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KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



once opulent and splendid city, boasting 

 greater antiquity than any part of London. 

 Whilst we were engaged in separating from 

 these wondrous ruins some small specimens 

 for our friends at home (ever and anon 

 gazing at that noble abbey, whose frowning 

 walls seemed to tower over the old town 

 with severe solemnity), a smart shower of 

 rain came down ; but to cheer us, from a 

 little wood hard by, sweet Philomel poured 

 forth some of his richest, most enchanting 

 melodies, which positively riveted us to the 

 spot. Time, however, which flew too fast, 

 compelled us to return to the abbey. 



After having visited the whole of this 

 venerable edifice, its magnificent porch, its 

 massive columns, its noble arches, Saint 

 Cuthbert's screen, the splendid canopies, 

 rich cornice work, ornamental niches, richly- 

 carved pinnacles, beautifully-sculptured 

 screen-work, the beaded mouldings, the 

 singular capitals, the painted ceiling of the 

 nave, transept, and choir — our worthy 

 Editor with his junior companion mounted to 

 the outside of the tower. Bombyx, for very 

 valid reasons, thought it more prudent, 

 during their progress upwards, to examine 

 the lov-er part of the building. He had 

 before (November 1, 1853) made an effort to 

 reach the top ; but it was all of no use. 

 Having edged himself in, and squeezed side- 

 ways as far as he could, he was fairly brought 

 to a stand-still. He became very nearly a 

 fixture, about one third of the way up ; and 

 for some short time was fairly "in for it." 

 However, after a good push downwards and 

 sideways, he once more extricated himself; 

 and determined not to repeat the experi- 

 ment. 



Whilst his companions were enjoying what 

 little scenery the heaviness of the weather 

 permitted, Bombyx went down to the tomb 

 of the "good Duke Humphrey " and con- 

 templated his bald skull ; and when returning 

 from this tete-a-tete with the skeleton of 

 the great Duke of Gloucester, could not help 

 ejaculating, " Blessed Lord, have mercy on 

 me !" He then directed his steps to the 

 north wall of the transept, which is green to 

 a certain extent with damp and moss ; and 

 had a long conversation with some singu- 

 lar spiders and eentipedes. He also packed 

 up a quantity of fat old Blaps mortisago, very 

 imperfect indeed. One fellow, however, who 

 had only lost his left hind leg, Bombyx 

 brought home as a souvenh . Numbers of 

 these insects were found ; but all were either 

 dead or sadly mutilated. 



The party being now reassembled, and hav- 

 ing still an hour and a half to spare, started 

 in the direction of St. Michael s, a curious 

 old church founded by Albert Ulsinus, about 

 the middle of the tenth century. This is a 

 very small, compact, but curious building, 



bearing internal proofs of its being of great 

 age. 



In the porch of the door by which we en- 

 tered, is still seen an ancient stone coffin, 

 said to have been buried upwards of 1500 

 years ago. The remains of our forefathers 

 were certainly much more solidly encased 

 than those of our present cousins. What a 

 coffin was that ! On the opposite side of this 

 porch, is part of a painting representing the 

 " Day of Judgment " This is a most singu- 

 lar production, and as singular must have 

 been the conception of the artist. What a 

 strange idea he must have had of the " Day 

 of Judgment ! " Still it is decidedly original. 

 I am no connoisseur in these matters, and 

 shall not attempt to describe it. Let those 

 of the readers of Our Journal, who wish 

 to see it, make a journey on purpose. 



I have also purposely avoided affixing 

 any date as to the building of the abbey, 

 the flourishing period of ancient Verulam 

 &c, &c. 



I wish Our Journal to be perfectly cor- 

 rect in what it promulgates ; and as there 

 may be some difference of opinion amongst 

 antiquarians upon these points, and I being 

 no antiquarian myself, I am not able to form 

 a correct judgment. I shall therefore merely 

 remark that, in my opinion, Verulam must 

 have existed in some comparative degree 

 of note prior to the Christian era. 



We now began to think once more of the 

 " Peahen," and directed our steps towards 

 our kind hostess's snug dining-room ; and as 

 we approached a certain hostel, called the 

 "Saracen's Head," our olfactory nerves were 

 made sensible of there being a most ex- 

 quisitely-pungent odor in the neighborhood. 

 Those of your readers who have found them- 

 selves, on a lovely spring morning, in the 

 middle of a fine vineyard, when every vine is 

 in full bloom (in the south of France, Ger- 

 many, or Switzerland, &c.)— can readily 

 imagine what this odor was not. Glad were 

 we to quicken our pace as much as possible ; 

 wondering how any mortal being could exist 

 near the " Saracen's Head." Even old Fino 

 dropped his tail as he sniffed in the pesti- 

 lential atmosphere. Surely this good city 

 would be all the better for a visit from the 

 Board of Health ! 



Most truly thankful were we to find our- 

 selves at some distance from the "Saracen's 

 Head." Lucky indeed was it, that our dinner 

 was not ordered there. It would have re- 

 mained untasted. 



And now, good readers, just fancy " Our 

 little Editor " at the head of the festive 

 table at the "Peahen" — Old Bombyx 

 facing him ; his son on the left ; and old 

 Fjno stretched out before the fire. Did 

 we not wish for a few of the amiable and 

 choice Correspondents of " Our Journal ?" 



