'What a sight for an antiquarian!' were the very words which fell from Mr Pickwick's mouth, as he applied his telescope to his eye.

Ah! fine place,' said the stranger, 'glorious pile - frowning walls - tottering arches - dark nooks - crumbling staircases - old cathedral too - earthy smell - pilgrims' feet wore away the old steps - little Saxon doors - confessionals like box offices at theatres - queer customers those monks - popes, and lord treasurers.

All sorts of old fellows, with great red faces, and broken noses, turn up every day - sarcophagus - fine place - old legends too - strange stories: capital;' and the stranger continued to soliloquise until they reached the Bull Inn, in the High Street, where the coach stopped.

'Do you remain here, Sir?' inquired Mr Nathaniel Winkle.