whole cargo fluttering and flying and whirling in the air, among the hedges, or sticking fast in the puddles of the road. How long they continued at this rate, I know not; nor how many hundred-weights of paper they thus distributed during their journey, I cannot say; but I know that our coachman amused himself all the way to Wigton by pointing out the paper relics that this eccentric couple had left behind them.

Bolton Gate contains a venerable-looking church, which the coachman informed me was built, according to the tradition of the country, by the Devil; not with his own good-will, however, but constrained to the service by that arch-wizard Michael Scott, of whom so many extraordinary stories are related. The coachman himself did not know the particulars, but there was, he said, an old man in the place who knew all about it; and would tell anybody as much as would fill a "newspaper," for a pint of ale. If I had been travelling on foot, I should have made it a point to find out this worthy, and "pluck the heart out of his mystery"; and regretting to the coachman that I was not able to do so, he reconciled me to the loss by the assertion that the old man was not always in the mood; and that he would sometimes remain for weeks together without opening his mouth to a human creature. "In fact," said he, "he is supposed to be a kind of Michael

Scott himself, and knows more than he ought to know."

Wigton stands in an open and exposed situation, and is an old-fashioned, quiet-looking town, but one that is said to be rapidly increasing in prosperity; partly from being on a line of railway, and partly from the number of cotton manufactories that have been established within the last five-and-twenty years. Its church is built with materials brought from the ruins of the Roman station of Old Carlisle, situated about a mile distant. The streets are wide, and well-built; and the whole place has an air of cleanliness and comfort. Immediately after alighting from the coach, I found myself in an omnibus bound for the railway station; and in half an hour afterwards was in the ancient city of Carlisle

No one versed in ballad lore-no reader of old poetry and romance, can approach Carlisle for the first time without pleasurable emotion. Carlisle is the border city-the city of King Arthur and his knights. It has been the scene of many a stout siege and bloody feud; of many a fierce foray, and mournful

execution, and of many a just punishment upon traitors and reivers. It is, consequently, not to be pictured to the imagination without unusual interest. Old traditions of events like these have made it among the most remarkable of the cities of England; and it would be difficult to name another around which are clustered so many memories of such various degrees of attraction to the poetical and historical antiquary. Its approach from the south, though striking, gives no idea of its antiquity and former feudalism. It is situated in an extensive plain, surrounded in the distance by mountains, amongst which Saddleback, Skiddaw, and Crossfell, are prominent; and from afar off, with the smoke of its households hanging over it, does undoubtedly impress the imagination with ideas of the romantic. Nearer approach, however, dissipates this illusion. We lose sight of the valley, being in it, and of the mountains, in the presence of immediate objects. Tall chimneys rear their heads in considerable numbers, pouring forth steam and smoke, and with square buildings and their numerous windows, prove incontestably that modern Carlisle is a manufacturing city, and has associations very different from those of its former history. On entrance, the contrast between the past and the present becomes still more vivid. We see that its walls and gates have disappeared; that its streets are clean, wide,

and comfortable, which no ancient streets in England ever were; and that it has altogether a juvenile, busy, and thriving appearance, giving few signs (to the eye at least) that it has been in existence above a century. It is true that two venerable relics, its Castle and its Cathedral, remain to attest its bygone grandeur and glory; but these are not immediately visible, and have to be sought out by the inquiring stranger; whilst all around him is modern and prosaic; and a mere reduplication of the same characteristics of English life and manners that he must have seen in a hundred other places. Still, however, it is "merrie Carlisle," and "bonnie Carlisle," although like all other mundane things it has been changed by time; and is quite as much King Arthur's city as England is King Arthur's England; and brimfull of associations which the traveller will be at no loss to recall, of the crime and sorrow,-the "fierce wars and faithful loves" of our ancestors from the year 800 downwards to 1745. Not that Carlisle is only a thousand years old. It has a much earlier origin than the year 800, having been founded by the Romans. By them it was called Luguballium, or Luguvallum, signifying the tower or station by the wall, and was so named from its contiguity to the wall of Severus. The Saxons, disliking this long and awkward name, abbreviated it into Luel; and afterwards in speaking of it, called it CAER-LUEL, or the