driven back, and forced into a trench, where horses and riders fell upon each other in fearful confusion. More Normans were slain here than in any other part of the field. The alarm spread; the light troops left in charge of the baggage and the stores thought that all was lost, and were about to take flight; but the fierce Odo, bishop of Bayeux, the duke's half-brother, and who was better fitted for the shield than for the mitre, succeeded in reassuring them, and then, returning to the field, and rushing into that part where the battle was hottest, he fought as the stoutest of the warriors engaged in the conflict.

From nine in the morning till three in the afternoon, the successes on either side were nearly balanced. The charges of the Norman cavalry gave them great advantage, but the English phalanx repelled their enemies; and the soldiers were so well protected by their targets, that the artillery of the Normans was long discharged in vain. The bowmen, seeing that they had failed to make any impression, altered the direction of their shafts, and instead of shooting point-blank, the flights of arrows were directed upwards, so that the points came down upon the heads of the men of England, and the iron shower fell with murderous effect. The English ranks were exceedingly distressed by the volleys, yet they still stood firm; and the Normans now employed a stratagem to decoy their opponents out of their intrenchments. A feigned retreat on their part induced the English to pursue them with great heat. The Normans suddenly wheeled about, and a new and fiercer battle was urged. The find was covered with separate bands of foemen, each engaged with one another. Here, the English yielded-there, they conquered. One English thane, armed with a battle-axe, spread dismay amongst the Frenchmen. He was cut down by Roger d Montgomery. The Normans have preserved the name of the Norman baron, but that of the Englishman is lost in oblivion. Some other English thanes are also praised as having singly and by their personal prowess, delayed the ruin of their countrymen and country.

At one period of the battle, the Normans were nearly routed. The cry was raised that the duke was slain, and they began to fly in every direction. William threw off his helmet, and galloping through the squadrons, rallied his barons, though not without great difficulty. Harold, on his part, used every possible exertion, and was distinguished as the most active and bravest among the soldiers in the host which he led on to destruction. A Norman arrow wounded him in the left eye; he dropped from his steed in agony, and was borne to the foot of the standard. The English began to give way, or rather to retreat to the standard as their rallying-point. The Normans encircled them, and fought desperately to reach this goal. Robert Fitz-Ernest had almost seized the banner, but he was killed in the attempt. William led his troops on with the intention, it is said, of measuring his sword with Harold. He did encounter an English horseman, from whom he received such a stroke upon his helmet, that he was nearly brought to the ground. The Normans flew to the aid of their sovereign, and the bold Englishman was pierced by their lances. About the same time the tide of battle took a momentary turn. The Kentish men and East Saxons rallied, and repelled the Norman barons: but Harold was not amongst them; and William led on his troops with desperate intrepidity. In the thick crowd of the assailants and the assailed, the hoofs of the horses were plunged deep into the gore of the dead and the dying. Gurth was at the foot of the standard, without hope, but without fer; he fell by the falchion of William. The English banner was cast down, and the Gonfanon planted in its place announced that William of Normandy was the conqueror. It was now late in the evening. The English troops were entirely broken, yet no Engshman would surrender. The conflict continued in many parts of the bloody field long after dark.

By William's orders. a spot close to the Gonfanon was cleared, and he caused his pavilion to be pitched among the corpses which were heaped around. He there sup pd with his barons; and they feasted among the dead; but when he contemplated the fearful slaughter, a natural feeling of pity, perhaps allied to repentance, arose in his stern mind; and the Abbey of Battle, in which the prayer was to be offered up perpetually for the repose of the son's of all who had fallen in the conflict, was at once the monument of his triumph and the token of his piety. The abbey was most richly endowed, and all the land for one league round about was annexed to the Battle franchise. The abbot was freed from the authority of the Metropolitan of Canterbury, and invested with archiepiscopal jurisdiction. The high-altar was erected on the very spot where Harold's standard had waved; and the roll, deposited in the archives of

the monastery, recorded the names of those who had fought with the Conqueror, and amongst whom the lands of broad England were divided. But all this pomp and solemnity has passed away like a dreain. The perpetual prayer has ceased for ever-the roll of Battle is rent. The shields of the Norman lineages are trodden in the dust-the abbey is leveled with the ground-and a dank and reedy pool fills the spot where the foundations of the choir bave been uncovered, merely for the gaze of the idle visitor, or the instruction of the moping antiquary.

