externally. The transepts and aisles are adorned with numerous monuments, some of which are elegant, and others of more than ordinary interest even to the casual observer. The edifice may not inappropriately be called a second Westminster Abbey; and if the fact of its being the last resting-place of many who have been distinguished for genius, or amability and personal excellence, be sufficient to entitle it to the appellation, then it is richly deserving the name. As I entered the sacred fane, the first object that arrested my attention was a monument in the form of a Gothic arch, within which are two female figures, chastely sculptured from pure statuary marble-one representing Genius, the other Benevolence; each pointing to a tablet between them, on which is engraved an epitaph to the memory of Mrs. Elizabeth Draper-Sterne's Eliza.

The attention I paid the record and monument was observed by one of the vergers, a gentlemanly man, who immediately tendered his services to guide me through the building. We turned to the left from the transept into the north aisle, where there are several fine pieces of sculpture, not the least deserving of notice of which is a bust of Robert Southey, by Bailey, one of the best of English statuaries. The form has the appearance of life; the features are chiselled with a masterly hand, bearing in every line an unmistakable resemblance to the original. The peculiarities of mind of the versatile poet are forcibly depicted, and the physiognomist can trace instantly, in the speechless representative, the character of the man. In the same section of the edifice is a rather gaudy and heavy monument, deficient in chasteness and purity of design, but still interesting, from being to the memory of the wife of the Rev. William Mason, the friend and companion of Gray. The record is simple, concluding with the incomparable lines of the author of "Elfrida," the acknowledged merit of which has procured them a place in the classic poetry of England, and a repetition here, however trite it may appear, cannot impair their beauty:

"Take, holy earth, all that my soul holds dear:
Take that best gift which heaven so lately gave;
To Bristol's font I bore, with trembling care,
Her faded form: she bowed to taste the wave,
And died. Does youth, does beauty read the line?
Does sympathetic fear their breasts alarm?
Speak, dead Maria, breathe a strain divine;

Even from the grave thou shalt have power to charm:

Bid them be chaste, be innocent like thee;

Bid them in duty's sphere as meekly move;

And if so fair, from vanity as free,

As firm in friendship and as fond in love,
Tell them, tho' 'tis an awful thing to die,

('Twas even to thee,) yet, the dread path once trod,
Heaven lifts its everlasting portals high,

And bids the pure in heart behold their God."

There is a neat marble tablet, in the east wall of the south transept, to the memory of "Dame Harriet Hesketh, the relative and valued friend of the great moral poet Cowper." Her remains rest in a tomb in the south aisle, covered by a flat stone bearing an unostentatious inscription. The admirer of the letters of the amiable poet of Olney muses with peculiar feeling over her grave, for to her genius and sincere friendship for the bard the world owes the production and perusal of some of the finest epistolary compositions in the English tongue.

The architecture of Bristol Cathedral is Gothic, and although the edifice is of moderate dimensions, it is handsome. The chapter-house is one of the finest specimens of pure Norman extant. The verger led me to it, and his descriptions of its beauties were far from exaggerations. The windows are adorned with glass of splendid coloring, the decorations of the walls are superb, and the interlacings of the Norman arches exquisitely beautiful. While I was admiring the department, one of the resident clergymen entered, and approached me in an easy, friendly manner, so Christianlike as to gain my esteem at once. There was no hypocrisy in his face, and his sociable, gentlemanly deportment, and cheerful, communicative disposition were indicative of true piety. He conducted me to one angle of the room, and directed my attention to the glories of the edifice with an evident desire to contribute as far as he could to my gratification. The mouldings, the stained glass, the painted walls, the harmonious proportions, all the splendors of the place were pointed out with care, and I scarcely knew which to admire most, the conversation and amiable manners of the man, or the grandeur and perfection of the architecture. Both were gems, and both deserving a niche in the temple of memory. There was a spirit of gentleness about the man, and dignity of character blended with humility, that argued in my mind the sincere Christian and upright being, and satisfied me that he was in fact what he professed, and at the same time an honor to his sect and calling. My visit was pleasant, and I left the old fane much gratified with what I heard and saw.

