England--a title she has retained through all succeeding years.

Few towns in England can interest an educated man more. Its foundation
dates from years before the Christian era--how long before no man knows.
It is rich in history, secular as well as ecclesiastical. The Black
Prince, beloved and admired as few princes ever were, had a strong
attachment for it, and here lies buried. Opposite his tomb sleeps Henry
IV, the king who dethroned Richard II, son of this same Black Prince.
Thomas à Becket, and those marvelous pilgrimages that followed his murder
for three hundred years, have given it lasting renown. The "father of
English poetry" has still further immortalized it in his "Tales." Indeed,
there are few towns possessing so many claims on the attention of the
churchman, the antiquarian, and the man of letters.

One of the densest fogs I ever knew settled upon the ancient town the
morning after my arrival. It was impossible to see clearly across streets.
This fog increased the gloom which long ago came over these ancient
monuments and seemed to add something unreal to the air of solemn
greatness that appeared in every street and corner. Chance threw me into
Mercury Lane. Here at once was historic ground. On a corner of the lane
stands the very old inn that is mentioned by Chaucer as the resort of the
pilgrims whose deeds he has celebrated. It is now used by a linen-draper.
The original vaulted cellars and overhanging upper stories still remain.

Pressing onward, I soon reached a Gothic gateway, handsomely carved, but
sadly old and decayed. It led into the grass-covered cathedral yard.
Through the thick fog could now be distinguished some of the lofty
outlines of the majestic cathedral. Its central tower, which is among the
best specimens of the pointed style in England, could be seen faintly as
it rose ponderously into the clouded air. No picture, no figures, no mere