YORKSHIRE—YORK—SHEFFIELD—LINCOLN.

We are now leaving Durham for a ride of sixty-seven miles to the city of York, the other fashionable metropolis of England. The passage is through the county of Yorkshire, which, for the combination of good agriculture, population, manufactures, beauty of scenery, and historical renown, is not excelled if equalled by any other county of Great Britain. The people are peculiar, and have a dialect of their own; they are tall in stature, shrewd at bargains, and are tenacious of their own manners and customs. Here abound grand mansions, and large tracts of land laid down as parks, and so we find less uncared land than in any other part of England.

One cannot travel over this country and not think of the time when William the Conqueror, by his hostility to the inhabiting Saxons, caused destruction and ruin to prevail. History says:—

He wasted the land between York and Durham, so that for threescore miles there was left in manner, no habitation for the people, by reason whereof it laid waste and desert for nine or ten years. The goodlie cities, with the towers and steeples set upon a statelie height, and reaching as it were into the air; the beautiful fields and pastures watered with the course of sweet and pleasant rivers; if a stranger should then have beheld, and also knowne what they were before, he would have lamented.

We do not stop here, but can hardly fail to think of the Conquerer himself. As he lay in the agonies of death he cried out:—

Laden with many and grievous sins, O Christ, I tremble, and being ready to be taken by Thy will into the terrible presence of God, I am ignorant what I should do, for I have been brought up in feats of arms even from a child. I am greatly polluted with the effect of much blood. A royal diadem that never any of my predecessors did bear I have gotten; and although manly greediness on my triumph doth rejoice, yet inwardly a careful fear pricketh and biteth me when I consider that in all these cruel rashness hath raged.

But we must leave these intervening lands and speak of the famed city itself.

YORK.

This is Old York, while our New Amsterdam that was, Manhattan Island, is the New one. It is the capital of Yorkshire, and situated on both sides of the River Ouse, at its junction with the River Foss, and is 175 miles from London. Its population is 43,709. The river is crossed by a fine stone bridge, while there are also several others of less repute. The city is very compactly built. It is but three miles in circuit, and was once entirely, and is now partly, surrounded by walls originally erected by the Romans. It was entered by gates, four of which remain as they were centuries ago. The streets are not very wide, but are well paved and very neat, and the city presents a solid and substantial appearance. It has a good commercial or trade aspect in the market parts, and in the other portions has a homelike atmosphere, and a very large number of hotels, for the place is one of resort for fashionable winter life. It is the emporium of style for the northern part of England, and in this respect is hardly inferior to London. The buildings are mainly of brick, three or four stories high.

Its history reaches far back into antiquity. During the Roman dominion, York was the seat of the general government, and was important while London was yet rude and semi-barbaric. Are we fully prepared to realize that the Roman Emperor Septimus Severus lived here, and here died in the year 212, or but 179 years after the death of Christ? Here also died in 306, Constantius Cholorus, the father of Constantine the Great. 1577 years are gone since the death of the distinguished individual named! In the war with William the Conqueror, the citizens joined with the Scots and Danes for his repulsion, but on their defeat they razed their homes and city to the ground. It was rebuilt, and was destroyed by fire in 1137. During the great massacre of the Jews, which took place in England after the coronation of Richard I., several hundred Jewish inhabitants of York, having in vain attempted to defend themselves in the castle, slew their wives and children, set fire to their houses, and themselves perished in the flames. Lord Fairfax captured the place from the Royalists in 1644, and in 1688 James II., for its arbitrary measures in opposition to the crown, took away its charter, and its fortunes and conditions then varied for more than two thousand years. Indeed, its soil is classic ground. Here the Emperor Hadrian, one of imperial Rome's distinguished ones, dwelt, more kingly and regal than has since lived any king. Over these roads Severus, the great Emperor, has passed, and on Stiver's Hill, west of the city, the funeral obsequies over his mortal remains took place. Here Constantine, the first great Christian of many who came out of paganism, also dwelt. Everywhere there is a classic renown. Do we, as we are walking here on this fine summer day, comprehend the scheme? The birds in these trees sing as sweetly as in olden time; the sheep graze quietly on the outlying plains as they did a thousand years ago. The shadows, made by passing clouds, chase each other across our path as others did over theirs. Here are the same sun and similar clouds, and birds and trees, but the seasons of a thousand and a half of years intervene. Millions of beings have lived and died. Their dust has mingled with parent soil; it has been caught up, and transformed into plant and flower and tree; and, passing through fruit, or flesh of animal, into humanity, has gone back again and become mingled, and out into life yet again, and its history has been repeated in new organizations and bodies and forms.

