And what the gods allow us?

Car. No, Bonduca ;

So what we say exceed not what we do.

You call the Romans 'fearful, fleeing Romans
And Roman girls, the lees of tainted pleasures:'

Does this become a doer? are they such?

Bond. They are no more.

Car. Where is your conquest then?

Why are your altars crown'd with wreaths of flowers?
The beasts with gilt horns waiting for the fire ?
The holy Druids composing songs

Of everlasting life to victory?

Why are these triumphs, lady for a May-game ?
For hunting a poor herd of wretched Romans ?
Is it no more? Shut up your temples, Britons,
And let the husbandman redeem his heifers,
Put out our holy fires, no timbrel ring,

Let's home and sleep; for such great overthrows,
A candle burns too bright a sacrifice,

A glow-worm's tail too full of flame. Oh, Nennius,
Thou hadst a noble uncle knew a Roman,

And how to speak him, how to give him weight
In both his fortunes.

Bond. By the gods, I think

You dote upon these Romans, Caratach!

Car. Witness these wounds, I do; they were fairly giv'n : I love an enemy; I was born a soldier ;

And he that in the head on's troop defies me,
Bending my manly body with his sword,

I make a mistress. Yellow-tressed Hymen
Ne'er tied a longing virgin with more joy,

Than I am married to that man that wounds me:
And are not all these Roman? Ten struck battles
I suck'd these honour'd scars from, and all Roman ;
Ten years of bitter nights and heavy marches,
(When many a frozen storm sung thro' my cuirass,
And made it doubtful whether that or I

Were the more stubborn metal) have I wrought thro',
And all to try these Romans. Ten times a-night
I've swam the rivers, when the stars of Rome
Shot at me as I floated, and the billows
Tumbled their watry ruins on my shoulders,
Charging my batter'd sides with troops of agues ;
And still to try these Romans, whom I found
(And, if I lie, my wounds be henceforth backward,
And be you witness, gods, and all my dangers)
As ready, and as full of that I brought,
(Which was not fear, nor flight) as valiant,
As vigilant, as wise, to do and suffer,

Ever advanc'd as forward as the Britons,

Their sleeps as short, their hopes as high as ours,
Ay, and as subtle, lady. 'Tis dishonour,

And, follow'd, will be impudence, Bonduca,

And grow to no belief, to taint these Romans.
Have not I seen the Britons-

Bond. What?

Car. Dishearten'd,

Run, run, Bonduca! not the quick rack swifter;
The virgin from the hated ravisher

Not half so fearful; not a flight drawn home,
A round stone from a sling, a lover's wish,

E'er made that haste that they have. By the gods,
I've seen these Britons, that you magnify,
Run as they would have out-run time, and roaring,
Basely for mercy roaring; the light shadows,
That in a thought scur o'er the fields of corn,
Halted on crutches to 'em.

Bond. Oh, ye powers,

What scandals do I suffer!

Car. Yes, Bonduca,

I've seen thee run too; and thee Nennius
Yea, run apace, both; then when Penius
(The Roman girl!) cut thro' your armed carts,
And drove 'em headlong on ye, down the hill;
Then when he hunted thee like Britain foxes,
More by the scent than sight; then did I see
These valiant and approved men of Britain,
Like boding owls, creep into tods of ivy,
And hoot their fears to one another nightly,
Nen. And what did you then Caratach ?
Car. I fled too,

But not so fast; your jewel had been lost then,
Young Hengo there; he trasht me Nennius:
For when your fears out-run him, then stept I,
And in the head of all the Roman fury
Took him, and, with my tough belt, to my back
I buckled him; behind him, my sure shield;
And then I follow'd. If I say I fought
Five times in bringing off this bud of Britain,
I lie not, Nennius. Neither had you heard
Me speak this, or ever seen the child more,
But that the son of Virtue, Penius,

Seeing me steer thro' all these storms of danger,
My helm still in my hand (my sword), my prow
Turn'd to my foe (my face), he cried out nobly,
Go, Briton, bear thy lion's whelp off safely;
Thy manly sword has ransom'd thee; grow strong,
And let me meet thee once again in arms;
Then if thou stand'st thou'rt mine.

And here I am to honour him.

