itself is nearly concealed by an overgrowth of vegetation.
A little further on, the road, which here travels on the site of the wall, is carried over a small stream, by a culvert of Roman masonry four feet in width, and the same in height.
Beyond the sixteenth mile-stone, on the ascent of the hill of Stagshaw Bank, the ancient Watling Street crosses the road at right angles. This road, planned for the promotion of intercourse between the northern and southern parts of Britain, appears, in many parts, very perfect. A fort called Portgate formerly stood here to guard a passage through the wall, but no traces of it remain. We had walked thus far along the line of the wall, noting its features as we went along; but before proceeding further it was agreed that we should stay a while, both at Corbridge and Hexham, in order to make a survey of those places and their surroundings. We, therefore, returned upon our track as far as Halton Castle, and proceeded, passing Aydon Castle, romantically situated on the edge of the steep and wooded banks of a stony brook; and, anon, we found ourselves snugly established at the Angel inn at Corbridge, in the full enjoyment of a goodly refection, being a compromise between tea and dinner.
After this refreshment, we sauntered by the margin of the Tyne, accompanied by our intelligent host, to see the vestiges of the Roman bridge which crossed the river, about half a mile to the west of Corbridge. The water being low, these remains were clearly visible, consisting of large masonry with luis holes bound together by strong leaden cramps, but the traces of the station with which the bridge communicated have become almost entirely obliterated. 
Bust of Mercury built into the wall of a cottage at Corbridge.Camden conjectures this to have been the Curia Ottadinarum, noted by Ptolemy, but Horsley makes it the Corstopitum of Antoninus. It is said, by tradition, that King John had the area of this station dug up in all directions, in a search for treasure which, as he believed, lay buried there. On sallying forth the following morning, H was struck by the odd appearance of a small bust of Roman sculpture, apparently—by the appurtenance of the caduceus—a head of Mercury. This had been built in over the door of a cottage. It was painted black with a white neck-tie. While he stood, with his hands in his trousers pockets, absorbed in the contemplation of this eccentric image, the owner of the cottage stepped out, and said:
“Ye’ll be admirin’ ma piper?”
“Piper?” quoth H.
“Ay, just a piper; dunna ye see the chaunter ower his shouther?”
“But what in the world made you paint him in that way?”
“What for? why to make him look bonny. Aw call him the Black Prince; ay, money a ane stops to look at ma Black Prince: some say he’s King Brutus. Why, man, the Duke, hisself, smiled at it, as he walked by.”
When I joined the pair, I suggested that it would be well to get off the paint, but the man grew indignant, vowing he had given the piper a coat of paint every year since he came to the cottage, and we left him. H, however, as often as he went that way, would stop, and gaze intently on the black abomination, and the solemn abstraction of his look began to impress the iconoclast with a degree of misgiving of which I took advantage to press the removal of the paint, but though evidently shaken, he still refused to give in, until the keeper of a small chemist’s shop opposite, who had joined us, pronounced the talismanic word, “whisky,” in my ear.
“Now,” I said, “just you get off the paint. I will order some stuff from the chemist to wash the Black Prince’s face; ay! and some whisky to wash your own throat when all’s done.”
The victory was gained.
“There’s ma thumb on’t,” he said; and we left him to wash the blackamoor white.
This happy conclusion was effected just as we were departing westward, and when we returned, there was Mercury restored to his original complexion, and our convert standing, with his fingers, which he had burned with the caustic agent used to remove the paint, wrapped in rags, proudly contemplating his performance. Many of the houses in Corbridge exhibit fragments of sculpture and inscribed stones from the Roman station, either worked in promiscuously, or for the sake of decoration. In one house a quern had been worked in the angle of a wall. A Roman eagle composed part of the masonry of a pigsty. Some Roman altars appeared built into the wall of the vicarage, and among the medieval masonry of a peel-tower, at the end of the town, there appeared a large Roman inscribed stone, quite perfect. The church-tower appeared wholly composed of Roman stones. In the churchyard, there is a tower which Camden calls, “a little turret built and inhabited by the vicars.” H and I sat down in the evening to draw this tower, from points of view somewhat apart. While I was thus engaged a butcher suddenly stood before me with the head of