We talk not of transmigration of soul, but we may say that the process has developed a better phase of humanity; and these last productions are more imperial and royal than Hadrian, Septimus, or Constantine; than William the Conqueror, Edward the Confessor, than Cromwell, Jeffries, or Laud. Upward and onward has been the march. The millennium has come in this way, and humanity has marched with steady tread towards it. Queen Victoria and Dean Stanley and John Bright and Gladstone are the blossoms, or a flowering-out,—a grand fruitage. In them, also, are the seed and germs of a yet greater progress, and another day is to gather fruit from these later trees, the leaves of which "are for the healing of the nations."

York gave birth, May 8, 1731, to Beilby Porteus, a distinguished prelate, who was chaplain to Secker, the Archbishop of Canterbury, in 1762, chaplain to George III. in 1769, Bishop of Chester in 1776, and Bishop of London, 1787, where he presided till his death, May 14, 1808. And she is also honored as being the birthplace of John Flaxman, the renowned sculptor, who was born July 6, 1755, and died at London, Dec. 9, 1826. Among his well-known productions are the monuments of the poet Collins at Winchester Cathedral, of Lord Nelson and of Howe, of Sir Joshua Reynolds, of Mansfield, and of Kemble. In early days he supported himself by making designs for the Wedgewoods, manufacturers of celebrated pottery and works of ceramic art; and by-and-by he astonished the world by his artistic illustration of Homer and Æschylus, and afterwards of Dante. He was also the author of Scriptural compositions,—excelling in fine diction as well as in deep religious fervor and pathos.

Here, a. d. 735, more than 1100 years ago, was born Flaccus Albinus Alcuin, even for that early day an eminent scholar and churchman, and a pupil of the Venerable Bede. He was a schoolmaster and librarian at the cathedral; and later, by invitation of Emperor Charlemagne, in 780, he went to France, probably to Aix la Chapelle, and opened a school, where his instructions were attended by the Emperor and his court; and this school is presumed to be the germ of the present University of Paris. He was the intimate friend and confidential adviser of the Emperor, and so even the destinies of nations are traced directly to him. Although he was the most learned man of his age, eloquent, pious, and renowned, yet his extreme modesty and fineness of temperament and nature caused him to shrink from the responsibilites of a bishop; and, though repeatedly urged to permit his ordination as such, he peremptorily refused, and would accept no higher office than that of deacon. He died lamented as few ever can be, May 19, 804, 1079 years ago.

Here was born in 1606, and died in 1682, Sir Thomas Herbert, the renowned traveller. Anticipating Stanley two and a half centuries, he published in 1634 his celebrated work, "Some Years' Travels into Africa, and the Great Asia, especially the Territories of the Persian Monarchy." He was made a baron by Charles II. Though a stanch and avowed Presbyterian, so kind was he, and so courteous in disposition and manner, that Charles I. retained him as one of his attendants to the last, long after all the others had been dismissed. We close the list of notable men by naming but one more of a vast number,—William Etty, the painter, born here March 10, 1787. He was a pupil of Sir Thomas Lawrence, and for a time unsuccessful; but in 1831 one of his pictures was admitted to the exhibition given by the Royal Academy, and this brought him before the public as an artist of ability. It was his "Cleopatra's Arrival at Celicia," in which the nude female form was depicted with remarkable correctness and voluptuous glow of color. He is now considered to have been one of the chief artists of the English school. He wrote his own biography, which was published in the London Art Journal in 1849. He died at York, Nov. 13, of the same year, at the age of sixty-two. The temptation is irresistible to add that in Keighly, a near town, on the 8th of December, 1823, was born that distinguished preacher and eminent lecturer, Rev. Robert Collyer, late of Unity Church, Chicago, now of the Church of the Messiah, New York; so that, by personal ties, Old and New York are worthily connected. Of the noble record of men of Yorkshire, there is none of which she may entertain a juster pride, than that of our great American divine.