GEORGE TICKNOR.

America has been desirous, as was remarked by Lockhart, to discharge the debt due to Spain, her first discoverer the names of Irving and Prescott are already associated with Columbus and Isabella; nor will Ticknor henceforward be forgotten when Cervantes and his compeers are held in remembrance.' The History of Spanish Literature,' three volumes, 1849, by GEORGE TICKNOR (1791-1862), is a work of great merit, full, minute, and accurate, the result of thirty years' labour. The Life, Letters, and Journals of George Ticknor' were published in 1876, in two volumes. He was a native of Boston, born in 1791, son of a wealthy citizen who is described as of the true New England type of character, energetic and cultivated, and who was one of the first importers of Merino sheep into the United States. The son was educated at Dartmouth College, and studied for the bar, but having practised for a twelvemonth, he satisfied himself that the life of a lawyer would not suit his simple ideas of usefulness` or happiness. He therefore turned his thoughts to plans of study and travel. He started for Europe in 1815. and for five years travelled over various countries, residing successively in London, Göttingen, Paris, Geneva, Rome, Venice, Madrid, and Lisbon. In all those capi. tals he seems to have been in the best society, and his journal is full of the best sort of interviewing.' Mr. Ticknor afterwards became Professor of the French and Spanish languages, and of the Belles Lettres in Harvard University. He died January 26, 1871, in his eightieth year. Besides his History of Spanish Literature,' Mr. Ticknor wrote a Life of Lafayette,' and a memoir of his friend and countryman, Prescott, the historian. He also contributed various articles to reviews and literary journals. The following are extracts from his letters and journals:

Gathe at Weimar in 1816.

He is something above the middle size, large but not gross, with gray hair, a dark, ruddy complexion. and full rich black eyes which, though dimmed by age, are still very expressive In manners he is simple. He received us without ceremony, but with care and elegance, and made no German compliments. The conversation, of course, rested in his hands, and was various. Of Lord Byron he spoke with interest and discrimination-said that his poetry shewed great knowledge of human nature, and great talent in description. Once his genius kindled, and he grew almost fervent as he deplored the want of extemporary eloquence in Germany, and said, what I never heard before, but which is eminently true, that the English is kept a much more living language by its influence. Here,' he said. 'we have no eloquence, our preaching is a monotonous, middling declamation-public debate we have not at all, and if a little inspiration comes to us in our lecture-rooms, it is out of place, for eloquence does not teach.' We remained with him nearly an hour, and when we came

away he accompanied us as far as the parlour door with the same simplicity with which he received us.

Sir Walter Scott.

He is the lord of the ascendant now (1819) in Edinburgh, and well deserves to be, for I look upon him to be quite as remarkable in intercourse and conversation as he is in any of his writings. even in his novels. His countenance, when at rest, is dull and almost heavy, and even when in common conversation expresses only a high de gree of good-nature; but when he is excited, and espec.aily when he is reciting poetry that he likes, his whole expression is changed, and his features kindle into a brightness of which there were no traces before.. One evening after dinner, he told his daughter, Sophia Scot, to take her harp and play five or six ballads he mentioned to her, as a specimen of the different ages of Scottish music. I hardly ever heard anything of the kind that moved me so much. And yet. I imagine, many sing better; but I never saw such an air and manner, such spirit and feeling, such decision and power. I was so much excited that I turned round to Mr. Scott and said to him, probably with great empha is: I never heard anything so fine; and he, seeing how involuntari y I had said it, caught me by the hand and replied very earnestly: Everybody says so, sir;' but added in an instant, biushing a little, but I must not be too vain of her.' I was stuck too with another little trait in her character and his that exhibited itself the same evening Lady Hume asked her to play Rob Roy,' an old ballad. A good many persons were present, and she felt a little embarrassed by the recollection of how nach her father's name had been mentioned in connection with this strange Highlander's. (The authorship of the novels was not yet acknowledged, though generally believed) She ran across the room to her father, and, blushing pretty deeply whispered to him. Yes, my dear,' he said, loud enough to be heard, play, to be sure, if you are asked and Waverly." and "The Antiquary" too, i there be any such ballads,' One afternoon, after I had become more acquainted with them, he asked me to come and dine, and afterwards go to the theatre and hear Rob Roy '-a very good piece n ade out of his novel, and then playing in Edmburgh with remarkable success It was a grea' treat. He did not attempt to conceal his delight during the whole performance and when it was over said to me: That's fine. sir; I think that is very fine; and then looked up at me with one of his most comi a expressions of tuce, half-way between cunning and hun or. and added: All I wish is that Jed diah Cie.shbotham could be here to enjoy it!'

