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,--