Now, these hedge-row elms.  I had never even asked myself what they were till I saw them; but you know, as I said in a former letter, the hedges are not all of them carefully cut; in fact many of them are only irregular rows of bushes, where, although the hawthorn is the staple element, yet firs, and brambles, and many other interlopers put in their claim, and they all grow up together in a kind of straggling unity; and in the hedges trees are often set out, particularly elms, and have a very pleasing effect.

Then, too, the trees have more of that rounding outline which is expressed by the word “bosomed.”  But here we are, right under the walls of Lancaster, and Mr. S. wakes me up by quoting, “Old John o’ Gaunt, time-honored Lancaster.”

“Time-honored,” said I; “it looks as fresh as if it had been built yesterday:  you do not mean to say that is the real old castle?”

“To be sure, it is the very old castle built in the reign of Edward III., by John of Gaunt.”

It stands on the summit of a hill, seated regally like a queen upon a throne, and every part of it looks as fresh, and sharp, and clear, as if it were the work of modern times.  It is used now for a county jail.  We have but a moment to stop or admire—­the merciless steam car drives on.  We have a little talk about the feudal times, and the old past days; when again the cry goes up,—­

“O, there’s something!  What’s that?”

“O, that is Carlisle.”

“Carlisle!” said I; “what, the Carlisle of Scott’s ballad?”

“What ballad?”

“Why, don’t you remember, in the Lay of the Last Minstrel, the song of Albert Graeme, which has something about Carlisle’s wall in every verse?

  ’It was an English, laydie bright
  When sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,
  And she would marry a Scottish knight,
  For love will still be lord of all.’

I used to read this when I was a child, and wonder what ‘Carlisle wall’ was.”

Carlisle is one of the most ancient cities in England, dating quite back to the time of the Romans.  Wonderful!  How these Romans left their mark every where!

Carlisle has also its ancient castle, the lofty, massive tower of which forms a striking feature of the town.

This castle was built by William Rufus.  David, King of Scots, and Robert Bruce both tried their hands upon it, in the good old times, when England and Scotland were a mutual robbery association.  Then the castle of the town was its great feature; castles were every thing in those days.  Now the castle has gone to decay, and stands only for a curiosity, and the cotton factory has come up in its place.  This place is famous for cottons and ginghams, and moreover for a celebrated biscuit bakery.  So goes the world,—­the lively vigorous shoots of the present springing out of the old, mouldering trunk of the past.

Mr. S. was in an ecstasy about an old church, a splendid Gothic, in which Paley preached.  He was archdeacon of Carlisle.  We stopped here for a little while to take dinner.  In a large, handsome room tables were set out, and we sat down to a regular meal.