York gave birth, May 8, 1731, to Beilby Porteus, a distinguished prelate, who was chaplain to Secker, the Archbishop of Canterbury, in 1762, chaplain to George III. in 1769, Bishop of Chester in 1776, and Bishop of London, 1787, where he presided till his death, May 14, 1808. And she is also honored as being the birthplace of John Flaxman, the renowned sculptor, who was born July 6, 1755, and died at London, Dec. 9, 1826. Among his well-known productions are the monuments of the poet Collins at Winchester Cathedral, of Lord Nelson and of Howe, of Sir Joshua Reynolds, of Mansfield, and of Kemble. In early days he supported himself by making designs for the Wedgewoods, manufacturers of celebrated pottery and works of ceramic art; and by-and-by he astonished the world by his artistic illustration of Homer and Æschylus, and afterwards of Dante. He was also the author of Scriptural compositions,—excelling in fine diction as well as in deep religious fervor and pathos.

Here, a. d. 735, more than 1100 years ago, was born Flaccus Albinus Alcuin, even for that early day an eminent scholar and churchman, and a pupil of the Venerable Bede. He was a schoolmaster and librarian at the cathedral; and later, by invitation of Emperor Charlemagne, in 780, he went to France, probably to Aix la Chapelle, and opened a school, where his instructions were attended by the Emperor and his court; and this school is presumed to be the germ of the present University of Paris. He was the intimate friend and confidential adviser of the Emperor, and so even the destinies of nations are traced directly to him. Although he was the most learned man of his age, eloquent, pious, and renowned, yet his extreme modesty and fineness of temperament and nature caused him to shrink from the responsibilites of a bishop; and, though repeatedly urged to permit his ordination as such, he peremptorily refused, and would accept no higher office than that of deacon. He died lamented as few ever can be, May 19, 804, 1079 years ago.

Here was born in 1606, and died in 1682, Sir Thomas Herbert, the renowned traveller. Anticipating Stanley two and a half centuries, he published in 1634 his celebrated work, "Some Years' Travels into Africa, and the Great Asia, especially the Territories of the Persian Monarchy." He was made a baron by Charles II. Though a stanch and avowed Presbyterian, so kind was he, and so courteous in disposition and manner, that Charles I. retained him as one of his attendants to the last, long after all the others had been dismissed. We close the list of notable men by naming but one more of a vast number,—William Etty, the painter, born here March 10, 1787. He was a pupil of Sir Thomas Lawrence, and for a time unsuccessful; but in 1831 one of his pictures was admitted to the exhibition given by the Royal Academy, and this brought him before the public as an artist of ability. It was his "Cleopatra's Arrival at Celicia," in which the nude female form was depicted with remarkable correctness and voluptuous glow of color. He is now considered to have been one of the chief artists of the English school. He wrote his own biography, which was published in the London Art Journal in 1849. He died at York, Nov. 13, of the same year, at the age of sixty-two. The temptation is irresistible to add that in Keighly, a near town, on the 8th of December, 1823, was born that distinguished preacher and eminent lecturer, Rev. Robert Collyer, late of Unity Church, Chicago, now of the Church of the Messiah, New York; so that, by personal ties, Old and New York are worthily connected. Of the noble record of men of Yorkshire, there is none of which she may entertain a juster pride, than that of our great American divine.

We now leave York as a city, and her especial celebrities, to speak of two things of great interest to all tourists, viz: the remains of the abbey, and the famed York Minster. The Abbey of St. Mary, now a mass of elegant ruins, is not far from the Minster. It was founded by William Rufus, who was slain in the New Forest, Aug. 2, 1100. The college connected with the abbey was founded by Henry VI., who is believed to have been killed in the Tower of London in May, 1471. The grounds are acres in extent, and are well kept as a choice park, with great neatness and care. We enter them through a gate, at the side of which is a lodge, where tickets are procured, and guide-books, containing engravings, and an account of the premises from their first use for the abbey and its collegiate purposes. Elegant lawns and undulatory lands are here; grand old trees, large and vigorous; finely graded avenues and paths; clumps of flowering shrubs, among them the best of rhododendrons, which on the day of our visit were in fine bloom; and to add to the beauty of the scenery, sheep, such as England, and perhaps only Yorkshire, can boast; Jersey and Alderney cows quietly grazing,—neither sheep nor cows noticing the visitors, the best possible specimens of mind-their-own business-individuals seen on our whole journey. These all combine to give a tranquillity and finish to the landscape, such as befit the place now in use for centuries,—glorious in age, and charming in its loveliness.

The ruins are of the choicest and most enchanting kind, with high walls, columns, arches, mouldings, buttresses, and every detail in full, of window and door; and such a carpet of nice low-cropped but thick grass as is seldom seen. What finish everywhere! How little to touch in the way of repair or amendment! Here, as on all ruins, is the companion-like ivy, doing its good work. These ruins seem to be at home. The others we have seen appeared to have a solitary beauty; but here, so in the city, and surrounded by every-day life, finish, care, and animation, they are not companionless.

There is a sweet and indescribably good influence about a place like this. How one enjoys the odor of these flowers, the shade of these venerable trees, and of the walls themselves. How easy it is to commune in the extemporized reverie,—and it's no hard task here to extemporize one; how easy it is to "call up spirits from the vasty deep."

We examine the great things, and then sit down and admire; next we walk around and get new views. We think of novitiate, of nun, of monk, of collegian, dead and gone five hundred years. Next we go to the museum, a building on the grounds and part of the good premises. Between the main ruins and this building are small ruins, or evidences of things that were, but are not. We go in, and, as at the gate-lodge, a woman is in attendance, and desires a shilling, and we are willing, for the treat, to each give her one. We go in, and what interests are awakened! Old Rome herself can do no better. Not works of Englishmen are now to be examined, or of Briton even,—of Scot or of Celt, but of them of the Eternal City bred and born.

A new station for the railway was built a few years ago, and in digging for the foundation a large lot of things of Roman manufacture were found, which, with others once belonging to the venerable abbey, are now deposited here. Among the more noted objects of interest are stone coffins, in which are bodies, covered by a coarse cloth, and as they are imbedded in lime, it would appear that it must have been put about them in a liquid form. Some of these date back fifteen hundred years. Next are pieces of Roman pavement, into which are wrought various devices; and there are also many common, red-clay, earthen pots and jars, or vases of different sizes; a majority of them would hold about three gallons each. These were filled with ashes and burnt bones. They were nearly full, and the materials had either been forced in quite compactly or this solidity came by reason of age. In a glass case, some sixteen inches square and six inches deep, is the scalp of a Roman lady, almost entire, showing the brown hair very perfect, and arranged as it was at the time of her death. This was taken from a leaden coffin in which were found the remains, the date showing that they were buried full sixteen hundred years ago. There is also a display of pottery and household implements, old Roman statuary and utensils; and monumental stones and things of the kind are here in abundance.

Aside from these, and in addition, are many things once belonging to the abbey,—the whole a befitting appendage to these ancient grounds. It would seem that there is, in this famed enclosure alone, enough to amply repay one for a journey from America to York. If these ancient things could speak, they would want no more potent words put into their mouths than those of Burns, when he says