But in England, the interior of a
cathedral, nine days out of ten, is a vast sullenness, and as chill as
death and the tomb. At any rate, it was so to-day, and so thought one of
the old vergers, who kept walking as briskly as he could along the width
of the transepts. There were several of these old men when I first came
in, but they went off, all but this one, before I departed. None of them
said a word to me, nor I to them; and admission to the Minster seems to
be entirely free.
After emerging from this great gloom, I wandered to and fro about York,
and contrived to go astray within no very wide space. If its history be
authentic, it is an exceedingly old city, having been founded about a
thousand years before the Christian era. There used to be a palace of
the Roman emperors here, and the Emperor Severus died here, as did some
of his successors; and Constantine the Great was born here. I know not
what, if any, relics of those earlier times there may be; but York is
still partly surrounded with a wall, and has several gates, which the
city authorities take pains to keep in repair. I grow weary in my
endeavor to find my way back to the railway, and inquired it of one of
the good people of York,--a respectable, courteous, gentlemanly person,--
and he told me to walk along the walls. Then he went on a considerable
distance; but seemed to repent of not doing more for me; so he waited
till I came up, and, walking along by my side, pointed out the castle,
now the jail, and the place of execution, and directed me to the
principal gateway of the city, and instructed me how to reach the ferry.
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