We now leave York as a city, and her especial celebrities, to speak of two things of great interest to all tourists, viz: the remains of the abbey, and the famed York Minster. The Abbey of St. Mary, now a mass of elegant ruins, is not far from the Minster. It was founded by William Rufus, who was slain in the New Forest, Aug. 2, 1100. The college connected with the abbey was founded by Henry VI., who is believed to have been killed in the Tower of London in May, 1471. The grounds are acres in extent, and are well kept as a choice park, with great neatness and care. We enter them through a gate, at the side of which is a lodge, where tickets are procured, and guide-books, containing engravings, and an account of the premises from their first use for the abbey and its collegiate purposes. Elegant lawns and undulatory lands are here; grand old trees, large and vigorous; finely graded avenues and paths; clumps of flowering shrubs, among them the best of rhododendrons, which on the day of our visit were in fine bloom; and to add to the beauty of the scenery, sheep, such as England, and perhaps only Yorkshire, can boast; Jersey and Alderney cows quietly grazing,—neither sheep nor cows noticing the visitors, the best possible specimens of mind-their-own business-individuals seen on our whole journey. These all combine to give a tranquillity and finish to the landscape, such as befit the place now in use for centuries,—glorious in age, and charming in its loveliness.

The ruins are of the choicest and most enchanting kind, with high walls, columns, arches, mouldings, buttresses, and every detail in full, of window and door; and such a carpet of nice low-cropped but thick grass as is seldom seen. What finish everywhere! How little to touch in the way of repair or amendment! Here, as on all ruins, is the companion-like ivy, doing its good work. These ruins seem to be at home. The others we have seen appeared to have a solitary beauty; but here, so in the city, and surrounded by every-day life, finish, care, and animation, they are not companionless.

There is a sweet and indescribably good influence about a place like this. How one enjoys the odor of these flowers, the shade of these venerable trees, and of the walls themselves. How easy it is to commune in the extemporized reverie,—and it's no hard task here to extemporize one; how easy it is to "call up spirits from the vasty deep."

We examine the great things, and then sit down and admire; next we walk around and get new views. We think of novitiate, of nun, of monk, of collegian, dead and gone five hundred years. Next we go to the museum, a building on the grounds and part of the good premises. Between the main ruins and this building are small ruins, or evidences of things that were, but are not. We go in, and, as at the gate-lodge, a woman is in attendance, and desires a shilling, and we are willing, for the treat, to each give her one. We go in, and what interests are awakened! Old Rome herself can do no better. Not works of Englishmen are now to be examined, or of Briton even,—of Scot or of Celt, but of them of the Eternal City bred and born.

A new station for the railway was built a few years ago, and in digging for the foundation a large lot of things of Roman manufacture were found, which, with others once belonging to the venerable abbey, are now deposited here. Among the more noted objects of interest are stone coffins, in which are bodies, covered by a coarse cloth, and as they are imbedded in lime, it would appear that it must have been put about them in a liquid form. Some of these date back fifteen hundred years. Next are pieces of Roman pavement, into which are wrought various devices; and there are also many common, red-clay, earthen pots and jars, or vases of different sizes; a majority of them would hold about three gallons each. These were filled with ashes and burnt bones. They were nearly full, and the materials had either been forced in quite compactly or this solidity came by reason of age. In a glass case, some sixteen inches square and six inches deep, is the scalp of a Roman lady, almost entire, showing the brown hair very perfect, and arranged as it was at the time of her death. This was taken from a leaden coffin in which were found the remains, the date showing that they were buried full sixteen hundred years ago. There is also a display of pottery and household implements, old Roman statuary and utensils; and monumental stones and things of the kind are here in abundance.

Aside from these, and in addition, are many things once belonging to the abbey,—the whole a befitting appendage to these ancient grounds. It would seem that there is, in this famed enclosure alone, enough to amply repay one for a journey from America to York. If these ancient things could speak, they would want no more potent words put into their mouths than those of Burns, when he says

O wad some pow'r the giftie gie us,
To see, oursels, as others see us.

