beginning of what was the choir, being in length about 120 feet. On the south side of the church stood (according to Willis) the prior and convent's apartments, of which there are no remains but two arched portals. There were probably cloisters, from which was an entrance into the east part of the church specially appropriated to the monks.

The architecture combines some portions in the Norman, with others in the early and later English styles.

The west front of this church is singular, with a greater and lesser door. The steeple is attached to one side, and had formerly another tower corresponding to it. Both fell down in 1221, and destroyed the prior's hall and part of the church. The body, from the altar to the cross and northwest door, was repaired in 1273 by the parish, one Henry Chadd being at the principal charge.

The great western door has four pillars on each side, with capitals supporting nine mouldings, of which the outermost is zigzag; the second has angels in alternate rounds; the fourth, beasts' heads jessant foliage; the sixth, the signs of the zodiac, of which Pisces and Capricorn, with a spread eagle, still remain; the eighth, flowers: the rest are square mouldings. The capitals have David playing on the harp; a figure prostrate to him; a bishop in pontificalibus, with mitre and crosier, with a bearded man in a cap; two more bearded men, holding a scroll perpendicularly, on whose top is a headless beast, &c. This door was, till 1776, concealed by a wooden porch. The lesser door has seven mouldings on five pillars, exclusive of the inner, composed of roses and laced-work nailheaded quatrefoils. The arch between the two doors is half a zigzag and half a straight moulding, and these are interlaced arches within it resting on capitals charged with grotesque figures: the flat between these doors is charged with roses cut in. Above are three rows of arches; the first row of seven flat arches with pedestals for statues: the second six open a gallery leading to the belltower, with rich laced arches and two taller pointed, and a seventh arch between them placed over the door, all on treble clustered pillars: the third row has five pointed flat arches, with single pillars. Under the west windows of the tower are

four beautiful roses in squares; and over the west door, under the arch, three beautiful niches. The upper west face of the tower is made up of a composition of flints, &c. The buttresses of the tower had six niches and images: half of one remains. The south tower is also hexagon.

This church was originally in the form of a cross, with a tower in the centre. Two of the great pillars which supported it are still to be seen at the east end.

The six arches on each side of the nave are circular and lofty, two on each side making the present choir: the south-west one is stopped up. The east end terminates in a flat wall. These arches consist of four mouldings, the outer of zigzag carved, the inner in some failing at different distances, and a pilaster in the middle between the arches. The arches of the upper windows are also round. The aisles at the east end have groined round arches. All their windows are of a later date, and the walls mended with brick. A beau tiful stone rood-loft of four pointed arches, with clustered columns, ranges over the west door, and has a rich wooden screen under it. The roof is oak, beautifully carved with knots, flowers, &c., in the decorated style; the beams supported by angels horizontal and perpendicular. A pew on the south side of the chancel had a rich canopy of oak, the pillars charged with the five wounds, bleeding hearts, pomegranates, lilies in a pot, tendrils of vines and grapes, fleurs-de-lis, &c.; but a gallery has been built upon it.

The tower in the centre seems to have been narrow, and once stood on four lofty arches, the western pillars of which remain clustered, and having hexagon capitals. Doors, almost filled to the top, opened to the north aisle and choir.

Over the communion-table is a painting of the Lord's supper, by sir James Thornhill.

An ancient altar-cloth belonging to this church is preserved, and is said to be now in the possession of John Miller, of Bedford, or his representatives. It is a fabric of the richest crimson and gold brocade, so exquisitely wrought as almost to defy a discovery of the mode in which it was manufactured. It still retains its original freshness.

There are several monuments in Dunstable church, especially to the Chew family, who were great benefactors to the town. It may be added that, some years ago, a stone coffin and various relics of antiquity were found on the eastern side of this building.

It ought to be remembered that it was in the Lady chapel here that archbishop Cranmer pronounced in 1533, the sentence of divorce between Henry VIII. and Katherine of Arragon,

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THE NEW

MONTHLY BELLE ASSEMBLÉE.

MAY, 1848.

THE DREAM OF THE AFFIANCED.

BY MRS. ABDY.

(Concluded.)