The spirit of improvement and restoration is evident in Bristol, and not confined to the churches. At one extreme of an open space or park, called College Green, near the cathedral, the city authorities have recently caused to be erected a light, airy, chaste, florid Gothic market-cross, which, for delicacy and richness of ornament, cannot be surpassed. It is of a light-colored stone, in the most finished style of the florid period, and yet not so elaborately ornamented or decorated with rich carvings as to create in the mind of the beholder an idea of profusion. It is open, with fine, bold, well-proportioned arches and buttresses, and pinnacles at the angles, and as it stands in a grove of trees it appears to great advantage.

The principal parks are on the Clifton side of the harbor, and are large and handsome. I walked through several, and visited the Downs, a public ground lying at the top of the eastern bank of the Avon, known as St. Vincent's Rocks. The surface is irregular, and as the elevation is great, a fine view is afforded of the surrounding country and the deep chasm through which the river flows. On the summit are the remains of an ancient Roman fortification 200 yards in length and 150 feet wide. The form is semicircular, and traces of a fosse are visible. The walls are composed of limestone piled in regular line, and cemented together with heated mortar so solidly as almost to defy separation even at this period. On the opposite side of the river similar remains exist, and antiquaries are of opinion that those on Clifton Down constituted the most important Roman camp in western Britain, and here were beacon-fires lighted when danger threatened the minor fortresses in the valleys, the remains of many of which still exist in the surrounding country.

Clifton is the fashionable section of the city, and much resorted to by invalids who seek the advantages of its mineral waters. The walks around the springs and baths are romantic, and command in clear weather fine prospects in every direction. The atmosphere is salubrious, being exempt from the thick, black smoke which impregnates the air over Bristol. Its streets are steep and crooked, wide and clean, which is more than can be said with truth of many avenues in other English towns.

Among the noted places of the old town is the Colston School, where Chatterton was for a short time a scholar. The building is an antique structure, in the Elizabethan style, located on a back street, and may be described as a quaint "house with seven gables." The founder bequeathed lands and tenements for the support of the institution, and one hundred boys are educated, boarded, and clothed there for seven years, after which time they are apprenticed out to trades. It is an excellent institution, and cherished by the inhabitants as a noble charity.

The inhabitants of the city speak a dialect different from that of the north or east, and whether educated or not their pronunciation of certain words is the same. I was forcibly reminded more than once of the negroes of the Southern States when I heard persons say "yer" and "gwain" instead of "here" and "going." The same peculiarities exist in the remote districts of the south-west, and the pronunciation there differs in every particular from that at the north, and from that of the cockneys who mouth every word, and put the o where the a should be, in addition to the known habit they have of calling horses orses, and the atmosphere the hatmosphere.

The educated English about London pretend to laugh at the "nasal drawl" of the Yankees, and speak of it as a national peсиliarity. It would be well if they were to look at home before sneering at Jonathan about that. They will find as much to ridicule in Somerset as ever they will in the United States if they go there for a few months. The nasal drawl is outdone by the sniffling twang of the people of that county and Devonshire, sections of England where puritanism was rampant in its day, and whence the Yankee pronunciation was exported to the shores of New England. The untravelled cockney who visits America is shocked at our speech, and pretends not to understand us, when, if he were to go into Yorkshire, Northumberland, or Devonshire, he would be equally at a loss to comprehend the natives of those sections of his own isle, some of whom use words unintelligible to the educated man, and incomprehensible to the Londoner. Almost every county has its peculiar dialect, and the native of each is generally recognized by his tongue. Somerset and Devon have the sniffle and the drawl, and some of the rustics of those provinces speak through the nose as strongly as the rawest Yankees of Vermont or Connecticut.

CHAPTER XXXΙΙ.

BATH ITS BEAUTY-ABBEY CHURCH-AN INCIDENT.

THE city in which Beau Nash reigned the monarch of fashion is one of the most beautiful in England, and at the same time one of the most aristocratic. Cleanliness is a peculiarity of the place, and although some of the permanent inhabitants are not remarkably free from dirt, but few of them are so filthy as the illustrious Prince Bladud was when, wallowing in the mud of the valley in which the city stands, he discovered the medicinal properties of the springs for which it is chiefly celebrated. Night had fairly closed in when I arrived at Bath, and as the darkness was intense, I had considerable difficulty in ascertaining the geography of the town. The railway station is not immediately in the thickly settled section, and as the place is scattered and built on both high