We are depending a bit on punctuation to aid the thought and application. Not so much as having heard of these ruins beforehand, we were the more surprised; in plastic condition of mind the impression was made, and it is indelible. "Forget what we may, let what will of our thought become bedimmed,—let memories of St. Mary's remain and be good and fresh as now," said we then, and repeat ever. Our first visit to York Minster was made soon after our arrival. At 6 p. m. the doors are closed, and as it was near or quite that hour, we were content with the good and great privilege of examining the elegant grounds and magnificent exterior. The former are quite large and properly enclosed. The same carpet-like lawn-grass abounds, with a few grand avenues and paths over it, and trees of good age. All was cathedral-precinct-like, tranquil and sanctified; but even here sin and its consequences were present in material form, and the manifestation was quite what happens in Boston, where we have no venerable cathedral nor such grounds.

Off a hundred or more feet from the building, reclining on the grass and asleep, was a man beastly drunk. Two policemen came and aroused him and led him away. As at home, boys and women were interested and followed. To the credit of the policemen they did their work well, and in a way befitting the place, they could not well use less force, and they needed to use no more. As we saw the old, old sight, we thought of the terse and comprehensive verdict of Boston's once famous coroner, Pratt, who had held an inquest on one found not only dead drunk, as this man was, but drunk dead; and the simple verdict was, "Rum did it." Many instances occur where we have to repeat the old verdict. It's a good safety-valve to our feelings, and having said a true, a comprehensive, an all-the-ground-covering thing, we "rest the case." Rum does it there and here and everywhere, the world over.

The great edifice is built of a yellowish and perishable sandstone; parts of it are now in much decay, and the dust or sand lay in small heaps, even about the threshold of the main entrance doors. It reminded us of the yellow dirt we call powder-post, from a dry-rot decaying pine timber. For the most part, however, the structure is in good repair, and in a short time this great west front will be attended to. The decorations of this part are very rich and elaborate. The whole is of exquisite proportions and design, even to minute details. This is the most highly wrought of all the cathedral churches of England. It is the largest so far as extent of ground covered, though not the longest, as it is excelled in length by Winchester, and perhaps by one or two others. The history of the establishment begins in the seventh century; but the present edifice was not begun till after 1150, and it was not completed till 1472, and had been twenty years finished when Columbus discovered America. It is in the form of a cross, with a magnificent square central tower at the intersection, 213 feet high, or only seven feet lower than Bunker Hill monument, though it has not that effect of height. There are two other towers flanking the west front. These are each 196 feet high. They end with an elegant light parapet, and turrets at the four corners and centres. The extreme length is 524 feet. The breadth at transepts is 247 feet. The great east window is 78 feet high and 32 feet wide, filled with elegant stained glass representing about 200 historic events. The tower has a peal of 12 bells, one of which weighs 11½ tons, and is with the exception of that on the great clock tower at the Houses of Parliament, and the new one just placed on the tower of St. Paul's at London, the largest bell in the kingdom.

We have spoken especially of its exterior, and are to speak of its interior and its bishops; but before we do so, we are inclined to think we shall once for all render a good service if we devote part of our space to saying a few words in defining or explaining these terms, minster and cathedral, for as a general thing they are not well understood. We have previously said something on the point, but at the risk of being accused of repetition, will more definitely state the case.

Till the time of Constantine no houses for Christian worship existed. After his conversion to Christianity, or as soon as a. d. 325, they were not only tolerated but encouraged. Soon some of them came to be large and imposing, and the assemblies were composed of rich and influential persons. These congregations being able to well support and appreciate preachers of ability and renown, such divines were established at important stations. By and by assistants were demanded; next, canons or special preachers; and yet again others, as assistants in parish work. A place like this was called a cathedral, and all such churches were known by that name. In process of time the term came to denote only the one church in a diocese at which the bishop presided, or was identified with, and is so used to this day. There were of course other large churches or edifices quite equalling in financial standing, or in social and general dignity and influence, the cathedral itself, and these were not inclined to pay obedience to the bishop, and they simply remained as they were,—in fellowship, if we may use the expression, with the whole Church, but yet independent of it so far as the bishop's, or any outside authority, was concerned; so it is seen that Independency did not originate with the Puritans or Dissenters. Westminster Abbey is of this class, and this accounts for the independent condition of Dean Stanley, who from his office of Dean of Westminster, owed no allegiance to the Bishop of London, although the abbey is but a mile from, and in sight of, St. Paul's Cathedral. An abbey like Westminster is, if we may so say, the church of an abbey once at Westminster; while the abbey itself was destroyed, the church has remained. A minster like this at York, or that at Beverly, is the church edifice, or place of religious worship, of a former monastery, and so is called York minster.

