spring like branches of trees intertwining in beautiful shapes, and its roof, as I viewed it from the lantern tower, seemed like a concentric group of stone-ribbed arches. This fine old roof is often quoted as one of the greatest architectural antiquities of Great Britain, and it suggested to the celebrated architect, Sir James Hall, his fine idea, which he beautifully elaborated in many learned treatises and fine engravings, that the arch, as a form of architecture, in all its varied specimens, was suggested to the mind by the beautiful shapes taken by the branches of trees. Before the ancient fire-place, in which a bright fire was burning, the turnspit was still moving, the cooks were busy at their duties at the table in the centre; around the centre room, are ranges of ovens of immense size, once used by the monks who cooked their own viands; near there were almonries; beneath the windows are apertures in the wall made to distribute food to the poor. The whole establishment is still busy with life, every portion used, and kept in the neatest order. They have been digging lately in the Deanery, for the purpose of building an ice-house, and to their great surprise they struck upon a stone door, which after much labor, being opened, led to a winding passage, in the heart of an immensely thick stone wall; following this passage, it opened, eventually, through a similar stone door, into a very fine large crypt of stone, with Norman arches. The excavations were only commenced last summer, and have not yet been completed, and it appeared to me, as I stood within the crypt, that they

had not yet got down to the ancient pavement, although they have cleaned it out to the depth of some eight feet throughout.

Leaving the Deanery by the garden, I crossed the cathedral close to the castle, now the college of Durham. It is a castle built by the Conqueror; its massive portal, great keep and towers, closely resemble Alnwick castle, although the extent of the building is not near as large. A convocation of the Chapter had been called to meet in the hall of the college about the time I entered, which was 2, P. M., and the canons in their robes were hastening up the great stone stairway of the grand entrance; I was thus prevented from seeing the fine college halls, but, however, was very politely conducted through some of its fine rooms. I went into the dining hall, wainscoted and roofed in black oak of the era, one might almost believe, of the Conqueror himself. Here are some fine portraits of the bishops, deans, and canons, and one particularly struck my attention, that of Dr. Wellesley, the brother of the Duke of Wellington, who holds a canon stall here. Take off the clerical dress, and it would be a perfect likeness of the Duke. I went up the grand oak staircase built by Bishop Cosin, tempore Charles II., covered with ornamental carving, till I reached the magnificently decorated Norman doorway, which leads to the college rooms. Since visiting Durham, I have seen many of the finest castles and cathedrals of the proud old days of England, but no doorway, save those of rare and exquisite Melrose Abbey can approach it. I looked through the

curious old rooms where the bishops and the judges on their circuit are lodged, full of rare antique furniture. The bell, for the luncheon of the students, was ringing, and the convocation was assembling in the hall, and though reluctantly, I was obliged to leave this grand old castle, and return, delighted, though much wearied with my day's ramble, to my

inn.

R. D.

From the Literary World, New York, October 16th, 1847.

A VISIT TO MARTIN FARQUHAR TUPPER.

JUNE 19, 1847.

A few days since, having received a long and cordial invitation from Mr. Tupper to come down from London, and spend a day with him, at his seat in the Vale of Albury, near the Town of Guilford, County of Surrey, I took an early train this morning, from the Nine Elms station, at Vauxhall Bridge, for Guilford. It was a lovely ride of some two hours; through a country cultured like a garden, and rich with the promise of a full harvest. Mr. Tupper's house was about four miles of carriage drive from the Guilford Station. His invitation had fully detailed the time and manner of travel down from town; and also sketched a programme for the occupation of the day, which we abundantly fulfilled.

His seat is just out of the village of Albury. It is a house somewhat in the style of the reign of Charles I.; and

indeed one portion of it in the interior is but little changed. With its heavy black-oak staircase-its small and loopholelike chambers, and narrow lancet-gothic windows, it needs but little to imagine yourself in some stronghold of the past ages. The house stands in the lap of a sweet valley, surrounded on all sides by fine rolling hills; it is quite large, with a circular little park in front, in which there were some Lebanon cedars, Spanish oaks, and fine yews. Its entrance

is

a gothic portal on the south side, and along this front planted arbor-wise, were twined many beautiful climbing roses. I sent in my card; and was ushered into the drawing-room, a large and elegant room at the west end of the house, with French casement windows. On either side of the door are two large carved ebony cabinets, richly inlaid with medallions; above the mantel is a superb Guido, representing a life-size of Diana, rising with her crown in her hand, above the rolling world; opposite are some fine things by Teniers and Vandyck, and the remaining space on the sides of the room is well covered with the masters: and between the two further windows, on a composite revolving pedestal is an excellent life-size statue of 'The Girl tying her Sandal,' the chef d'œuvre of Rudolph Schadow. The furniture in the room was of course in good taste. I waited a moment; and soon Mr. Tupper came in with a joyous welcome. He is short in person, and his countenance is a striking portrait of our own Washington Irving. He is young—just 36 ; and after graduating at Oxford, inheriting a considerable estate, and being anxious to

marry (for his affections had been enthralled quite early in life,) his father decided that, before marriage, he should adopt some profession. In compliance with his father's wishes, he, as it is styled, "ate" through his terms at Lincoln's Inn, was called to the Bar in due time, married, and settled in this delightful spot. We talked a while together about America and her authors; and he said that his reading had been lately turned towards America, from the favor wherewith they had received his writings, adding that he looked on every American as at least his cousin by a common descent from the same old English stock. He talked on delightedly and with deep and unrestrained feeling about our Longfellow, Bryant, Irving, Willis, and others; praised Edgar Poe's tales, and a poem by Cornelius Matthews; flying about like one unaccustomed to discipline the energies of a full mind, he read to me almost in the same breath, the two following poems about Ascot, written in the circumstances he describes, upon the Queen's Day, June 3d, 1847, when John Day, the owner of the Horse, Hero, won the racing prize, the annual Vase presented by the Emperor of Russia. I should add too, for the benefit of the New Yorkers who may not be as intimately acquainted with the localities, that Ascot is about thirty odd miles from Albury, over a fine road, which Mr. Tupper, of course, performed in the English fashion, on the back of his own pony.