imposing, its arches and columns being curtained with ivy. The entire length is about three hundred feet, including the lady chapel. The tower, one hundred and sixty-six feet high, is in a good state of preservation-solid, massive, and grand. It is adorned with several Latin inscriptions in black letter. The transepts are one hundred and thirty-five feet long, the nave one hundred and ninety-nine feet, and the cloisters, the most perfect section of the ruins, three hundred feet in length. They are groined and arched throughout the entire distance. They do not, as in other monasteries, form the sides of a quadrangle, but are in a straight line. To the south of the building, near the cloisters, are several large yew-trees, said to be full thirteen hundred years old, under which the monks are represented to have taken shelter during the erection of the abbey. The Norman, early English, and pointed Gothic styles abound in various sections, it having been erected at different periods from 1132 to 1494, the date of the building of the tower, the last addition to the sacred pile. My guide was an intelligent countryman, very anxious to give me all the information respecting the ruin he possessed; and as we were turning from the lady chapel, he directed my attention to a stone coffin, in which he stated Henry Percy, first Earl of Northumberland, was buried in 1315, but both the lid and remains have gone to dust, so that the grave is tenantless. It may have been Percy's tomb, but not Percy the first; he came with William the Conqueror, in 1000, and it is not likely that he lived three hundred years!

The establishment was complete in its entire economy, and the old mill, in which the meal used by the monks was manufactured, is used to this day for grinding corn.

After a stay of several hours, I took my departure for Harrowgate, and walked through a dreary country, along secluded lanes and by-paths, to the Brimham Rocks, a number of huge and singularly disposed rocks, of strange shapes and various sizes, conjectured to have been the principal altars of the Druids, in the north of England. As I approached them, they presented the appearance of a ruined city scattered over an immense surface; and when among them, I saw but little that bore marks of human

labor or ingenuity. The old man who haunted them pointed out several for which he had particular names, and those used as high altars by the Druids. The scene was dreary and desolate; the fierce winds from the north-west moaned among the weather-worn rocks, and howled across the sterile moors; while the flying clouds and dull sky threw a shade of awe over the solitary waste. I was not in a mood to encourage the talkative hermit of the place, and, slowly plodding my way homeward, I fell into a train of reflections upon the scenes I witnessed during the day, and the events that had transpired in the country through which I was passing. Years ago, thought I, the rude Briton trod these barren hills, roamed in savage independence over these moors, and bowed in fear and wonder to the Druid brethren, whose simple altars stand to this day in solitary grandeur upon the spot where the doctrines of their order were undisputed. Then came the warrior cohorts of Rome, in victorious marches, and the sheen of their spears and helmets flashed in the sunlight. As conquerors, they advanced civilization at the dagger's point, and set up their gods in the place of the Druid deities. For four hundred years they held sway; but at last, when effeminacy corrupted the Roman people, the soldier was required at home. He left the land to the mercies of the fearless Saxon, and his noble works and proud temples to decay. The Danes came next, contending with the Saxons for supremacy, and the land of the natives was the prize. Wars, long and terrible, followed, and the light of Christianity slowly burned. The religion of the cross succeeded the pagan rites of the Briton, the Roman, the Dane, and Saxon. The priests who officiated at the shrines of those people abandoned their profession, and the new creed became supreme. Abbeys and monasteries

The brethren of the cowl and crozier exerted an influence over the minds of the people equal to unlimited power. The Conqueror came, and the Saxon and Briton were the Norman's slaves. Castles were built, feudal systems established, domestic dissensions created, wars followed, and rival houses strove for supremacy. A corrupt king expelled the monks, and the monasteries became deserted places. They are now the abodes of the rook and bittern, the bat and the owl. Race followed race, nation succeeded to nation, religion to religion. These wild hills have witnessed the ceremonies of all creeds, from "Jove to Jesus;" and the tendencies of the times are still onward, and for change-onward in the dissemination of the brilliant light of an evangelical gospel, and the redemption and elevation of man. How vain is the boast of nations that proclaim themselves unconquerable! How idle the hyperbole of oriental compliment, "May the king live forever" the fiction of modern legitimacy, "The king never dies!"

CHAPTER XXVI.

A WALK-WAKEFIELD-VALLEY OF THE CALDER-ROCHDALEQUEEN'S VISIT TO MANCHESTER AND LIVERPOOL-EATON

HALL.