Next a word in regard to the Archbishopric of York. An archbishop is the head bishop, to preside at meetings of the house of bishops, and to exercise some especial functions, like the president of an association, but subject to rules and regulations in the performance of his work as set forth by ecclesiastical laws made by the convocation of bishops. Canterbury has from the first been the seat of the archbishop, and of course great importance and dignity attach to the place where the archbishop's seat is. York having for centuries been very important in wealth and social standing, and possessing the grand old minster, disputed this claim, and at times was influential enough to seriously interfere with the ancient arrangement; and, as a sort of compromise, York was advanced to a position second only to that of Canterbury. Its bishop, or head official, is dignified with the title of Archbishop of York, and is therefore the second primate of England; or, as we may better express it, he is the vice-bishop of the entire English Church. The principal seat of the Archbishop of Canterbury, and of the whole Church, is at Lambeth Palace, on the Thames below Southwark, and opposite the Houses of Parliament. Here are held all great convocations of bishops, and the business of the Church is done here; but by ancient usage Canterbury Cathedral is the seat of the archbishop, or, as he is termed, the Primate of all England. Some years ago an arrangement was made whereby some few places, or Sees, hereafter named, were given into the charge of the Archbishop of York, so that he is an archbishop by virtue of his office, though yet inferior to his lordship of Canterbury. We next proceed, after the long digression, to speak of the interior of the cathedral, or minster.

It is grand and imposing, and its great width and height impress the beholder with a feeling of reverence and awe. The windows are of painted glass. Most of them are ancient and dim-appearing, and probably were never of rich design or very brilliant color. Every part of this vast interior is in the best possible repair, and the utmost neatness prevails. The cathedral has a crypt, or basement, and centuries ago it was customary to hold services in it. By the payment of a sixpence each, persons are permitted to visit it in company with the verger; and at all cathedrals, and in waiting, are these guides. It should be understood that visitors are freely and gratuitously admitted at any time from sunrise to sunset to all the cathedrals, but for visiting especial parts, such as the top of the tower, the crypt, if there is one, or places where valuable relics are kept, this small fee named is taken, first, as payment of salary for the guides, who are in constant attendance, and next, the surplus goes for repairs of the cathedral; and we may add that we visited none where workmen were not making repairs.

We cheerfully paid our fee and went down into the grand old crypt, now full one thousand years old. Indescribable are the sensations experienced and the emotions awakened as one is here. The place is but dimly lighted, and there are antique and grotesque columns and arches, solid, prison-like masonry, and groined ceilings of stone. It is not hard to imagine the former sound of sandal-footed monks or nuns, of subdued voices engaged in prayer,—to know of the odor of incense, wandering about the columns and arches as it did of old. All is solid, fortress-like, and secure; but in spite of solidity and thick stone walls, the aspirations of monks and nuns went out through them, for their prayers were not confined. Centuries now are gone since their spirits went out of their bodies, and the custom even of their service here came to an end. The new dispensation has come, "a better covenant, established on better promises." The race has advanced; and now, nought but the grand and vast light room above, the incense of an intelligent devotion, and the music of the great organ can render the desired aids to devotion. We find here a superb reminder of a vast antiquity, in a piece of Saxon work in stone, of the herring-bone pattern. This was part of an ancient Saxon church, built before the visit of the Normans. Do we comprehend the fact? No. We believe the story, and admire the place; and next, as best we can, we try and know the thing as no one can know it for us, but with only partial success.

At the rear of the altar is the tomb and monument of Tobias Matthew, one of the early translators of the Bible into the English language, who was the author of the address, or preface, to the King James translation in present use. The chapter-house is entered from the north transept, and is a room of remarkable elegance. All is of course built of stone. The ceiling is strangely elaborate, and there is a wainscot around the room, at the top of which is elegant flower and leaf work, and vines, with a profusion of grotesque figures of nondescript animals.

