majestic edifice "the Abbey of the Battle"—an expiatory offering for the slaughter which had there taken place.
King William bithought hym alsoe of that
Folke that was forlorne
And slayn also thoruz hym
In the bataile biforne.
And ther as the bataile was
An Abbey he let rere
Of Seint Martin for the soules
That there slayen were;
And the monkes wel ynoug
Feffèd without fayle,
That is called in Englonde
Abbey of Bataile."
So sings Robert of Gloucester; but upon the history of this celebrated monastery, which, in after times, the monks delighted to style the token and pledge of the royal crown, I cannot now enter, although that history is by no means an unimportant or an uninstructive one. I must, however, add a word or two in conclusion. What a contrast does the 23d of July, One thousand eight hundred and fifty-two present to that 14th of October, One thousand and sixty-six! Then a hostile meeting of two semi-barbarous nations intent upon shedding each other's blood—now confluence of beauty, rank, and intelligence, equally intent upon diffusing pleasure, harmony, and good-will, and promoting the great cause of human progress. For I contend that the study of archæology is every way calculated to improve the human mind and character. We review the barbarous past with interest it is true, but with no regret that our lot was not cast in Saxon or in Norman times. We can survey these venerable walls with pleasure, without the slightest yearning after cloistral life. In a word, like the traveller who has laboriously gained the summit of a lofty hill, we can look back upon the devious windings and rugged passes of the way, brightened and mellowed by distance; but, like him, we have no desire to go back, to tread again the dark and dangerous past. It has been well said that "an undevout astronomer is mad," and the same may be predicated of an ungrateful archæologist. The more we scrutinize the annals of other days—the more we investigate the reign of
