are not, if there be no end which they are to subserve, is more puerility; and if there be an end, and it is one which the Church does not sanction, it is something far worse.

The four or five miles between Dorchester and Wallingford have nothing to call for particular notice; but on arriving at Shillingford bridge it would be well to diverge two or three miles to the left to Ewelme, for the sake of its unusually rich store of antiquities. The church is a remarkably fine one of the fifteenth century, and contains some monuments of more than common celebrity-one of them being that of the Duchess of Suffolk mentioned in the notice of Stanton-Harcourt; while another, of Sir Thomas Chaucer, is remarkable for its heraldic quarterings. There are also some architectural remains in the parish; and the situation and the neighbourhood are pleasing.

Wallingford is a very neat, respectable, prim-looking country-town of nearly eight thousand souls; it has clean streets, some good houses, capital inns: also a well-attended market, and—unfortunately for its morality-the privilege of sending one member to the Imperial Parliament. The town can boast both of its antiquity and ancient importance. It is believed to have been the Roman town of Tamesis, and is known to have been a considerable place in Saxon times. It was destroyed by the Danes in A.D. 1006. In the castle of Wallingford, which then belonged to a Saxon, named Wigod, William I., before proceeding to London after the battle of Hastings, received the homage of Stigand, archbishop of Canterbury, and several other of the principal spiritual and temporal lords. The daughter of Wigod married Robert D'Oyley, a

Norman baron, who built himself a castle at Wallingford, but whether on the site of the old one is not known. D'Oyley's castle was of prodigious strength; and during the long struggle between Stephen and Matilda, being held for the empressqueen by its owner Brien Fitz-Count, who had succeeded to it by marriage with the daughter of D'Oyley, was several times besieged by the king in person, but without success. It was to Wallingford Castle that Matilda fled on her escape from Oxford Castle over the snow: and it was at Wallingford that the treaty was entered into by which this miserable contest was terminated. When Henry, in 1153, came from the Continent to continue the quarrel from which his mother had retired, his army and that of Stephen met at Wallingford. The armies encamped on opposite sides of the river, and lay watching each other for two days and nights, being prevented from an engagement by the sudden swelling of the water. During this space the nobles on each side sought to bring about an accommodation; and the Earl of Arundel at length ventured to say publicly that "it was not reasonable to prolong the calamities of a whole nation, on account of the ambition of two princes." The two princes were induced by the general feeling to enter into a conference across a narrow part of the river, at which they agreed to a truce with a view to the settlement of a peace. The peace,

as is well known, was afterwards concluded at a solemn council of the kingdom held at Winchester, when it was determined that Stephen should retain the crown during his life, and that Henry should be adopted by him as his successor.

The castle endured many sieges in succeeding

reigns. It was last garrisoned for Charles in the great Civil War; and it held out till near the end of the war, when it was taken by Fairfax and demolished. Only a fragment of the walls is left.

The town was once of large size and walled. It is said to have at one time contained fourteen churches. There are only three now, and there is nothing remarkable in their appearance—unless indeed it be that of St. Peter's, by the river, which has a very remarkably odd and ugly spire. This spire was not designed by any of the Gothic builders of the dark ages, but was raised in that age of enlightenment and refined taste the eighteenth century, and its designer was Sir William Blackstone, the author of the 'Commentaries '—at least he paid for its erection, and by its appearance we may guess that he designed it. Sir William was a considerable benefactor to the town, which he represented in Parliament.

Within the castle was a collegiate establishment, consisting of a dean and prebendaries; and connected with it was a school for the instruction of singing-boys, in which Tusser, the author of · Five Hundred Points of Good Husbandry,' was educated, as he records in the curious piece entitled "The Author's Life,' prefixed to the black letter edition of his works. He was not born at Wallingford, and its singing-school was probably in great repute, from his being sent so far to it. He says:

"It came to pass, that born I was
Of linage good and gentle blood,
In Essex laier, in village faier,
That Rivenhall hight:

Which village lide, by Bancktree side,
There spend did I mine infancie."

But from this he was torn, and neither his lamentations nor "the tears that fall

"From mother's eies, when child out cries,
To part hir fro,

Could pitie make good father take,
But out I must to song be thrust;

Say what I would, doo what I could,
His mind was so."

Wallingford, whither he was sent, soon showed him what he calls the "quirasters miserie." He thus describes his condition there:

"O painful time, for every crime

What toosed eares! like baited beares!
What bobbed lips! what yerks, what nips!
What hellish toies!

What robes how bare! what colledge fare!
What bred how stale! what pennie ale !
Then Wallingford, how wert thou abhor'd
Of sillie boies!"

VOL. I.

G

CHAPTER IX.

A PLEASANT PLACE.

ONE of the many advantages of following the course of a river is, that we are thereby not only brought to see a continuous variety of objects, but are led into connexion and companionship with them. In the rapid whirl of modern travelling men visit many places, and learn to despise them all. Time enough is not allotted to any one to see it thoroughly, and of consequence to estimate it aright; hence a cold flippancy, a morbid acuteness of spirit is induced, which

"Makes the eye blind, and shuts the passages

Through which the ear converses with the heart."

There is seen in everything chiefly what is ludicrous, or incongruous, or absurd; and thus every thing, as much what has heretofore been regarded as most deserving of reverence or admiration, as what is vile and despicable, has come to be alike named only with a scoff, or made the subject of heartless mockery. Our travellers have come not only to admire nothing, but to scorn everything. It appears to be the spirit of the age.

But the rambler who plods slowly along the many windings of a river is saved from much of this. He sees but few things comparatively, but those he learns to greet with a blithe welcome, and