At the right side of the choir is a chapel, in which are kept a few things of unusual interest. Here is a Bible and Prayer Book, presented by Charles I. to the cathedral; also a copy of the Bible, in two large folio volumes, given by Charles II. Next, we have a fine old chair in which sat at their coronation all the Saxon kings. There is also a silver crozier of seven pounds' weight, and 200 years old. As at Durham, here also are exhibited gold seal-rings once worn by bishops, and each is nearly or quite seven hundred years old.

What as a whole was most entertaining was a drinking-vessel, in the shape of a buffalo horn. It is over one thousand years old. The grant of land on which this cathedral stands was made by Prince Ulpus, and, according to the usage of the time, wine was put into this horn, and in presence of the cathedral authorities was drank by the Prince, or donor; and the horn was then presented, to be forever kept as evidence of the grant. The last royal marriage solemnized in the minster was of Edward III., of the Norman line, to Philippa, daughter of the Count of Hainault, Jan. 24, 1328.

The elaborate choir-screen is of a light-tinted stone, and in niches contains statuettes of all the kings of England from William the Conqueror, who died at Rouen, Sept. 9, 1087, to Henry VI., who died in 1471 in the Tower of London. The structure was injured by fire in the roof in 1829, and again in 1840. The archbishop's palace is on the north side of the cathedral. It was built near the close of the twelfth century, and is used as the library of the dean and chapter. The archbishop's present residence is at Bishopthorpe, a short distance from the city. His ecclesiastical province includes the dioceses of Carlisle, Chester, Durham, Manchester, Ripon, Sodor and Man, York, and Newcastle-on-Tyne.

At 2 p. m. of this Saturday, June 8, we took train for

SHEFFIELD,

where we arrived at 5.30, after a ride of 3½ hours. It was our anticipation of remaining here till dark, about 9 p. m.; but, owing to an earlier departure of the train than we anticipated, we were compelled to be satisfied with a stay of but one hour. Not entertaining a desire for long tarries in these great manufacturing centres, we found this visit answered our purpose well enough. The city is situated at the junction of the River Sheaf, and three smaller streams uniting with the River Don. These streams together form a grand water-power, which is used in this great seat of manufactures. The city is very compactly built on the side of a hill in amphitheatre form, and open to the northeast. It has a dingy look, and is much smoked. The streets are well paved, of good width, and are quite inviting. It has a population of 261,019. Sheffield was one of the Saxon towns, and received its charter as a market-town from Edward I. in 1296. Early in the fifteenth century it was under control of the earls of Shrewsbury, who had a castle here, and a manorhouse in a park a mile east. It was in one of these that the greater part of the captivity of Mary Queen of Scots was passed. The castle was demolished by order of Parliament in 1648; and in 1707 the park of the manor was divided into farms. The place is celebrated for its manufacture of cutlery, as well as for a vast amount of other metallic goods, as steel wire, Britannia, and German silver-work. The cutlery business was of very early date, and a Cutler's Company was incorporated by statute of James I. in the sixteenth century. It had a large monopoly, which, interfering with the business of the place, was somewhat restricted in 1801, and wholly abolished in 1814, after a use and authority of nearly 300 years. In 1864 the breaking away of the Bradfield reservoir in the hills above the city, like the disaster at our Mill River, Massachusetts, destroyed $5,000,000 worth of property, and caused the loss of 300 lives.

The town, by reason of neglect of proper drainage, is very unhealthy; and in addition is the unhealthfulness of some of the occupations, so that the bills of mortality are greater here than in any other place of England. The railway stations being about a mile apart, we went on foot, and so were able, aided by the amphitheatre-like form of the place, to obtain a pretty correct judgment in regard to it; and then our remaining ride out through it, and the view from the suburbs, confirmed all; and so we felt that it was enough to say we had seen the famed Sheffield,—a place where from time out of mind have been made knives, bearing the stamp of Rogers & Sons. We had hoped to catch a view of their famed manufactory, but did not. This name, and that of Day & Martin, High Holborn, London, are familiar to every American schoolboy. What civilized community has not at some time used things from both places?