Sunday Dinner in Trinity Hall, Cambridge.

The afternoon's service at King's College Chepel was very fine, especially the music and everything produced its full effect in that megnificent:nd sol mn hall, the finest of its sort, no doubt. in the world Afterwards I went with Whewell and Sedgwick to dine in the Hall of Trini y, a grand old place va-t, and a Lttle gloomy and rude with its ancient rafters; but imposing and worthy of the first college in the world, for the number of great men it has produced. It is the fashion for a nobleman, when he comes here, to be furnished with a silver cover forks. and spoons, &c. and to leave them when he goes away. It chanced to-day that I had poor Lord Milton's cover, with his name and arms on it. At our table there were several strangers, among whom were Sir Francis Forbes, just from India. and the famous Joseph Hume of radical notoriety. After dinner, according to ancient custom, a huge silver cup or pitcher was passed round. containing what is called Audit Ale, or very fine old ale, which is given to the tenants of the College when they come to andit their accounts and pay their rents. We all drank from it standing up, each, as bis turn came, wishing prosperity to the college. When this was over, an enormous silver ewer and basin, given by James I.'s Duke of Buckingham, were passed down, filled with rose-water, into which each one dipped his napkin Finally, a sinal choir of selected singers came into the hall and sang the Latin chants appropriate to the day, with great richness and power, attracting a crowd in at the doors, among whom were several ladies, who looked sadly out of place in such a monastic refectory. It was a fine finale to the grave and ceremonious entertainment. We now adjourned to the combination-room, where, in great luxury and comfort, a dessert and wines were arranged for the members of the table of dais. We had done pretty well, I thought, in the way of wine at the hall, where there was an extraordi

nary amount of health-drinking, but here we had it on a more serious and regular footing. At last the bell rang for evening prayers. The chapel was brilliantly lighted, and the Master and Fellows, in their robes of ceremony, made a striking

appearance.

JOHN L. MOTLEY.

An excellent history of the Rise of the Dutch Republic,' three volumes, 1856, has been written by JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, born at Dorchester, Massachusetts, in 1814, graduated at Harvard University in 1831, and sometime secretary to the United States Legation at St. Petersburg. Returning Returning to America he devoted himself to literary pursuits. He had early in life written two novels, which proved failures, and he afterwards applied himself to historical researches, residing for some years in Germany and the Netherlands for the better prosecution of his labours. His history embraces the period from the abdication of Charles V. in 1555 to the death of William the Silent, Prince of Orange in 1584. A continuation appeared in 1860, and a further portion in 1865, entitled The History of the United Netherlands, from the Death of William the Silent to the Synod of Dort. In 1874 Mr. Motley added The Life and Death of John of Barneveld, Advocate of Holland, with a View of the Primary Causes and Movements of the Thirty Years' War,' 2 vols. The greater part of Barneveld's life had been previously told by Mr. Motley in his History of the United Netherlands,' but this later work describes the nine closing years of Barneveld's career. These historical labours of Mr. Motley not only supply a desideratum in our historical literature, but constitute a narrative of deep interest, clear, vivid and eloquent in style and diction. Their author has been rewarded with the honorary titles of D.C.L, from the university of Oxford, and LL.D. from the universities of Cambridge and New York. He was six years (1861-1867) minister from the United States at the Court of Vienna, and one year (1869-70) at the Court of St. James's, London. The Image-breaking of Antwerp.-From The Rise of the Dutch Republic.'

A very paltry old woman excited the image-breaking of Antwerp (1536). She had for years been accustomed to sit before the door of the cathedral with wax tapers and wafers, earning a scanty subsistence from the profits of her meagre trade, and by the small coins which she sometimes received in charity. Some of the rabble began to chaffer with this ancient huckstress. They scoffed at her consecrated wares; they bandied with her ribald jests, of which her public position had furnished her with a supply; they assured her that the hour had come when her idolatrous traffic was to be for ever terminated, when she and her patroness Mary were to be given over to destruction together. The old woman, enraged, answered threat with threat, and gibe with gibe. Passing from words to deeds, she began to catch from the ground every offensive missile or weapon which she could find, and to lay about her in all directions. Her tormentors defended themselves as they could. Having destroyed her whole stock-in-trade, they provoked others to appear in her defence. The passers-by thronged to the scene; the cathedral was soon filled to overflowing; a furious tumult was already in progress.

