a bridge of rough-hewn planks, at three of the entrances before named, allowed a free communication with the suburbs, except during seasons of hostility, which unhappily were not rare in those days of rapine and rebellion.  Before the Mill-gate a wider and more substantial structure, mounted on huge wooden props, facilitated a passage over the river.  This edifice could be raised in cases of siege, effectually separating the inhabitants from their enemies.

The first beams of the sun began to peep through the angles of the wooden gable fronts, projecting nearly midway across the street, streaming athwart the frosty air, and giving a beautifully variegated and picturesque appearance to the grotesque vista bounded by the Standish-gate.

The stranger paused not; mounting the hill with an alertness and agility that scarcely seemed compatible with his age and appearance.  On arriving at the gate, his garb was a sufficient passport, without the necessity of a challenge.  Three or four of the guards were loitering and laughing on a couple of benches built in a sort of arched recess on each side of the gateway.  As the pilgrim passed they became silent, bowing reverently as he pronounced the accustomed benison.

Outside the barriers, the road lay through an open and uninclosed country.  It was a matter of but slight moment what line of direction the narrow and uneven pathways might describe, provided their termination was tolerably accurate; all traffic and intercourse, being necessarily limited, was mostly carried on through the medium of saddles and horse-furniture.

The most inaccessible part of a hill was the site generally chosen; the road ascending and descending in a meandering sort of zig-zig on its side.  Rarely did our timid ancestors tempt the valley, often preferring a roundabout course over a line of hills, if by so doing the perils of the lower ground could be avoided.

The pilgrim followed a narrow and beaten track:  it was bordered on each side by a deep ditch, nearly overgrown with weeds and brambles.  He traversed the intricate windings of the road with considerable facility; but an hour had nearly elapsed ere he gained the brow of an eminence of no very conspicuous height, though it commanded a pretty extensive view of the country adjacent.  From the east, a rich flood of glory blended the whole into one broad mass of light, melting away the beauteous frost-work, as the rays of morning dissipate the unreal visions that have their existence only in darkness and repose.  Southward lay the borough, distinguishable only by the broad tower of All-Saints rising from the mist, as if baseless and suspended.  A bell boomed heavily through the quiet atmosphere:  its long and lingering echoes came on the pilgrim’s soul like the voice of other years—­of hopes and anticipations that had for ever departed.