At 6.30 p. m. this Saturday night, when, as in any of our great New England manufacturing places, thousands were released from their week's labors, and were out on the streets for their Saturday night purchases, and a great crowd of people were at the station, bound somewhere,—amid this scene, and making two of the crowd, we took our seats in the car for

LINCOLN,

and in two hours arrived there. Another cathedral town, and a grand one, the capital of Lincolnshire and a county in itself. It is situated on the River Witham, and has a population of 26,762. It has grand elements of antiquity flavoring its history. It abounds with ancient remains, including the castle of William the Conqueror, and traces of town walls, a gateway of which, still standing, is one of the most perfect relics of Roman architecture to be found in the country. It has a fine old conduit; also the palace of King John of Gaunt, and many antique houses. There is no single place of England where there is a better blending of the very old and the very new than is to be found here. After the departure of the Romans, Lincoln became the capital of the Saxon kingdom of Mercia, and suffered much during the struggles of the Saxons and Danes. It was at the time of the Conquest, and long after, one of the richest places in England. It suffered greatly during the baronial wars, and also in the civil ones, when its grand cathedral was used for barracks. The city is well built. It has an old and substantial look, though not one of antiquity like parts of Chester and Shrewsbury. These two are the ones of all England that carry us—by many of their houses, stores, public buildings, and entire streets—far back into an exquisitely interesting antiquity. Here we have all the marks of age, of good old-fashioned domestic life and comfort,—whole streets of stores of a fair average grade, and a busy population; and so it is a good place of residence, and a very desirable spot to visit. The principal buildings are the county-hall and jail, within the old castle walls; the ancient guildhall; a session-house; city jail, and house of correction; and a grammar school founded in 1583. There is a very old Roman canal called Fossdike, connecting the city with the River Trent. The place is distinguished for having given birth to the renowned King John of Gaunt, or Ghent, the fourth son of Edward III., born in 1340, and died 1399.

The principal industries are breweries, tanneries, iron-foundries, grist-mills, boat-yards, and rope-walks, and in the vicinity are good nurseries, lime-kilns, and brick-yards. It may be said that this, as well as most English cities, is built mainly of brick. The land is level at the railroad station, and in a part of the business portions, and then rises very abruptly and at an inclination quite hard to climb. Full two thirds of the place are on this hill. The streets here are much steeper than any in our Boston, at the West End, and a few of the thoroughfares are so conditioned as to make it necessary to put iron hand-rails on the sides of buildings, and even at the edgestones of sidewalks. All is very clean, well paved and lighted, and thoroughly supplied with water. At the top of the hill and surrounded by houses, mansions, and stores, are the grounds of its grand and indescribably fine cathedral.

As we have before said, when we approach one of these structures, so imposing and wonder-inspiring,—so out of proportion with everything else to be seen or imagined in the region,—when we suddenly come upon one of these, we are inclined to consider this to be the cathedral, and as though there was, or could be, but one in all England, and this enough for all, and that the remainder were simply parish churches. We wonder every time anew, how they could have come into existence; where the means for their erection came from, and what influence could possibly have been brought to bear on any lot of mortals to induce the required interest.

The later thought is that it was done centuries ago, when monastery and abbey and priory and convent were in full action, church and state one, Papacy powerful in the extreme, this life nothing, and the other everything. A superstitious reverence was superior to an intelligent Christian faith; and so time, labor, money, all were free to erect these great centres of religion and faith.

Next, the country was divided into communities with interests of their own, and composed, as it were, of tribes, often hostile to each other, though entertaining a common superstition and reverence for what they thought to be truth and divine things. There were few roads across the country, and so comparatively little intercommunication or exchange of thought. With no books and no newspapers, the people were shut in and ignorant; and only was the condition disturbed and the lines removed when by some invasion,—as of Saxons or Normans, of Danes or of Scots,—or the result of civil war, the kingdom of Mercia or of Northumbria became weakened and was absorbed by a stronger power. These cathedral towns or provinces were then realms with an identity of their own; and so cathedrals were not only possible, but necessities, and were begun, and continued, and used for centuries, till by-and-by, isolation being unnatural, the great laws of association acting,—for "He made of one blood all nations of men, to dwell on all the face of the earth,"—as enlightenment came, advancement came also; a union of interest followed, which meant a division for use of the best things; and then cathedrals became in a sense common property, not only to people of England, but by-and-by to those of America as well.

