"And Milton, and Dryden, and Newton, and Locke! These are prodigious names, and worth all the Cæsars put together. And Pope, too; what have they got in Italy to compare to Pope?"
"They have at least the Pope," said Eve, laughing.
"And, then, there are the Boar's Head in East-Cheap; and the Tower; and Queen Anne, and all the wits of her reign; and--and--and Titus Oates; and Bosworth field; and Smithfield, where the martyrs were burned, and a thousand more spots and persons of intense interest in Old England!"
"Quite true," said John Effingham, with an air of sympathy--"but, Howel, you have forgotten Peeping Tom of Coventry, and the climate!"
"And Holyrood-House; and York-Minster; and St Paul's;" continued the worthy Mr. Howel, too much bent on a catalogue of excellencies, that to him were sacred, to heed the interruption, "and, above all, Windsor Castle. What is there in the world to equal Windsor Castle as a royal residence?"
Want of breath now gave Eve an opportunity to reply, and she seized it with an eagerness that she was the first to laugh at herself, afterwards.
"Caserta is no mean house, Mr. Howel; and, in my poor judgment, there is more real magnificence in its great stair-case, than in all Windsor Castle united, if you except the chapel."
"But, St. Paul's!"
"Why, St. Peter's may be set down, quite fairly, I think, for its pendant at least."
"True, the Catholics do say so;" returned Mr. Howel, with the deliberation one uses when he greatly distrusts his own concession; "but I have always considered it one of their frauds. I don't think there can be any thing finer than St. Paul's. Then there are the noble ruins of England! They, you must admit, are unrivalled."