There is not much left to-day of all these religious
foundations. The latest authority on the history of Lynn, Mr. H.J.
Hillen, well says: "Time's unpitying plough-share has spared few
vestiges of their architectural* grandeur." A cemetery cross in the
museum, the name "Paradise" that keeps up the remembrance of the cool,
verdant cloister-garth, a brick arch upon the east bank of the Nar,
and a similar gateway in "Austin" Street are all the relics that
remain of the old monastic life, save the slender hexagonal "Old
Tower," the graceful lantern of the convent of the grey-robed
Franciscans. The above writer also points out the beautifully carved
door in Queen Street, sole relic of the College of Secular Canons,
from which the chisel of the ruthless iconoclast has chipped off the
obnoxious _Orate pro anima_.
*Transcriber's Note: Original "achitectural"
The quiet, narrow, almost deserted streets of Lynn, its port and quays
have another story to tell. They proclaim its former greatness as one
of the chief ports in England and the centre of vast mercantile
activity. A thirteenth-century historian, Friar William Newburg,
described Lynn as "a noble city noted for its trade." It was the key
of Norfolk. Through it flowed all the traffic to and from northern
East Anglia, and from its harbour crowds of ships carried English
produce, mainly wool, to the Netherlands, Norway, and the Rhine
Provinces.
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