Protestantism has not thus far been favorable to the production of cathedrals equalling those of old; but it has of late begotten a new spirit and desire for restorations and repairs, and is to-day, and for a half-century has been, conscious of its responsibilities to care for and preserve these great achievements of genius and taste; and so this seed sown will germinate and bear its fruit, which will be in the "good time coming." Those of that day, greatly advanced and advancing, will build new ones outglorying even the old. This is sure to come. The race does not recede. At times the work goes slowly, and seems to be retarded. The march is yet on and up, despite appearances to the contrary. As one in looking at a company of persons passing up the inclined road of the tower of Pisa, when the company are in particular positions would consider them at a standstill, so to observers of humanity, inaction appears sometimes to be the condition; but it is on and up, and when farther around on the great road, the whole is seen at a flank view, and the entire procession is found to be grandly advancing.

We are now back from a long detour, and speak of this elegant cathedral. It is built of a drab-colored stone, and is in fine repair. We pass through a large arched gateway, with keeper's lodge at the left hand, and into the cathedral precincts. Not now have we a great lawn or close, but nicely macadamized streets and roads in front of the great structure, and along the right side and back around the rear. On these borders are buildings belonging to the corporation,—schools, canons' residences, and those of curates. On the other side of the building, and at part of the rear end, is a fine old burial-ground, of some two acres, and charming in the extreme. All is on a grand scale—cathedral, streets, and grounds.

The great front has a peculiar construction, with two elegant towers just back of it, each 180 feet high, of very elaborate finish. There is another grand tower, at centre of building, 53 feet square, and 300 feet high, equalling Bunker Hill Monument in height, with a third of another like it on its top! In this is the famous bell, Tom of Lincoln. Cathedral bells have often had names,—that is, the large ones,—as Big Ben at Westminster, Great Peter, Large David, and others. The cathedral is 524 feet long, and 250 feet wide at the transepts. It is in all respects one of the finest in the kingdom. The interior is very light, having large windows; many of them are of elegant colored glass, and superior to those at York Minster.

This cathedral, like the others, has a good history. In 1075 Remigius removed the Episcopal see from Dorchester to Lincoln, and was the first bishop. Immediately after his arrival he began to build this church. It is known to have been nearly finished, or at all events ready for use, in 1092. Remigius, feeling his end to be near, being then very aged, invited all the prelates of the realm to be present at its consecration, which was to take place on the 9th of May. Robert, Bishop of Hereford, was the only one who refused the invitation, and his excuse was that he foresaw that the cathedral could not be dedicated in the lifetime of Bishop Remigius. In those days astrology was much believed in, and its predictions were relied on as prophetic truth; and strange to say, the Bishop of Hereford's casting was right, for Remigius died May 8, 1092, the day before that set for the consecration.

Robert Bloet was the second bishop, and he completed the work and dedicated it in 1124, which was not till thirty-two years after the time originally set. Of course great repairs and restorations have from time to time been made, and there have been large extensions and additions. The interior has an unusual number of old and new monuments. We are hoping that the few hints we throw out will induce readers to investigate the cathedral question, and an abundance of good information can be found in Winkle's "Cathedral Churches of England and Wales."

It was indeed a hard blow to the Romish Church to lose these fine buildings. There was, however, an advance made, but "the end is not yet." The intelligence of this nineteenth century will not long be satisfied with present conditions. Another and fresh Reformation is sure to come. As in John Wesley's day, the great Church needs new life infused into it. Rather than ask Methodists to come and be absorbed by herself, as has of late been suggested, better that the venerable Mother Church go and dwell with the Daughter; but neither will be done. The grand old historic Church will in good time come into the ranks of a more every-day and less formal life; and the Methodist, while retaining a good per-cent of her activity, and the element that reaches the common people, will drop some of her peculiarities; and as humanity advances, both will move toward each other, and, acting in unison, hasten the time when there will be but "one fold, and one shepherd."

At noon of this day we left for Boston; and, as ever, the step was somewhat reluctantly taken, because we were in love with Lincoln; but Boston also had charms, and so we wended our way there on this fine Whitsunday. This is the paradise of the year for travel in England, and this is an Eden-like portion of the old kingdom to go over. How hallowed the hour is; what better one in which to go from this cathedral town, almost celebrated for its hostility to all that savored of non-conformity, to the one where New England Boston's John Cotton, her early minister,—here not vicar nor even curate,—left, because of his non-conformity, 243 years ago.