first inquiry that hunger taught us to make of a countryman, was for the
hotel. "Hotel! Hotel! Sir? Oh, the sign of the Tobacco Pipe! There it is
over the way." Rusticity and comfort often go together. We entered the
inn, homely as it was, quite certain that any transition must be
paradisaical, compared with our late hopeless condition.

After supper, I proposed to avail ourselves of the darkness, and to
inspect the Abbey by torch-light. This being acceded to, we all set off
to view the beautiful but mouldering edifice, where, by an artificial
light, the ruins might present a new aspect, and, in dim grandeur, assist
the labouring imagination. At the instant the huge doors unfolded, the
horned moon appeared between the opening clouds, and shining through the
grand window in the distance. It was a delectable moment; not a little
augmented by the unexpected green sward that covered the whole of the
floor, and the long-forgotten tombs beneath; whilst the gigantic ivies,
in their rivalry, almost concealed the projecting and dark turrets and
eminences, reflecting back the lustre of the torch below. In this season,
which ought to have been consecrated to reflection and silence, the daws,
nestling in their abodes of desolation, aroused from their repose by the
unusual glare, sailed over our heads in sable multitudes that added depth
to the darkness of the sky, while, in their hoarsest maledictions, they
seemed to warn off the intruders on "their ancient solitary reign."

On returning late to the Inn, I informed my companions, that there was at
no great distance a large iron foundry, never seen to perfection but at
night, and proposed our visiting it. Mr. Coleridge felt downright horror
at the thought of being again moved; considering that he had had quite
enough exercise for one day, and infinitely preferring the fire of his
host to the forge of the Cyclops. The ladies also rather shrunk from
encountering a second night expedition; but Mr. Southey cordially