Bond. Oh, cousin,

I took his offer,

From what a flight of honour hast thou check'd me What wouldst thou make me, Caratach ?

Car. See, lady,

The noble use of others in our losses.

Does this afflict you ? Had the Romans cried this,
And, as we have done theirs, sung out these fortunes,
Rail'd on our base condition, hooted at us,

Made marks as far as th' earth was ours, to shew us
Nothing but sea could stop our flights, despis'd us,
And held it equal whether banqueting

Or beating of the Britons were more business,
It would have gall'd you.

Bond. Let me think we conquer'd.

Car. Do; but so think, as we may be conquer'd ;
And where we have found virtue, tho' in those
That came to make us slaves, let's cherish it.
There's not a blow we gave since Julius landed,
That was of strength and worth, but, like records,
They file to after-ages. Our registers

The Romans are, for noble deeds of honour;

And shall we brand their mentions with upbraidings?

Bond. No more; I see myself. Thou hast made me, cousin, More than my fortunes durst, for they abus'd me,

And wound me up so high, I swell'd with glory :
Thy temperance has cur'd that tympany,

And giv'n me health again; nay more, discretion.
Shall we have peace? for now I love these Romans.
Car. Thy love and hate are both unwise ones, lady.
Bond. Your reason?

Nen. Is not peace the end of arms ?

Car. Not where the cause implies a general conquest:

Had we a diff'rence with some petty isle,

Or with our neighbours, lady, for our landmarks,

The taking in of some rebellious lord,

Or making head against commotions,

After a day of blood, peace might be argued ;
But where we grapple for the ground we live on,
The liberty we hold as dear as life,

The gods we worship, and next those, our honours,
And with those swords that know no end of battle:
Those men, beside themselves, allow no neighbour;
Those minds that where the day is, claim inheritance,
And where the sun makes ripe the fruits, their harvest,
And where they march, but measure out more ground
To add to Rome, and here i' th' bowels on us;

It must not be. No, as they are our foes,
And those that must be so until we tire 'em;
Let's use the peace of honour, that's fair dealing,
But in our ends our swords.

The great wonder of Salisbury Plain,-the most remarkable monument of antiquity in our island, if we take into account its comparative preservation as well as its grandeur,—is Stonehenge. It is situated about seven miles north of Salisbury. It may be most conveniently approached from the little town of Amesbury. Passing by a noble Roman earth-work called the Camp of Vespasian, as we ascend out of the valley of the Avon, we gain an uninterrupted view of the undulating downs which surround us on every side. The name of Plain conveys an inadequate notion of the character of this singular district. The platform is not flat, as might be imagined; but ridge after ridge leads the eye onwards to the bolder hills of the extreme distance, or the last ridge is lost in the low horizon. The peculiar character of the scene is that of the most complete solitude. It is possible that a shepherd boy may be descried watching his flocks nibbling the short thymy grass with which the downs are everywhere covered; but, with the exception of a shed or a hovel, there is no trace of human dwelling. This peculiarity arises from the physical character of the district. It is not that man is not here, but that his abodes are hidden in the little valleys. On each bank of the Avon to the east of Stonehenge, villages and hamlets are found at every mile; and on the small branch of the Wyly to the west there is a cluster of parishes, each with its church, in whose names, such as Orcheston Maries, and Shrawston Virgo, we hail the tokens of institutions which left Stonehenge a ruin. We must not hastily conclude, therefore, that this great monument of antiquity was set up in an unpeopled region; and that, whatever might be its uses, it was visited only by pilgrims from far-off places. But the aspect of Stonehenge, as we have said, is that of entire solitude. The distant view is somewhat disappointing to to the raised expectation. The hull of a large ship, motionless on the wide sea, with no object near by which to measure its bulk, appears an insignificant thing: it is a speck in the vastness by which it is surrounded. Approach that ship, and the largeness of its parts leads us to estimate the grandeur of the whole. So is it with Stonehenge. The vast plain occupies so much of the eye that even a large town set down upon it would appear a hamlet. But as we approach the pile, the mind gradually becomes impressed with its real character. It is now the Chorea Gigantum-the Choir of Giants; and the tradition that Merlin the Magician brought the stones from Ireland is felt to be a poetical homage to the greatness of the work.

