We set out one morning to hunt the Roman Wall.  Passing the fine buildings in the centre of the city and the lofty monument to Earl Grey, we went towards the western gate and soon came to the ruins of a building, about whose origin there could be no doubt.  It stood there, blackened by the rust of ages, a remnant of power passed away.  There was no mistaking the massive round tower, with its projecting ornaments, such as are often seen in the ruder works of the Romans.  On each side a fragment of wall remained standing, and there appeared to be a chamber in the interior, which was choked up with rubbish.  There is another tower, much higher, in a public square in another part of the city, a portion of which is fitted up as a dwelling for the family which takes care of it; but there was such a ridiculous contrast between the ivy-grown top, and the handsome modern windows and doors of the lower story, that it did not impress me half as much as the other, with all its neglect.  These are the farthest limits of that power whose mighty works I hope hereafter to view at the seat of her grandeur and glory.

I witnessed a scene at Newcastle that cannot soon be forgotten; as it showed more plainly than I had before an opportunity of observing, the state to which the laboring classes of England are reduced.  Hearing singing in the street, under my window, one morning, I looked out and saw a body of men, apparently of the lower class, but decent and sober looking, who were singing in a rude and plaintive strain some ballad, the purport of which I could not understand.  On making inquiry, I discovered it was part of a body of miners, who, about eighteen weeks before, in consequence of not being able to support their families with the small pittance allowed them, had “struck” for higher wages.  This their employers refused to give them, and sent to Wales, where they obtained workmen at the former price.  The houses these laborers had occupied were all taken from them, and for eighteen weeks they had no other means of subsistence than the casual charity given them for singing the story of their wrongs.  It made my blood boil to bear those tones, wrung from the heart of poverty by the hand of tyranny.  The ignorance, permitted by the government, causes an unheard amount of misery and degradation.  We heard afterwards in the streets, another company who played on musical instruments.  Beneath the proud swell of England’s martial airs, there sounded to my ears a tone whose gathering murmur will make itself heard ere long by the dull cars of Power.

At last at the appointed time, we found ourselves on board the “London Merchant,” in the muddy Tyne, waiting for the tide to rise high enough to permit us to descend the river.  There is great competition among the steamboats this summer, and the price of passage to London is reduced to five and ten shillings.  The second cabin, however, is a place of tolerable comfort, and as the steward had promised to keep berths for us, we engaged passage.