We continued our walk back into the square at the rear of the church, and now met a very large crowd of people. No homeward-bound Catholic audience in our Boston outnumbers them. It seems a service had been held at 6.30 P. M., of which unfortunately we were not aware. We availed ourselves of the opportunity of the open house, and so had a good visit to the church itself. In one of the walls was a marble tablet set up to the memory of John Cotton. It was put there by American subscriptions, through the labors and efforts of Hon. Edward Everett. The tablet, and the great east window; this old tiled floor, on which we stood, so many times walked over by Boston's great minister; these walls and columns and arches, which for twenty years resounded with his voice,--how befitting were the influences to make holy to us the Sabbath. We had walked in the morning about the great cathedral at Lincoln, to which See this St. Botolph's pays allegiance and tribute, and where Cotton himself had many times worshipped, and had doubtless preached. We had perchance kept the early part of the day in a manner he would not approve; but now sunset had come, and freedom of action, according to his law of interpretation. Boston has yet remaining a few of the antique buildings, and they are prized highly. We saw one, a good specimen of the kind. It was of the timber-and-plaster construction, two stories high, with three gables; and all was recently put in perfect repair, and it is said to be 600 years old. Near the venerable church is the workingmen's reading-room, in which there is a case of books donated by our city of Boston, or, it may be, by some of her citizens. We were happy to be able to make a small contribution in the shape of half a dozen of our city newspapers--Heralds, Travellers, and Journals. We had taken a room at a quiet, comfortable, little commercial-travellers' house,--and most of England's towns have them,--and so now, at 10 P. M., after a good inspiring ramble along the other side of the river, among nice little two-story brick houses with their pretty gardens, we ended the day. Monday A. M., up early for a new ramble over the place. It appeared charmingly homelike. The good market-square was just being used, and stores, or shops, were opening. We must and did pass up once more into the burial-ground, or churchyard, of St. Botolph's. We admired over again the lofty tower and belfry, which is a landmark forty miles at sea. We tried to think of it, and see it as it is, hundreds after hundreds of years old. As the strong breeze of that clear morning blew over it, and whistled about its turrets, we saw its great power of resistance to storms, but the results of them were apparent. Time-worn, weather-beaten, and old it looked to be; and by-and-by came the thoughts that never do come early,--that all is ancient, and was very old before our country was thought of.