for antiquity, but being of an imaginative turn, the sight of this
reverend structure conjured up old recollections, and brought to mind
the noble Collegiate Church of his native town.

"Shall I ever see Manchester again?" he sighed: "shall I take Amabel
with me there? Alas! I doubt it. If I survive the plague, she, I fear,
will never be mine."

Musing thus, he scanned the roof of the cathedral, and noticing its
stunted central tower, could not help thinking how much more striking
its effects must have been, when the lofty spire it once supported was
standing. The spire, it may be remarked, was twice destroyed by
lightning; first in February, 1444, and subsequently in June, 1561, when
it was entirely burnt down, and never rebuilt. Passing the Convocation
House, which then stood at one side of the southern transept, Leonard
struck down Paul's Chain, and turning to the right, speeded along Great
Knightrider-street, until he reached an old habitation at the corner of
the passage leading to Doctors' Commons.

Knocking at the door, an elderly servant presently appeared, and in
answer to his inquiries whether Doctor Hodges was at home, stated that
he had gone out, about half an hour ago, to attend Mr. Fisher, a
proctor, who had been suddenly attacked by the plague at his residence
in Bartholomew-close, near Smithfield.

"I am come on the same errand," said Leonard, "and must see your master
instantly."

"If you choose to go to Bartholomew-close," replied the servant, "you
may probably meet with him. Mr. Fisher's house is the last but two, on