or Alfred--it matters not which; they were only a
century or two apart, and that space is but a trifling circumstance
in the history of this old country. One of these kings appointed an
officer called a "wakeman" for the town. He must originally have
been a kind of secular beadle of the community, or a curfew
constable, to see the whole population well a-bed in good season.
One of his duties consisted in blowing a horn every night at nine
o'clock as a signal to turn in. But a remarkable consideration was
attached to faithful compliance with this summons. If any house or
shop was robbed before sunrise, a tax was levied upon every
inhabitant, of 4d. if his house had one outer door, and of 8d. if it
had two. This tax was to compensate the sufferer for his loss, and
also to put the whole community under bonds to keep the peace and to
feel responsible for the safety of each other's property. Thus it
not only acted as a great mutual insurance company of which every
householder was a member, but it made him, as it were, a special
constable against burglary. This old Saxon institution is in full
life and vigor to-day. The wakeman is still the highest secular
official of the town. For a thousand consecutive years the
wakeman's toot-horn has been blown at night over the successive
generations of the little cathedral city. This is an interesting
fact, full of promise. No American could fail to admire this
conservatism who appreciates national individuality. No one, at
heart, could more highly esteem these salient traits of a people's
character. And here I may as well put in a few thoughts on this
subject as at any stage of my walk.

Good-natured reader, are you a man of sensitive perceptions as to
the proprieties and dignities of dress and deportment which should
characterise some great historical personage whose name you have
held in profound veneration all your life long? Now, in the wayward
drift of your imagination among the freaks of modern fashion, did it
ever dare to present before your eyes St. Paul in strapped
pantaloons, figured velvet vest, swallow-tailed coat, stove-pipe
hat, and a cockney glass at his eye? Did your fancy, in its wildest
fictions, ever pass such an image across the speculum of your mental
vision?

Gentle reader, "in maiden meditation, fancy free," did a dreamy
thought of yours ever stray through the histories of your sex and
its modes of dress and adornment, and so blend or transpose