Many persons fled in alarin to the Town House, carrying information of this outbreak to the magistrates. John van Immerzee!, Margrave of Antwerp. was then holding communication with the senate, and awaiting the arrival of the wardmasters, whom it had at last been thought expedient to summon. Upon intelligence of this

rlot, which the militia, if previously mustered, might have prevented. the senate determined to proceed to the cathedral in a body, with he hope of quelling the mob by the dignity of their presence. The margrave, who was the high executive officer of the little commonwealth, marched down to the cathedral accordingly, attended by the two burgomasters and all the senators. At first their author.ty, solicitations, and personal influence produced a good effect. Some of those outside consented to retire and the tumult partially subsided within. As night, however, was fast approaching, many of the mob insisted upon remaining for evening service. They were informed that there would be none that night, and that for once the people could certainly dispease with their vespers.

Several persons now manifesting an intention of leaving the cathedral. it was suggested to the senators that if they should lead the way, the population would follow in their train, and so disperse to their homes. The excellent magistrates took the advice, not caring perhaps to fulfil any longer the dangerous but not dignified functions of police-officers. Before departing, they adopted the precaution of closing all the doors of the church, leaving a single one open, that the rabble stil remaining might have an opportunity to depart. It seemed not to occur to the senators that the same gate would as conveniently afford an entrance for those without as an egress for those within. That unlooked-for event happened, however. No sooner had the magistrates retired than the rabble bu st through the single door which had been left open, overpowered the margrave, who, with a few attendants, had remained behind, vainly endeavouring by threats and exhortations to appease the tumult, drove hin ignominiously from the church, and threw all the other portals wide op n. Then the populace flowed in like an angry sea. The whole of the cathedral was at the mercy of the rioters, who were evidently bent on mischief. The wardens and treasurers of the church, after a vain attempt to secure a few of its most precious possessions, retired. They carried the news to the senators, who, accompanied by a few halberduen, again ventured to approach the spot. It was but for a moment, however, for, appalled by the furious sounds which came from within the church, as if invisible forces were preparing a catastrophe which no human power could withstand, the magistrates fled precipitately from the scene. Fearing that the next attack would be upon the Town House, they hastened to concentrate at that point their available strength, and left the stately cathedral to its fate.

And now, as the shadows of night were deepening the perpetual twilight of the church, the work of destruction commenced. Instead of vespers rose the fierce music of a psalm yelled by a thousand angry voices. It seemed the preconcerted signal for a general attack. A band of marauders flew upon the image of the Virgin. dragged it forth from its receptacle, plunged daggers into its inanimate body, tore off its jewelled and embroidered garments, broke the whole figure into a thousand pieces, and scattered the fragments along the floor. A wild shout succeeded, and then the work, which seemed delegated to a comparatively small number of the assembled crowd, went on with incredible celerity. Some were armed with axes, some with bludgeons, some with sledge-hammers; others brought ladders, pulleys, ropes, and levers. Every statue was hurled from its niche, every picture torn from the wall, every painted window shivered to atoms, every ancient monument shattered, every sculptured decoration, however inaccessible in appearance, hurled to the ground. Indefatigably, audaciously endowed, as it seemed, with preternatural strength and nimbleness, these furious iconoclasts chambered up the dizzy heights, shrieking and chattering like malignant apes, as they tore off in triumph the slowlymatured fruit of centuries. In a space of time wonderfully brief they had accoplished their task.

A colossal and magnificent group of the Saviour crucified between two thieves adorned the principal altar. The statue of Christ was wrenched from its place with ropes and pulleys, while the malefactors, with bitter and blasphemens irony, were left on high, the only representatives of the marble crowd which had be destroyed. A very beautiful piece of architecture decorated the choir-the repository.' as it was called, in which the body of Christ was figuratively enshrined. This much-admired work rested upon a single column, but rose, arch npon arch. pillar upon pillar, to the height of three hundred feet, till quite lost in the vault above It was now shattered into a million pieces. The statues, images, pictures, ornaments, as they lay upon the