We passed one of its old picturesque towers, from whose top Charles the First, poor, weak, unhappy king, looked down and saw his troops defeated by the Parliamentary army on the adjacent plain.

A little farther on, one of these picturesque towers is turned to the use of a Museum, whose stock, though scanty, I examined with singular pleasure, for it had been made up by truly filial contributions from, all who had derived benefit from Chester, from the Marquis of Westminster--whose magnificent abode, Eton Hall, lies not far off--down to the merchant's clerk, who had furnished it in his leisure hours with a geological chart, the soldier and sailor, who sent back shells, insects, and petrifactions from their distant wanderings, and a boy of thirteen, who had made, in wood, a model of its cathedral, and even furnished it with a bell to ring out the evening chimes.

Many women had been busy in filling these magazines for the instruction and the pleasure of their fellow-townsmen.

Lady -- --, the wife of the captain of the garrison, grateful for the gratuitous admission of the soldiers once a month,--a privilege of which the keeper of the Museum (a woman also, who took an intelligent pleasure in her task) assured me that they were eager to avail themselves,--had given a fine collection of butterflies, and a ship.

An untiring diligence had been shown in adding whatever might stimulate or gratify imperfectly educated minds.