and similar Offices terribly to the blush, and are in the highest degree creditable to the zeal and ability of the present Registrar, Henry Raikes, Esq. {96} Half a century or so ago, the then deputy registrar was one Mr. Speed, a Joseph Andrews in his way, though scarcely perhaps so free from guile as that immaculate hero. Now it so happened that a frail daughter of Eve had found her way into Master Speed’s domain, probably to administer to some _will_ in his possession, or for divers other “urgent private affairs.” While thus engaged, a party from without required Mr. Deputy’s assistance; so locking the lady in the inner office, he turned to attend to his unseasonable visitor. Mademoiselle, finding herself immured, in so “wilful” a manner, in this dusky prison, and having the remembrance of MARSH and his martyrdom in her mind, became seriously alarmed. Having however, like most women, a “_will_ of her own,” she threw open the window which looks into Abbey Square, and springing out of it like a zephyr, quietly allowed herself to descend, buoyed up by her flowing garments, to the ground below! Some waggish artist has perpetuated the event in a characteristic sketch, displaying the “flight of the descending angel;” to which another sarcastic genius, the late Mascie Taylor, Esq., added this couplet:— Since women are so fond of men, With _Speed_ she will fly up again! Let us now pass on. Leaving behind us the ABBEY GATE and its bygone associations, we are once more in NORTHGATE STREET, and may stay to cast “one withering glance” at those melancholy-looking buildings on either side, the FOWL, BUTTER, and BUTCHERS’ MARKETS of the city. Hideous as specimens of architectural taste, destitute of convenience or comfort in use, furthermore heavy and cheerless to look upon, these Markets have, of themselves, nothing to rivet the attention of the sightseer. But the ground they stand on was in old time an open area; and here, from the time of the great Hugh Lupus to the glorious advent of the Reformation, did the monks of St. Werburgh hold their annual FAIR at the great feast of that saint. It was during one of these fairs that Earl Randle was besieged in Rhuddlan Castle by the Welsh, when attempting the subjugation of those Cambrian mountaineers. The Earl, perceiving the nice pickle he was in, despatched a messenger to De Lacy, his constable at Chester, a “ryght valiaunt manne,” who, rushing into the Fair, presently collected to his standard a “noble army of fiddlers” and drunken musicians—the “tag, rag, and bobtail” there assembled—and with these he forthwith set out to the relief of his beleagured lord. The Welsh, who had previously felt sure of their prey, seeing the immense host approach, and hearing withal the terrible discords of “harp, flute, sackbut, psaltery, and other kinds of music,” reasonably enough concluded that Bedlam was let loose; and with that doubtful sort of valour sometimes nicknamed discretion,