D. 61, when it was erected by the Romans. Twelve years later, Marius, king of the Britons, extended the wall. The Britons were defeated under it in 607, and after a lapse of three centuries, it was rebuilt by the daughter of Alfred the Great. It has a long and eventful history, and the old Cathedral whose edge it skirts, is one of the largest and most ancient in England. The sculptures in this magnificent edifice are worn smooth by the hand of time. The stained glass windows are marvels of art, the groined arches, dreamy cloisters, and antique carving upon seats and pews fill one with admiration mingled with awe. There are many fine mosaics here, and specimens of wood from the Holy Land. Costly gems adorn the choir; here too is a Bible whose cover is inlaid with precious stones. The massive Gothic pillars are still in a perfect state of preservation, as well as the numerous ancient monuments and relics of the past. The vast size of the Cathedral is a perpetual source of wonder to the stranger, who, wandering among its curious historic mementos, gazing upon its storied nave, transepts and choir, and upon the Bible scenes pictured in these glorious windows, feels that he has been transported by some magician’s hand into an age long buried in the past. The Cathedral is said to have been founded in the year 200. Its height within, from floor to the lofty dome lighted by these exquisite windows is from sixty to one hundred feet. The Church of St. John the Baptist rivals the Cathedral in antiquity, but it is now a picturesque ruin covered with moss and ivy.

Chester itself contains many antiquities that are to be found nowhere else in the world. The houses, dating back to 1500, or even earlier, are of every degree of shade and color, with little windows with diamond-shaped panes, and gable ends facing the streets whose sidewalks are on a level with the second stories. Everything here seems to belong to the past, excepting the fine, modern station, ten hundred and fifty feet long, with its projecting iron roofed wings for the protection of vehicles waiting for passengers from the trains. This station is one of the longest in England. The famous Chester Rows are public passages running through the second stories of the houses facing the four principal streets. These arcades are reached by flights of steps at the corners of the streets, and contain some very attractive shops. The old timber-built houses of Chester with their curious inscriptions are all preserved in their original ancient style, and nowhere in England can the artist or photographer find a more interesting spot, or one richer in ancient and mediæval relics than this little town.

“Wayside Inn, New Brighton.”   (See page 31.)

The quaint old taverns carry one back, back, to the life of the past. Drop in at the Bear & Billet Inn some day, or The Falcon Inn, and yield yourself up to the charming mediæval atmosphere of the place. Seat yourself at the little table beside the window, and look out upon the same scene which your English ancestors looked upon more than two hundred years ago. The landlord’s wife will bring you a foaming tankard of ale. It is the same tankard from which your forefathers quenched their thirst, and if you are of a contented, philosophical temperament, you will experience the same comfort and enjoyment as they, in this truly English beverage. If you are not fired with enthusiasm by this old-time picture, wend your way to the banks of the River Dee, where you may paint the greens in every variety of light and shade, with one of the picturesque old farmhouses which abound here in the foreground, and some “blooded” cattle resting quietly beneath the wide-spreading branches of the trees. Or here is the single wide arch of Grosvenor Bridge crossing the river, with a span of two hundred feet. This is one of the largest stone arches in Europe. Or here is a bit of the old wall skirting the water, and the charming picture of the Old Bridge, which dates back to the thirteenth century; and here too are the vast mills of the Dee, associated with the history and traditions of eight hundred years. With its surrounding country, and the succession of lovely gardens bordering the Dee, surely Chester is one of the choice spots in England for the lover of the quaint and beautiful. Within the pretty residences of the suburbs may be found all the comforts and recreations of a happy prosperous family life, united with genuine English hospitality, and a cordial welcome for the stranger. The owner of one of these charming homes orders up his cart, and insists upon taking us for a drive through this delightful locality, and for miles and miles our hearts and eyes are captivated by lovely landscapes and enchanting bits of scenery. We wind up with a cup of good hot tea, thinly cut buttered bread, and other dainties.

“Typical English houses with their massive thatched roofs.”   (See page 31.)

A decided change from the ancient and mediæval associations of Chester is the prosperous city of Leamington, a watering-place situated on the Leam River, a tributary of the Avon. The natural mineral springs discovered here in 1797 have proved the source of great benefit to this town, as the springs are highly recommended by physicians, and many invalids resort thither. But as health is not our object in coming, we do not follow the popular custom, but proceeding to the banks of the River Leam, engage one of the many small boats which may be hired, and drift leisurely down the stream with the current, revelling in the wealth of beauty which surrounds us. Hundreds of lovely nooks disclose themselves to our eager eyes—typical English scenes—and as we float along life assumes an ideal aspect under the witchery of this picturesque river. Here are old farmhouses in the foreground, with their richly cultivated fields stretching away for hundreds of acres, and here are velvet lawns, with their dainty high-bred air, surrounding noble homes, stately and silent. Now a group of merry children dance about the water side, and a great Newfoundland dog dashes wildly into the stream after a ball or stick, swimming gallantly out until he seizes his prize. How the children scream and run away as he rushes joyously up to them, shaking the spray over their dresses and into their faces. Oh fair River Leam! these lofty elms and giant oaks that look down upon your waters love you, and we too, strangers from a foreign shore, here yield our tribute of loving praise for the happy hours we owe to you, lingering often, reluctant to leave some especially charming spot where the branches of the trees overhang the stream, and touch our faces with soft caressing fingers.

This scene too fades