The day, which had so far been fine, soon began to turn cold—­one of those sudden and disagreeable changes that come in England and Scotland in the very midst of summertime, an experience that happens so often that one can not wonder at Byron’s complaint of the English winter, “closing in July to re-commence in August.”  At no time in the summer were we able to dispense for any length of time with heavy wraps and robes while on the road.  From Richmond we hastened away over a fine and nearly straight road to Ripon, whose chief attraction is its cathedral.  Speaking of cathedrals again, I might remark that our tour took us to every one of these, with one exception—­in England and Scotland, about thirty in all—­and the exception, Beverly Minster, is but newly created and relatively of lesser importance.

Ripon is one of the smaller cathedrals and of less importance in historical associations.  It occupies a magnificent site, crowning a hill rising in the very center of the town, and from a distance gives the impression of being larger than it really is.  It presents a somewhat unfinished aspect with its three low, square-topped towers, once surmounted by great wooden spires, which became unsafe and were taken down, never to be replaced.  These must have added wonderfully to the dignity and proper proportion of the church.

Just outside Ripon lies Fountains Abbey, undoubtedly the most striking and best preserved ecclesiastical ruin in England.  It is on the estate of the Marquis of Ripon, adjoining the town, and this nobleman takes great pride in the preservation of the abbey.  The great park, which also surrounds his residence, is thrown open every day and one has full liberty to go about it at pleasure.  It is a popular resort, and on the day of our visit the number of people passing through the gate exceeded five hundred.  The gatekeeper assured us that a thousand visitors on a single day was not an uncommon occurrence.  The abbey stands in a wooded valley on the margin of a charming little river, and underneath and around the ruin is a lawn whose green loveliness is such as can be found in England alone.  There is no room in this record for the description of such a well known place or for its story.  The one feature which impressed us most, and which is one of the finest specimens of Norman architecture in England, is the great cellarium, where the monks stored their wine in the good old days.  The vaulted roof of this vast apartment, several hundred feet in length, is in perfect condition and shows how substantially the structure must have been built Fountains Abbey shared the fate of its contemporaries at the hand of Henry VIII, who drove the monks from its shelter, confiscating their property and revenues.  It was growing late when we left Ripon for York, but the road was perfect and we had no trouble in covering the twenty miles or more in about an hour.  We were soon made comfortable at the Station Hotel in York, one of the oldest and most interesting of the larger cities.