lowed it. We told about the
black-letter prayer-book of King Charles the Martyr, used by him upon the
scaffold, taking which into our hands, it opened of itself at the
Communion Service; and there, on the left-hand page, appeared a spot about
as large as a sixpence, of a yellowish or brownish hue: a drop of the
King's blood had fallen there.

Mr. Porter now accompanied us to the church, but first leading us to a
vacant spot of ground where old John Cotton's vicarage had stood till a
very short time since. According to our friend's description, it was a
humble habitation, of the cottage order, built of brick, with a thatched
roof. The site is now rudely fenced in, and cultivated as a vegetable
garden. In the right-hand aisle of the church there is an ancient chapel,
which, at the time of our visit, was in process of restoration, and was to
be dedicated to Cotton, whom these English people consider as the founder
of our American Boston. It would contain a painted memorial-window, in
honor of the old Puritan minister. A festival in commemoration of the
event was to take place in the ensuing July, to which I had myself
received an invitation, but I knew too well the pains and penalties
incurred by an invited guest at public festivals in England to accept it.
It ought to be recorded, (and it seems to have made a very kindly
impression on our kinsfolk here,) that five hundred pounds had been
contributed by persons in the United States, principally in Boston,
towards the cost of the memorial-window, and the repair and restoration of
the chapel.

After we emerged from the chapel, Mr. Porter approached us with the vicar,
to whom he kindly introduced us, and then took his leave. May a stranger's
benediction rest upon him! He is a most pleasant man; rather, I imagine, a
virtuoso than an antiquary; for he seemed to value the Queen of Otaheite's
bag as highly as Queen Mary's embroidered quilt, and to have an omnivorous
appetite for everything strange and rare. Would that we could fill up his
shelves and drawers (if there are any vacant spaces left) with the
choicest trifles that have dropped out of Time's carpet-bag, or give him
the carpet-bag itself, to take out what he will!

The vicar looked about thirty years old, a gentleman, evidently assured of
his position, (as clergymen of the Established Church invariably are,)
comfortable and well-to-do, a scholar and a Christian, and fit to be a
bishop, knowing how to make the most of