its glistening bosom--when every
individual house, court, church, square, or theatre, can be
discerned--when the eye can range over the whole city on each side, and
calculate its vast extent. It seems scarcely possible, we say, to
suppose at any previous time it could be more striking; and yet, at the
period under consideration, it was incomparably more so. Then, every
house was picturesque, and every street a collection of picturesque
objects. Then, that which was objectionable in itself, and contributed
to the insalubrity of the city, namely, the extreme narrowness of the
streets, and overhanging stories of the houses, was the main source of
their beauty. Then, the huge projecting signs with their fantastical
iron-work--the conduits--the crosses (where crosses remained)--the
maypoles--all were picturesque; and as superior to what can now be seen,
as the attire of Charles the Second's age is to the ugly and disfiguring
costume of our own day.

Satiated with this glorious prospect, Leonard began to recur to his own
situation, and carefully scrutinizing every available point on the side
of the Tower, he thought it possible to effect his descent by clambering
down the gradations of one of the buttresses. Still, as this experiment
would be attended with the utmost danger, while, even if he reached the
roof, he would yet be far from his object, he resolved to defer it for a
short time, in the hope that ere long seine of the bell-ringers, or
other persons connected with the cathedral, might come thither and set
him free.

While thus communing with himself, he heard a door open below; and
hurrying down the stairs at the sound, he beheld, to his great surprise
and joy, the piper's daughter, Nizza Macascree.

"I have searched for you everywhere," she cried, "and began to think
some ill had befallen you. I overheard Judith Malmayns say she had shut
you up in a cell in the upper part of the tower. How did you escape
thence?"

Leonard hastily explained.

"I told you I should never forget the service you rendered me in
preserving the life of poor Bell," pursued Nizza, "and what I have done
will prove I am not unmindful of my promise I saw you search the
cathedral last night with Judith, and noticed that she returned from the
tower unaccompanied by you. At first I supposed you might have left the
cathedral without my observing you, and I was further confirmed in the
idea by what I subsequently heard."

"Indeed!" exclaimed L