Remains of piers similar to these at Chesters have been found at Corbridge, where the Roman bridge over the Tyne was about 462 feet long, with eleven waterways, as compared with the four {80} waterways and 184 feet of length between the abutments here on the North Tyne. The waters of the North Tyne were very "low and placid" that day, as Dr. Bruce says they must be if the piers in the middle of the stream are to be seen. They also looked very cool and inviting; and so I soon found myself in the middle of the stream searching for the piers. There they were, both of them, just where they were sunk eighteen hundred years ago, with their pointed ends facing up-stream, to cleave a parting through the swirling waters when the river "came down." Then I searched for the western abutment, and finally landed on the Chesters side of the river, intending to link up the bridge with the fortifications there. But here I was on Chesters ground, and I had not paid my sixpence! Visions of tea at the _George_ also began to rise before me, so conscience and inclination for once pulling in the same direction, I put on my shoes and stockings and made tracks for the _George_. I went along the west bank of the river, and so passed the old mill-house, partly built of Roman stones, with a Roman altar built into a wall in the mill-yard, and a large Roman mortar standing by its back-door. Soon the familiar _George_ came into sight, but the familiar face of the landlord was not to be seen {81} outside. This was very unusual on a fine day, so I entered, and turned towards the office, expecting to find him there. Two men were seated there, half buried in papers, and they came forward to ask my business. I said I wanted a bed for the night, and would like to see Mrs. Simmonds. They sent for her, and she soon appeared, gave me a. kindly welcome, said they could quite well take me in for the night, and surely I must be wanting some tea? But the house seemed strangely quiet. I had my tea alone in the coffee-room, and then I wrote letters till dinner-time. One of the maids came to ask: "Will you be taking dinner?" "Certainly," I said, with some surprise. But when I found myself quite alone at dinner, I knew something was wrong, and I made inquiries of the waitress. "Why, yes," she said; "didn't you know? Haven't you seen the papers? Mr. Simmonds was buried yesterday." No, I had not heard; I had seen no papers since I left London, for I had been on the road all the time. After dinner, I hastened to see Mrs. Simmonds, to express my sympathy, and to explain what must have seemed my strange behaviour. And so the _George_ has lost its landlord; and many people have lost a kind friend and neighbour. From morning to night in fine weather his tall figure and cheery face, crowned with white hair, were to be seen outside the _George_, where he held himself {82} ready to extend a welcome to all who came. He will indeed be missed.