Let us mount the rugged steps, and having reached the summit, gaze awhile on the beautiful scene before us. [Picture: Phœnix Tower, from the Canal] To our left is the suburb of Newtown, a creation of the present century,—the modest little spire of Christ Church pointing to the thoughtful wayfarer another and a better world. Yonder, just visible above the intervening buildings, the noble façade of the Railway Station arrests the eye. Farther to the right, the Lead Works’ Shot Tower again presents itself; while beneath us, at a depth of about forty feet, the sleepy Canal flows languidly along, scarce a ripple distracting its glassy surface. The bridge that crosses it is Cowlane Bridge, whence we obtained the first glimpse of the Cathedral, _en route_ from the station. Just over the canal is the new CATTLE MARKET, the Cestrian Smithfield,—translated hither from Northgate Street in 1849. That heavy-looking building just over the Bridge is the Independent Chapel in Queen Street; while full south, the lofty steeple and church of St. John “lend enchantment to the view.” Beyond all these, some ten or a dozen miles away, the rocky heights of Beeston salute the eye, capped with the ruins of a Castle, built by Earl Randle Blundeville,—a fortress which was several times taken and retaken by the Royalists and Roundheads in the great Civil War. To the right again, the stately form of the fine old Cathedral, like a nursing mother, watches peacefully o’er the city. THE WALLS beneath us are full of interest to the archæologist, for through almost their entire length between this Tower and the Eastgate, the old Roman masonry may yet be distinguished, forming the lower courses nearest the foundations. As we once more look up, and read yon quaint yet melancholy inscription, our minds will of necessity revert back to that sad September day, when Charles the First stood on this very spot and saw his gallant cavaliers borne down by the grim soldiers of Oliver Cromwell’s army. For three years he had maintained a doubtful contest with his Parliament; and though for a time the successes of his troops in the western counties had given a fitful gleam of prosperity to his sinking fortunes, the tide had now turned, and one disaster followed another in quick succession. On the fields of Naseby and Marston Moor he had been signally defeated. Bristol had fallen; Prince Rupert had been disgraced and sent beyond the seas; and the prospect daily grew darker. Chester remained firm; and hither Charles had come to encourage his loyal subjects, and give to the battle which seemed inevitable, the cheering influence of his kingly presence. The city had been besieged for some months, and the houses in the suburbs were mostly destroyed.