A CLEAR day is a blessing to the pedestrian, and then a walk of a few miles can be enjoyed, even without company. By returning to Leeds and proceeding to Wakefield on foot, I attained an object and derived pleasure. The wind was rather high, but the way level and easy of travel, although it did not furnish much to write about. The country presented some quiet scenery, and considerable diversity of soil and natural products, but there was little worthy of note. The road-side inns prompted me to seek rest within them, and I yielded to their invitations. Shenstone wrote in their praise, and although times and customs have changed since his day, I bear willing testimony to the kindness and attention of the landlords and domestics of these houses of entertainment, and can repeat with approval the lines of the bard:

"Whoe'er has travelled life's dull round,
Where'er his stages may have been,
May sigh to think he still has found
The warmest welcome at an inn!"

Wakefield is a small manufacturing town on the Calder, a stream of contracted dimensions, and not deserving of the name of river. The streets do not differ much in appearance from those of the generality of English towns, and the principal objects of interest are an old church, the spire of which is the highest in the county, and a small chapel built at the side of a bridge, on a little island in the Calder, by order of Edward the Fourth, to commemorate the deeds of his father and several hundred followers, who fell in an engagement near the town. It is a small florid Gothic building, neat, airy, and clean; and curious in consequence of its strange location.

Scenery is all well enough to behold, but tedious from description, no matter how varied. The valley of the Calder is romantic, abounds in villages, and is the seat of countless manufactories. I wandered through it for some miles, but as there was nothing particularly deserving attention, and incidents were few, I took to the rail and sped on past town and hamlet, over meadow and moorland, until the train halted at the black, smoky, dull, grimy birthplace of Tim Bobbin, Rochdale in Lancashire, a town of considerable magnitude, devoted to woollen and cotton manufacture. It is almost as filthy as Stockport, and gloomy as a coal-pit. I was either in a bad humor with everybody and everything; or it was, just at the time of my visit, suffering from long rains, clouds of smoke, and unusual quantities of mud, things calculated to spoil the beauty of any place. The manor was once the property of the Byron family, and was sold by the poet in his youth when he was pressed for funds, since which time it has been in the possession of the heirs of Mr. Derden, the purchaser. Neither manor, manufactory, nor Rochdale had power over me, and I pressed on to Manchester, where I arrived late in the evening at a time of extraordinary excitement, bustle, and activity, being no less than the eve, I may say, of Her Britannic Majesty's visit to the Jacobinical borough. The streets were thronged with people of every grade and condition of life, and triumphal arches were in course of erection in various sections of the great cotton town. Barricades were built along the principal thoroughfares through which royalty was to pass, and stands were constructed at every available point for the purpose of affording those who were able and willing to pay for it a comfortable place to look at the queen, who, according to the published programmes, was to be exhibited to her delighted Manchester subjects, for the first time, in a day or two. Banners of every possible color were spread to the breeze, or rather rain, and transparencies of Victoria and Albert adorned the shop fronts of enthusiastic tradesmen, while British lions and coats of arms without number stared the gazer in the face at every turn. Thousands of pounds had been appropriated by the loyal authorities of the borough for decorations, and large bills announced to the populace that much abused Manchester was fully determined to give the sovereign of the realm such a reception as would prove to the kingdom how devoted were the patriotic inhabitants to the rights and person of their beloved queen. Streets were being dug up, and new gas-pipes being laid for illumination; and the fountains in the grounds of the infirmary were doing their best to throw a jet of water ten feet high. The next morning dawned in torrents of rain; but no shower could dampen the loyalty of the Manchester patriots, and with the first faint streaks of returning day, the click of the hammer was heard, and labor was busy in completing the preparations for the royal reception. I walked along several streets through which the procession was to pass, and everywhere there was evidence of the cupidity of the people. At many places were enormous posters, on which were printed in large letters the advantages particular stands possessed over others for viewing her Majesty, for the sum of one shilling!

The people were "Queen mad," and her name was on every lip. I was told by a gentleman resident in the town that it was the first time in nearly three hundred years that a sovereign had visited, or made known a determination to visit, that borough, and the only reason he could assign for it was the radicalism of the inhabitants. "Our kings and queens of the last centuries," said he, "have been taught to believe us the most Jacobinical set in the country, and for that reason not one has condescended to smile upon us until now, when lo! no sooner is the announcement of the intended visit made known than we are frantic with delight, and make every exertion to receive our sovereign in a style of elegance and pomp unparalleled in the nation's history.