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From the castle, our walk was extended to the Cathedral, which bears the marks of great age, and is highly respectable in its aspect. The order of architecture is NormanGothic, with turrets rising above the other buildings of the town. Its appendages, for the residence and accommodation of its officers, are neat and convenient, situated around a small park, and finely shaded with trees. The clerk conducted us over the interior of St. Mary's and directed our attention to what he supposed most worthy of notice. It is a fault with all these showmen, which has given us a great deal of trouble, to suppose that only what is new can be interesting to the stranger, and to tell a long story about improvements which have already been made, or are in contemplation, whereas these innovations upon antique structures oftener create pain than pleasure.

Taking little interest in the burden of our guide's information, we inquired of him if there were no monuments in the church deserving notice. Why, he didn't know, sure; there was one in memory of Archdeacon Paley, and another to Bishop Law, father of Lord Ellenborough, which might be worth looking at. The name of a philosopher and divine, whose writings are very justly honoured with a place among the classics in our country, needed no eulogium from the clerk, to call forth a tribute of respect and veneration. plain, white marble slab on the wall, marks the spot where sleeps the author of the admired treatises on Moral Philosophy, Natural Theology, and the Evidences of the Christian Religion. On the monument is the following inscription :"William Paley, D. D. Archdeacon and Chancellor of this Diocese, died May 23, 1805, aged 62."

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His two wives rest on either side of him, the last of whom died in 1819. He left several children, four of whom, if no more, are yet living. One of his sons is a clergyman in Yorkshire, and another a farmer. Both of his daughters married clergymen. He died while on a visit to his native town in Yorkshire, and his remains were brought to Carlisle, to be interred by the side of his first wife. The clerk was personally acquainted with him, and attended his funeral, which was without parade, but occasioned much real sorrow. His old friend remarked, that the doctor was jocular in his turn, popular in his manners, and much beloved.

On the opposite side of the same partition, is a monument in memory of Edmund Law, Bishop of Carlisle, and father

of the late Lord Ellenborough, who derived his title from a little village of that name, near Maryport on the Irish Sea, where he was accidentally born, while his mother was on an excursion to that part of the country. The family possess great talents, united with some eccentricities. The Bishop's monument is of white marble, elegantly finished, surmounted by an emblem of christianity, holding a crucifix, and lamenting the death of the prelate. Beneath, is a neat, classical inscription in Latin.

After completing a survey of the cathedral, we made an excursion of a mile or two across the Calder, a branch of the Eden, to the south-west part of the town, for the purpose of examining the canal, which connects Carlisle with Solway Frith. In this walk, sections of the ancient walls, by which the town was once enclosed, with gates at the four avenues, were distinctly traced. The canal was at length reached, and found to be on a larger scale, than any that had been examined in England. Its length, to be sure, is short, being only twelve miles; but in breadth, depth and workmanship, it exceeds similar works in this country. In the basin at its termination, several brigs, from Liverpool, were discharging their cargoes. It admits vessels drawing nine feet water. There are eight locks of eighteen feet breadth, between Carlise and the Solway. It was constructed by a company, who have a large warehouse upon its margin, and carry on an extensive trade with the Frith, supplying the town with stone for building, and with coals.

In the afternoon, an hour or two was passed in the Academy of Fine Arts, which had been opened a few days previous. The collection contained upwards of two hundred pictures, covering the walls of four apartments. Many of them were from London, sent hither to be examined and sold, if purchasers offered. Some of them were valued at 6,000l. Among the number, was a splendid picture of the King, just finished by Sir Thomas Lawrence. We saw the fellow to it at Chatsworth. There is but one more of the same stamp, which belongs to Lord Lowther. In the collection was a pretty illustration of Hawk Shooting, from a scene in Bracebridge Hall. The principal historical painting was Marmion's Mission to Scotland, before the battle of Flodden Field. But it would be endless to particularize. Nearly all the artists of any merit in the kingdom contributed to the assemblage. The show of statuary was limited and meagre.

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The pleasures of the day and of our visit to Carlisle were closed with attending the theatre in the evening, partly to learn the fashions of the town, but more to see Miss F. H. Kelly, a sister to the one who, I suppose, has been long enough in the United States, and is certainly sufficiently a favourite, to be called our own. She appeared in the character of Belvidera, in Venice Preserved, a difficult part, in which, as in poetry, there can be no mediocrity, but which she performed to admiration. Her person is good, her step dignified, her voice has great compass and flexibility, and she catches the true spirit of the author. Her Belvidera was by far the chastest and most powerful specimen of acting I have yet seen in England. In the parts of Jaffier and Pierre she was tolerably well supported, and the rest was bad enough. The theatre is small, and of rude construction. There was a full house of genteely dressed ladies and gentlemen. The audience appeared to be discriminating in their applause, and remarkably silent and attentive, with the exception of one or two drunken fellows in the pit, who were engaged in a noisy brawl, whilst Belvidera was melting others into tears by her genuine pathos. Gratifying as it would have been to see Miss Kelly in the character of Jenny Deans, preparations to be off on the day following towards "the Heart of Mid Lothian," rendered it incovenient to remain at the after-piece, and witness an exhibition of Scottish scenes in anticipation of our visit.

