fabric before him. His eyes rested upon its innumerable crocketed
pinnacles, its buttresses, its battlements, and upon the magnificent
rose-window terminating the choir. The apprentice had no especial love
for antiquity, but being of an imaginative turn, the sight of this
reverend structure conjured up old recollections, and brought to mind
the noble Collegiate Church of his native town.

"Shall I ever see Manchester again?" he sighed: "shall I take Amabel
with me there? Alas! I doubt it. If I survive the plague, she, I fear,
will never be mine."

Musing thus, he scanned the roof of the cathedral, and noticing its
stunted central tower, could not help thinking how much more striking
its effects must have been, when the lofty spire it once supported was
standing. The spire, it may be remarked, was twice destroyed by
lightning; first in February, 1444, and subsequently in June, 1561, when
it was entirely burnt down, and never rebuilt. Passing the Convocation
House, which then stood at one side of the southern transept, Leonard
struck down Paul's Chain, and turning to the right, speeded along Great
Knightrider-street, until he reached an old habitation at the corner of
the passage leading to Doctors' Commons.

Knocking at the door, an elderly servant presently appeared, and in
answer to his inquiries whether Doctor Hodges was at home, stated that
he had gone out, about half an hour ago, to attend Mr. Fisher, a
proctor, who had been suddenly attacked by the plague at his residence
in Bartholomew-close, near Smithfield.

"I am come on the same errand," said Leonard, "and must see your master
instantly."

"If you choose to go to Bartholomew-close," replied the servant, "you
may probably meet with him. Mr. Fisher's house is the last but two, on
the right, before you come to the area in front of the church."

"I can easily find it," returned Leonard, "and will run there as fast as
I can. But if your master should pass me on the road, beseech him to go
instantly to Stephen Bloundell's, the grocer, in Wood-street."

The servant assenting, Leonard hastily retraced his steps, and
traversing Blow-bladder-street and Saint-Martin's-le-Grand, passed
through Aldersgate. He then shaped his course through the windings of
Little Britain and entered Duck-lane. He was now in a quarter fearfully
assailed by the pestilence. Most of the houses had the fatal sign upon
their doors--a red cross, of a foot long, with the piteous words above