hear the royal epistle read. At the close all
the guns on the ramparts sent forth a voice of joy: all the ships in
the river made answer: barrels of ale were broken up; and the health of
their Majesties was drunk with shouts and volleys of musketry.

Five generations have since passed away; and still the wall of
Londonderry is to the Protestants of Ulster what the trophy of Marathon
was to the Athenians. A lofty pillar, rising from a bastion which bore
during many weeks the heaviest fire of the enemy, is seen far up and far
down the Foyle. On the summit is the statue of Walker, such as when, in
the last and most terrible emergency, his eloquence roused the fainting
courage of his brethren. In one hand he grasps a Bible. The other,
pointing down the river, seems to direct the eyes of his famished
audience to the English topmasts in the distant bay. Such a monument was
well deserved: yet it was scarcely needed: for in truth the whole
city is to this day a monument of the great deliverance. The wall is
carefully preserved; nor would any plea of health or convenience be held
by the inhabitants sufficient to justify the demolition of that sacred
enclosure which, in the evil time, gave shelter to their race and their
religion, [257] The summit of the ramparts forms a pleasant walk. The
bastions have been turned into little gardens. Here and there, among
the shrubs and flowers, may be seen the old culverins which scattered
bricks, cased with lead, among the Irish ranks. One antique gun, the
gift of the Fishmongers of London, was distinguished, during the hundred
and five memorable days, by the loudness of its report, and still
bears the name of Roaring Meg. The cathedral is filled with relics and
trophies. In the vestibule is a huge shell, one of many hundreds of
shells which were thrown into the city. Over the altar are still seen
the French flagstaves, taken by the garrison in a desperate sally. The
white ensigns of the House of Bourbon have long been dust: but their
place has been supplied by new banners, the work of the fairest hands of
Ulster. The anniversary of the day on which the gates were closed, and
the anniversary of the day on which the siege was raised, have been
down to our own time celebrated by salutes, processions, banquets,
and sermons: Lundy has been executed in effigy; and the sword, said by
tradition to be that of Maumont, has, on great occasions, been carried
in triumph. There is still a Walker Club and a