LETTER XXI.

RIDE FROM CARLISLE TO NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE-ROMAN WALL-DESCRIPTION OF NEWCASTLE-BIRTH PLACE OF

AKENSIDE-GATESEND-CASTLE--COLLIERIES---EXCUR

SION TO SHIELDS.

September, 1825.—On the 21st, we set out for Newcastle, fifty-six miles from Carlisle. The road crosses the Eden, on the stately stone bridge already mentioned, which cost $200,000. At the little village of Stanwix, a mile beyond, on the right bank of the river, was the termination of the wall of Severus, extending seventy miles across the country, from the Solway to the mouth of the Tyne. A small church,

in the above-mentioned village, is built from the ruins. This gigantic work of other ages was the most prominent object on our route, which ran parallel and close to it the whole day. Sections of it were distinctly seen in several places. At Thirlwall, as the name imports, about midway between the two extremities, a breach was forcibly made by the Picts. Such a barrier, designed to fence out a barbarous nation from their more civilized neighbours, however wild and unmilitary the project, was certainly a grand idea. Fortresses were erected, and garrisons stationed along the wall, enough of which yet remains to show what it once was, and to aid the imagination in forming a conception of its grandeur at that day, when the Roman eagles flew on the towers of the rampart, stretching from sea to sea, and the armies of barbarians, pouring like torrents from their native mountains, dashed against the bulwarks of their invaders.

The first part of our ride, for many miles, extended up the right bank of the Eden, and across several of its branches. One of them, called the Irthing, came rushing down from the hills, like a torrent of blood. It was much swollen by the late rains, and the complexion of the soil through which it runs gives it a deep red colour, forming a singular contrast with the verdure of its shores,

After passing the village of Brampton, we ascended Mote Hill, which commands one of the widest horizons in the north of England. In a clear day, the Irish Sea, the Isle of Man, Solway Frith, the whole region about the lakes, the Cheviot Hills on the borders of Scotland, and the German Ocean, may all be seen from the summit. The top of the eminence is finely wooded, and the landscape in the vicinity is among the finest on the road.

Soon after leaving the village of Greenhead, and crossing a small turbulent stream called the Tippel, we reached the banks of the Tyne. This river has its source in the Northumbrian and Cumbrian hills. It is a bold, wild, and rapid stream, descending generally at the rate of seven or eight miles the hour, and breaking over the rocks, which fill its channel. Its waters are of a reddish-yellow tinge, as if originating in beds of ochre. Its course was pursued the whole way to Newcastle, and even beyond the town, to its mouth, where it is nearly as large as the Thames. The vale through which it runs presents some agreeable scenery, and is filled with so many old castles, that it was deemed hardly

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worth while to number them, or record their names. tensive tracts of moorland and fells stretch along the sides of the valley, on which, for many miles, no houses nor traces of cultivation are to be seen.

At 6 o'clock in the evening, we arrived at the summit of a hill, which looks down upon the whole of Newcastle, occupying the steep declivity extending from its brow to the northern bank of the Tyne. Both the town and its environs present an unique appearance, sombre and gloomy, but from its novelty not uninteresting. The dark complexion of the houses, roofed with bright red tile-the yellowish tinge of the river-the deep green of its shores-and the black, massive steam-engines, rising like so many castles over the shafts of innumerable collieries, all in motion and vomiting forth volumes of smoke, form peculiar and striking features in the scenery. An odd taste in building, and the fantastic, crown-shaped spires of some of the churches, add to the singularity of the view. Some of the blocks of houses are ranged endwise on the declivity, rising one above another like steps in a flight of stairs.

Descending with locked wheels through a long line of streets, we took lodgings at the Queen's Head, and late as it was, immediately commenced an examination of the town. One of the first objects of curiosity was the birth-place of Dr. Akenside, author of the Pleasures of the Imagination. Several fruitless inquiries were made of persons, who seemed to know more about coals than poetry; but a clever bookseller at length showed us an engraving of the old house, and literally put us upon the right scent to find it, authorising us to make use of his name to a butcher, who keeps his stall at the next door, and who would point out the dwelling. A difficulty in finding the place, however, called forth an act of kindness from another aged bookseller, who walked through the streets bare-headed, with his pen behind his ear, to direct us to Butchers' Bank, the narrow, close, and dirty lane which gave birth to the poet. Both sides of it are occupied by stalls, and all sorts of smells arising from a confined meat market here invade the senses.

Mr. Wright, the butcher, was at last found, and with his apron on, and his cleaver in his hand, conducted us to the most advantageous position for examining the house in which the favoured bard was born. It is a black, dirty looking building, three stories high, the basement of which is occu

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