"Anna's funeral had taken place before my return. It had been, by Claudine's desire, as magnificent as though it had been for a daughter of the house; and her own mourning attire was as deep as if it had been worn in memory of a sister. Claudine received me with pleasure and affection; but I evidently saw that her mind was perpetually dwelling upon the idea of Anna, and that the sorrow she felt for her death was no transient and evanescent sensation.

tainly her health and spirits derived much benefit from change of air and scene. At the expiration of our tour, we repaired to London, where Mr. Delamere engaged a ready-furnished house. Wedding-clothes were ordered, settlements were drawn, and the day appointed for our marriage drew near. The eve of the bridal I passed in the society of Claudine, who was far more interesting to me than she had been in the gayest days of her beauty and happiness. The loss of Anna had given a pensiveness to her counteformer brilliancy; and her haughty self-possession was softened to timid gentleness. Her love for myself was unchanged, undiminished; and I may safely and truly say that I fervently loved her, and that I should have regarded any event that threatened to deprive me of her as a severe and bitter calamity. I took leave of her as the clock was striking eleven, repaired to my apartments, which were in an adjoining street, and shortly after midnight became buried in sleep. I awoke in two hours, and in the interim I had experienced this distinct and remarkable dream—”

"Such deep sorrow," observed Dr. Walwyn, "appears strangely inconsistent both with Clau-nance and manners more charming than their dine's natural coldness and self-command, and also with the provocation which Anna, it must be candidly owned, had given her. I should rather imagine that she assumed it with the purpose of appearing interesting in your eyes."

"Such was not the case," said D'Arcy. "Claudine's emotion was evidently genuine and unaffected. On one occasion I entered the drawing-room unexpectedly, and found her weeping bitterly over a sketch of poor Anna's, which she had unexpectedly discovered in the drawer of her work-table; and soon afterwards, while driving through the neighbouring town, she burst into irrepressible and convulsive sobs on hearing a street musician play, in very discordant and scraping tones, the favourite song of Anna, ‘ All that's bright must fade.””

"I give you warning, D'Arcy," said the Doctor, "that I have absolutely fallen in love with your stately Claudine, and that I intend to be very severe upon you for deserting one whose character combined spirit and sensibility in so remarkable a degree."

D'Arcy shook his head mournfully, and continued "As every object in the vicinity appeared so painfully to keep alive in the mind of Claudine the remembrance of her beloved Anna, Mr. Delamere and myself agreed to propose to her a tour through Wales for a few weeks after some difficulty we won her consent, and cer

Dr. Walwyn drew his chair close to that of his friend, and put on the look of a most attentive listener, when suddenly a loud knock resounded at the street-door. Now in the same way that "the thief sees an officer in every bush," the medical practitioner expects a summons in every knock; and I must do the gentlemen of the faculty the justice to say, that in general they bear these mal-apropos interruptions with remarkable equanimity, quitting the attraction of the moment, whether a Spanish dance, a French dish, or an Italian canzonet, without uttering a single murmur on their hard fate. Dr. Walwyn was as calm and composed on these occasions as the greatest philosopher among them, and it had become matter of history with his friends, that, when he was present

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ment, took the glass in her hand, and seemed as if doubtful and undecided what course to pursue: a sudden movement of the sleeper, however, appeared to determine her: she hastily filled the glass from a crystal flask that stood near it, and bending over Anna, presented it to her as she awakened. I saw in my dream that Anna, with a look and smile of grateful recognition, took the glass from her, and put it to her lips, and I was on the point of calling out to her to dash to the ground the deadly potion, when the violence of my emotions awoke me. What I felt in the succeeding hour I should vainly attempt to describe."

at the first representation of "Der Freischutz," he left the house, without a minute's delay, in the very middle of the casting of the fifth bullet, to obey the summons of a nervous lady-patient, from whom he had parted in perfect health three hours before, but who had just taken an unaccountable fancy that it was absolutely impossible to straighten her little finger. Nevertheless the Doctor, on the present occasion, could not resist a fretful exclamation of disappointment at the idea that he must delay the gratification of listening to the dream which he had previously so scornfully derided, and it was an inexpressible relief to him when the servant entered with a book which a friend of D'Arcy's had bor- "I have frequently heard," said Dr. Walwyn, rowed from him, and had called in his way home,"

to return.

