Now all this is lost and thrown away (for one always serves oneself badly,) like many better things:—for example, a wondrously beautiful tree in some American wilderness, which every spring decks itself in vain with the richest foliage and the most fragrant blossoms, where no human being can gladden his senses and his spirit by its sweetness. Such an existence we call useless. What amiable egotism!—and under its unjust sentence I too must suffer, for those above-mentioned virtues of mine are just as useless;—nay, my whole person would probably be so, were I not of substantial use to the post-boys and waiters, who take my money; and valuable to you, my kind friend, (‘je m’en flatte au moins,’) on other grounds. So that I do not live in the world absolutely and utterly for nothing; and, as on the other hand I hurt nobody, my account stands tolerably fair after striking a balance.
This whole day I have been wandering about the town. I began with the cathedral, which may be compared to that of Milan for the richness of its ornaments, as well as for its size. The founder was Archbishop Scrope, (one of Shakespeare’s personages,) whom Henry the Fourth beheaded as a rebel in 1405. He lies buried in the church; and in the chapter-house is a table covered with a piece of tapestry belonging to him, and embroidered with his arms. It is still in tolerable preservation. The windows in the church are chiefly of old stained glass, only here and there repaired with new. The carving in stone is everywhere admirable, and has all the delicacy and elegance of carved wood, representing all sorts of foliage, animals, angels, &c. One of the great windows is not less than seventy-five feet high and thirty-two broad. That at the other end represents, by its strange stone ramifications, the veins of the human heart, and, with its blood-red glass, produces a curious effect. One of the side windows is remarkable for being painted in imitation of embroidery; it is like a gay carpet. In the choir is an old chair in which several Kings of England were crowned. I sat down in it, and found it, for stone, very comfortable; I dare say I should have thought it still more so if it had been the preparation for a throne.
Near the church is a very pretty Gothic library, the arrangements of which appeared to me very well contrived. Every book has three numbers on the back. At the top, that of the shelf, then that of the compartment, and below, its own number; so that it can be found in a moment. The numbers are on pretty little labels, and do not at all deform the books. In one corner is a very light and convenient staircase leading to the gallery, which runs about midway round the room.
The alphabetical catalogue is arranged as follows:
Page 20.
| Form. | Letter C. | Edition. | Shelf. | Compartment. | Number. |
| 8vo. | Cosmo, &c. | Verona 1519 | II. | 7 | 189-192 |
| 4to. | Cavendish | London 1802 | I. | 5 | 52-55 |
| Folio | Colley | London 1760 | XI. | 3 | 1080-1082 |
| 12mo | Corneille | Paris 1820 | X. | 6 | 920-930 |
This will suffice to make it clear to you; and as I know by experience what a difficult matter the arranging of a library is, and how many are the ways of doing it, I send you this scheme, as very well suited to a small collection of books.
I could not get a sight of any of the rare books or manuscripts kept here, as the librarian was absent. In a corner I found a very curious drawing of the procession at the great Marlborough’s funeral. It is almost incredible how totally the dresses and customs have altered even since that time. The aged clerk who conducted me about, said he remembered when a boy to have seen soldiers with long bag-wigs like those in the picture.
About three-quarters of a mile from the Minster, on a hill near to the town, are the romantic ruins of St. Mary’s Abbey, overgrown with trees and ivy. The people here have the not very praiseworthy project of erecting a public building on the same hill: they have even begun to dig the foundation; in doing which they have come upon some of the most beautiful remains of the old abbey, as perfect as if executed yesterday. I saw several exquisite capitals still in the earth, and in a neighbouring house, admirable bas-reliefs which have been deposited there while the work is going on. We crossed the river Ouse in a boat, and continued our walk along the top of the old city wall,—a picturesque but rather impracticable way. The surrounding country is very fresh and green; and the numerous Gothic towers of the town give great diversity and beauty to the prospect. After a quarter of an hour’s walk, we reached the Micklegate, from which the old barbican has been pulled down, but which has otherwise retained its original form. The gorgeous arms of York and England glittered upon it with knightly splendour.
In an adjoining field a Roman tomb was discovered fifteen years ago, and the owner who found it, now exhibits it in his cellar. The arch, of Roman brick, is perfectly fresh: the skeleton, lying in a stone coffin beneath, is pronounced by anatomists to be that of a young woman; and, (which is saying a good deal at the end of two thousand years,) she has still ‘des beaux restes,’—splendid teeth, and a beautifully formed skull. I examined the organs carefully, and found all the most desirable qualities; to such a degree, indeed, that I could not help regretting making her acquaintance two thousand years too late, or I should certainly have married her. A better organized cranium I shall never find—that’s certain. She does not seem to have been rich, for nothing was found in her coffin but two glass bottles,—very curious things in themselves, more perfect and more like our glass than any I ever saw, except at Pompeii. It is distinguishable from ours only by its silvery shine, and exhibits no mark of having been blown, though no means have been discovered of concealing such marks in any of our uncut glass. The British Museum has offered the possessor a large sum for these glasses. He finds it, however, more advantageous to show the curiosities himself, at a ‘thaler’ of our money a-head.