ill broad daylight in that upper region of the town, and would be so for
some time longer; but the evening atmosphere was getting sharp and cool.
We therefore descended the steep street,--our younger companion running
before us, and gathering such headway that I fully expected him to break
his head against some projecting wall.

In the morning we took a fly, (an English term for an exceedingly sluggish
vehicle,) and drove up to the Minster by a road rather less steep and
abrupt than the one we had previously climbed. We alighted before the west
front, and sent our charioteer in quest of the verger; but, as he was not
immediately to be found, a young girl let us into the nave. We found it
very grand, it is needless to say, but not so grand, methought, as the
vast nave of York Cathedral, especially beneath the great central tower of
the latter. Unless a writer intends a professedly architectural
description, there is but one set of phrases in which to talk of all the
cathedrals in England, and elsewhere. They are alike in their great
features: an acre or two of stone flags for a pavement; rows of vast
columns supporting a vaulted roof at a dusky height; great windows,
sometimes richly bedimmed with ancient or modern stained glass; an
elaborately carved screen between the nave and chancel, breaking the vista
that might else be of such glorious length, and which is further choked up
by a massive organ,--in spite of which obstructions, you catch the broad,
variegated glimmer of the painted east window, where a hundred saints wear
their robes of transfiguration. Within the screen are the carved oaken
stalls of the Chapter and Prebendaries, the Bishop's throne, the pulpit,
the altar, and whatever else may furnish out the Holy of Holies. Nor must
we forget the range of chapels, (once dedicated to Catholic saints, but
which have now lost their individual consecration,) nor the old monuments
of kings, warriors, and prelates, in the side-aisles of the chancel. In
close contiguity to the main body of the Cathedral is the Chapter-House,
which, here at Lincoln, as at Salisbury, is supported by one central
pillar rising from the floor, and putting forth branches like a tree, to
hold up the roof. Adjacent to the Chapter-House are the cloisters,
extending round a quadrangle, and paved with lettered tombstones, the more
antique of which have had their inscriptions half obliterated by the feet
of monks taking their noontide exercise in thes