Left again to themselves, Dr. Walwyn uttered that emphatic "Well!" which speaks volumes of impatience in an auditor, and D'Arcy proceeded in his narrative:

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that a remarkable dream has been repeated three times; was that the case with you?"

"That may very well take place," replied D'Arcy, "when a dream is unaccompanied by circumstances of horror; but I would defy any one to sleep again on the same night when they "A room presented itself before me which I had experienced so awful a visitation as mine. I had never before beheld, but every object in had a light in my chamber: I arose and dressed which impressed itself on my sight with the myself, and attempted to direct my attention to most exact and startling minuteness. It had no a book; but in vain: my dream, instead of claim to the dignity of being called a boudoir, fading from my mind, appeared momentarily to but bore evident marks of feminine and elegant acquire additional vividness and distinctness. I occupation. The walls were painted a light green felt that it was a supernatural warning that I colour, and hung with unframed pencil draw- should put aside my marriage with Claudine. ings and landscapes in water-colours: a guitar My very soul revolted at the idea of uniting my lay on a chair; some old-fashioned book-shelves fate with that of a murderess! and yet what were occupied by a number of volumes mostly reason could I assign for my change of feelings? half-bound. Painted screens ornamented the The story of a dream would be generally derided mantleshelf, and a fire blazed brightly in the and disbelieved; and if a few gave credit to it, grate it was evidently the apartment of one of what right had I to affix so fearful a stain to the slender means, but of refined tastes. A sofa character of Claudine, and to influence the world was placed near the fire, on which reclined a to believe that I at least deemed her branded with graceful girlish figure, wrapped in a loose white the most awful species of guilt that can disgrace dress. Her eyes were closed in sleep. Wal- human nature? Day broke, and I felt that no wyn, it was Anna Welford on whom I gazed!" time ought to be lost. I addressed a few hurried D'Arcy paused for a moment, overcome by pain- lines to Mr. Delamere: he must have thought ful recollections, and then continued: "It ap-me a contemptible and worthless scoundrel. I peared to me as though I were earnestly looking on this room for many minutes, taking note of every article of furniture that it contained, and watching the slumbers of the fair invalid on the sofa, near to which stood a small circular table, on which were phials of medicine, and flasks of cooling drinks. At length a tall and stately female figure entered with a light and stealing step: she advanced to the sofa, looked on the sleeping girl, and then turned to the table by her side. Her features became revealed to me; they were those of Claudine Delamere! She took from her bosom a small packet containing a powder, which she shook into one of the glasses on the table. My eyes fell on the paper envelope; several words were written on it, in a small, upright hand, and in a foreign language; but beneath them, in the same hand, I plainly discerned, in large and legible letters, the word

"Poison !'"

"Impossible, D'Arcy! this is too horrible!" exclaimed Dr. Walwyn.

'I thought, in my dream," pursued D'Arcy, "that Claudine advanced to the fire, and threw the paper in it; that she then paused for a mo

told him that no dispute had arisen between
Claudine and myself-that I had no cause to
find fault with word, look, or deed on her part-
that there was not a woman living whom I pre-
ferred to herself; but yet that there was a cause
which would prevent me from ever claiming her
promised hand. I sent this note to Mr. Dela-
mere at eight o'clock, and then immediately or
dered a post-chaise, that I might carry into
execution a strange and wild idea that struck me.
Southland House was about twenty miles from
London, and I was most anxious to visit it, and
to inspect the private apartment that had be-
longed to Anna, which I had never seen during
my residence there. If I found the furniture
and appointments of it totally different to those
I had beheld in my dream, I felt that it would be
possible it might gradually fade away from my
mind, and that I might confide it to Claudine,
and entreat her pardon for my folly; but if, on
the contrary, all was in accordance with the
scene represented before me in sleep, I deemed
that it would be my duty to regard it as a super-
natural intimation, and to pay fitting reverence
and obedience to it.
The astonishment of the

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