om the heart of that old city, from
amidst mighty trees, I beheld towering to the sky the finest spire in the
world.

After I had looked from the Roman rampart for a long time, I hurried
away, and, retracing my steps along the causeway, regained the road, and,
passing over the brow of the hill, descended to the city of the spire.

CHAPTER LXII.

And in the old city I remained two days, passing my time as I best
could--inspecting the curiosities of the place, eating and drinking when
I felt so disposed, which I frequently did, the digestive organs having
assumed a tone to which for many months they had been strangers--enjoying
at night balmy sleep in a large bed in a dusky room, at the end of a
corridor, in a certain hostelry in which I had taken up my
quarters--receiving from the people of the hostelry such civility and
condescension as people who travel on foot with bundle and stick, but who
nevertheless are perceived to be not altogether destitute of coin, are in
the habit of receiving. On the third day, on a fine sunny afternoon, I
departed from the city of the spire.

As I was passing through one of the suburbs, I saw, all on a sudden, a
respectable-looking female fall down in a fit; several persons hastened
to her assistance. "She is dead," said one. "No, she is not," said
another. "I am afraid she is," said a third. "Life is very uncertain,"
said a fourth. "It is Mrs. ---" said a fifth; "let us carry her to her
own house." Not being able to render any assistance, I left the poor
female in the hands of her townsfolk, and proceeded on my way. I had
chosen a road in the direction of the north-west, it led over downs where
corn was growing, but where neither tree nor hedge were to be seen; two
or three hours' walking brought me to a beautiful valley, abounding with
trees of various kinds, with a delightful village at its farthest
extremity; passing through it I ascended a lofty acclivity, on the top of
which I sat down on a bank, and taking off my hat, permitted a breeze,
which swept coolly and refreshingly over the downs, to dry my hair,
dripping from the effects of exercise and the heat of the day.

And as I sat there, gazing now at the blue heavens, now at the downs
before me, a man came along the road in the direction in which I had
hitherto been proceeding: just opposite to me he stopped, and, looking at
me, cried: "Am I right for London, master?"

He was dressed like a sailor, and appeared to