Our hospitable friend now made us drink a glass of wine, as old and genuine as the curiosities of his cabinet; and while sipping it, we ungratefully tried to excite his envy, by telling of various things, interesting to an antiquary and virtuoso, which we had seen in the course of our travels about England.  We spoke, for instance, of a missal bound in solid gold and set round with jewels, but of such intrinsic value as no setting could enhance, for it was exquisitely illuminated, throughout, by the hand of Raphael himself.  We mentioned a little silver case which once contained a portion of the heart of Louis XIV, nicely done up in spices, but, to the owner’s horror and astonishment, Dean Buckland popped the kingly morsel into his mouth, and swallowed it.  We told about the black-letter prayer-book of King Charles the Martyr, used by him upon the scaffold, taking which into our hands, it opened of itself at the Communion Service; and there, on the left-hand page, appeared a spot about as large as a sixpence, of a yellowish or brownish hue:  a drop of the King’s blood had fallen there.

Mr. Porter now accompanied us to the church, but first leading us to a vacant spot of ground where old John Cotton’s vicarage had stood till a very short time since.  According to our friend’s description, it was a humble habitation, of the cottage order, built of brick, with a thatched roof.  The site is now rudely fenced in, and cultivated as a vegetable garden.  In the right-hand aisle of the church there is an ancient chapel, which, at the time of our visit, was in process of restoration, and was to be dedicated to Cotton, whom these English people consider as the founder of our American Boston.  It would contain a painted memorial-window, in honor of the old Puritan minister.  A festival in commemoration of the event was to take place in the ensuing July, to which I had myself received an invitation, but I knew too well the pains and penalties incurred by an invited guest at public festivals in England to accept it.  It ought to be recorded, (and it seems to have made a very kindly impression on our kinsfolk here,) that five hundred pounds had been contributed by persons in the United States, principally in Boston, towards the cost of the memorial-window, and the repair and restoration of the chapel.

After we emerged from the chapel, Mr. Porter approached us with the vicar, to whom he kindly introduced us, and then took his leave.  May a stranger’s benediction rest upon him!  He is a most pleasant man; rather, I imagine, a virtuoso than an antiquary; for he seemed to value the Queen of Otaheite’s bag as highly as Queen Mary’s embroidered quilt, and to have an omnivorous appetite for everything strange and rare.  Would that we could fill up his shelves and drawers (if there are any vacant spaces left) with the choicest trifles that have dropped out of Time’s carpet-bag, or give him the carpet-bag itself, to take out what he will!