However the imagination may be impressed by the magnitude of those masses of stone which still remain in their places, by the grandeur even of the fragments confused or broken in their fall, by the consideration of the vast labour required to bring such ponderous substances to this desolate spot, and by surmise of the nature of the mechanical skill by which they were lifted up and placed in order and proportion, it is not till the entire plan is fully comprehended that we can properly surrender ourselves to the contemplations which belong to this remarkable scene. It is then, when we can figure to ourselves a perfect structure, composed of such huge materials symmetrically arranged, and possessing, therefore, that beauty which is the result of symmetry, that we can satisfactorily look back through the dim light of history or tradition to the object for which such a structure was destined. The belief now appears tolerably settled that Stonehenge was a temple of the Druids. It differs, however, from all other Druidical remains, in the circumstance that greater mechanical art was employed in its construction, especially in the superincumbent stones of the outer circle and of the trilithons, from which it is supposed

to derive its name: stan being the Saxon for a stone, and heng to hang or support. From this circumstance it is maintained that Stonehenge is of the very latest ages of Druidism; and that the Druids that wholly belonged to the ante-historic period followed the example of those who observed the command of the law: "If thou wilt make me an altar of stone, thou shalt not build it of hewn stone: for if thou lift up thy tool upon it, thou hast polluted it." (Exodus, chap. xx.)

It was long a controversy, idle enough as such controversies generally are, whether Stonehenge was appropriated to religious or to civil purposes. If it is to be regarded as a Druidical monument, the discussion is altogether needless; for the Druids were, at one and the same time, the ministers of religion, the legislators, the judges amongst the people. The account which Julius Cæsar gives of the Druids of Gaul, marked as it is by his usual clearness and sagacity, may be received without hesitation as a description of the Druids of Britain: for he says, "the system of Druidism is thought to have been formed in Britain, and from thence carried over into Gaul; and now those who wish to be more accurately versed in it for the most part go thither (i. e. to Britain) in order to become acquainted with it." Nothing can be more explicit than his account of the mixed office of the Druids: "They are the ministers of sacred things; they have the charge of sacrifices, both public and private; they give directions for the ordinances of religious worship (religiones interpretantur). A great number of young men resort to them for the purpose of instruction in their system, and they are held in the highest reverence. For it is they who determine most disputes, whether of the affairs of the state or of individuals: and if any crime has been committed, if a man has been slain, if there is a contest concerning an inheritance or the boundaries of their lands, it is the Druids who settle the matter: they fix rewards and punishments: if any one, whether in an individual or public capacity, refuses to abide by their sentence, they forbid him to come to their sacrifices. This punishment is among them very severe; those on whom this interdict is laid are accounted among the unholy and accursed; all fly from them, and shun their approach and their conversation, lest they should be injured by their very touch; they are placed out of the pale of the law, and excluded from all offices of honour." After noticing that a chief Druid, whose office is for life, presides over the rest, Cæsar mentions a remarkable circumstance which at once accounts for the selection of such a spot as Sarum Plain, for the erection of a great national monument, a temple, and a seat of justice :"These Druids hold a meeting at a certain time of the year in a consecrated spot in the country of the Carnutes (people in the neighbourhood of Chartres), which country is considered to be in the centre of all Gaul. Hither assemble all from every part who have a litigation, and submit themselves to their determination and sentence." At Stonehenge, then we may place the seat of such an assize. There were roads leading direct over the plain to the great British towns of Winchester and Silchester. Across the plain, at a distance not exceeding twenty miles, was the great temple and Druidical settlement of Avebury. The town and hill-fort of Sarum was close at hand. Over the dry chalky downs, intersected by a few streams easily forded, might pilgrims resort from all the surrounding country. The seat of justice which was also the seat of the highest religious solemnity, would necessarily be rendered as magnificent as a rude art could accomplish. Stonehenge might be of a later period than Avebury, with its mighty circles and long avenues of unhewn pillars; but it might also be of the same period, the one distinguished by its vastness, the other by its beauty of proportion. The justice executed in that * judgment-seat was, according to ancient testimony, bloody and terrible. The religious rites were debased into the fearful sacrifices of a cruel idolatry. But it is impossible not to feel that at the bottom of these superstitions there was a deep