Cathedral, too, transfigured itself into a richer beauty and
more imposing majesty than ever. The longer I looked, the better I loved
it. Its exterior is certainly far more beautiful than that of York
Minster; and its finer effect is due, I think, to the many peaks in which
the structure ascends, and to the pinnacles which, as it were, repeat and
re-echo them into the sky. York Cathedral is comparatively square and
angular in its general effect; but here there is a continual mystery of
variety, so that at every glance you are aware of a change, and a
disclosure of something new, yet working an harmonious development of what
you have heretofore seen. The west front is unspeakably grand, and may be
read over and over again forever, and still show undetected meanings, like
a great, broad page of marvellous writing in black-letter,--so many
sculptured ornaments there are, blossoming out before your eyes, and gray
statues that have grown there since you looked last, and empty niches, and
a hundred airy canopies beneath which carved images used to be, and where
they will show themselves again, if you gaze long enough.--But I will not
say another word about the Cathedral.

We spent the rest of the day within the sombre precincts of the Saracen's
Head, reading yesterday's "Times," "The Guide-Book of Lincoln," and "The
Directory of the Eastern Counties." Dismal as the weather was, the street
beneath our window was enlivened with a great bustle and turmoil of people
all the evening, because it was Saturday night, and they had accomplished
their week's toil, received their wages, and were making their small
purchases against Sunday, and enjoying themselves as well as they knew
how. A band of music passed to and fro several times, with the rain-drops
falling into the mouth of the brazen trumpet and pattering on the
bass-drum; a spirit-shop, opposite the hotel, had a vast run of custom;
and a coffee-dealer, in the open air, found occasional vent for his
commodity, in spite of the cold water that dripped into the cups. The
whole breadth of the street, between the Stone Bow and the bridge across
the Witham, was thronged to overflowing, and humming with human life.

Observing in the Guide-Book that a steamer runs on the River Witham
between Lincoln and Boston, I inquired of the waiter, and learned that she
was to start on Monday, at ten o'clock. Thinking it might be an
interesting trip, and a pleasant variation of our customary mode of