s that had belonged to some of the
Scottish kings. Around these and the other insignia of their former
royalty the lamps are always burning. This is an altar sacred to Auld
Lang Syne.

I arrived in York at half past two o'clock at night. All was dark in
the city, save the lights in the large station, where we were let out
of our boxes with our luggage. We had contrived occasionally to lie
down on the hard wooden seats, resting our heads on our carpet bags,
and, by a little entreaty, had secured a box to ourselves, so that we
were not quite so weary as we might have been, and were in good spirits
for what was before us, which was to hunt up a lodging place for the
remainder of the night, for all the inns were closed.

After a while, we got a porter to take the luggage. After some hard
knocking we roused an innkeeper, and by three o'clock we were all in as
good beds as mortals could desire.

At nine o'clock we breakfasted, and at ten my delighted eyes rested on
the real, living York Minster; the dream of my youth was realized, and
I stood in its majestic presence. I entered; the service had just
begun; the organ was playing, they were chanting. You could not tell
from whence the music came. It was every where; it enters your soul
like a beautiful poetic thought, and you know not what possesses you.
Only your whole soul is full of worship, peace, and joy. I could hardly
keep from falling on my knees. Look at the fine engravings, and study
it all out as well as you can; still you can form no adequate idea of
the effect of those endless arches, of the exquisite carving in stone,
of the flowers, strange figures, and in short every wild, every
grotesque thing that you can or cannot imagine. Well has it been called
a great poem in stone,--such grace, such aspiration, such power, such
harmony. O, it was worth crossing the Atlantic, that first impression.

After the service, I took a guide and went all over this miracle of
beauty and genius, and read the inscriptions and saw the curiosities.

During my second stay in Liverpool, my friend took me to Chester, that
wonderful old city, just on the borders of Wales. If you can imagine
the front rooms of the second story of a row of houses taken out, and
in their place a floor put over the lower story and a ceiling under the
upper story, and shops in the back rooms, you will form some idea of
Chester. All the streets, nearly, are made in this way. The carts and
horses go in the na