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that the dead presence of the saint would preserve the place from desecration. After this the abbey did not regain its former magnificence until 830, when Egfrid being consecrated bishop, he devoted his fortune, talents, and time to its restoration, and thus again Lindesfarn began to rear its head as proudly as of yore.

When the remains of the saint were deposited at Chester-le-Street, the bishopric was transferred from the island, which, from that date, ceased to be an episcopal see, and is at the present day an archdeaconry in the see of Durham.

The inhabitants or islanders, as they prefer to be called, are direct descendants of the old Saxons, and though large and heavily built, the men are active and muscular.

The ruins of the abbey have been sadly neglected, and indeed ruthlessly dismembered to build the houses in the village. Yet sufficient still remains to prove its former magnificence, and the strength that, for twelve hundred years, resisted the ravages of wind and weather, turning its cheeks—

to meet the storms of generation after generation.

The ancient church was built in the cruciform style; the body and chancel are still standing; the other portions completely ruined, and in some parts level with the ground. The diversity of architecture renders it evident that the building must have been repaired and enlarged at different periods, as we find examples of every age, from the simplest description of early Saxon down to the graceful arches of Henry II.: it is plain that the square tower was erected long after the first building of the church; the pillars supporting the arches in the centre of the cross are clustered, with plain capitals, each forming a corner of the great tower, the south wall of which, about fifty feet high, is standing. This tower once formed, as in most cathedrals, what is termed a lanthorn; and, from the angles, arches were sprung, crossing diagonally, to form a canopy roof. The bows of one arch still remain, and though so light and delicate in its workmanship, and so beautifully hollowed upon its pillars as to give the idea that a breath would over-turn it, I have often heard my father say, that climbing across it was one of his boyhood’s feats.

The fragments of offices belonging to the abbey are scattered over a space of nearly five acres, and especially about the rocky eminence upon which these buildings stand, round the edge of which the grey walls still cling, fretted and worn by the spray of centuries, and awakening many a wild remembrance of former times, forcing upon the mind the instability of man’s greatest works. The rocks and sea are there in all the wild beauty they wore twelve hundred years ago, when the walls of the wealthy abbey rose proudly above them. Where are those walls now? Crumbled, broken and dismantled.

This world is all a fleeting show,

For man’s illusion given.

The smiles of joy, the tears of woe,

Deceitful shine, deceitful flow;

There’s nothing true but Heaven.

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