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man, the famous Sir Christopher Wren, who had been architect to the Crown for above fifty years, who built most of the churches in London, laid the first stone of St. Paul's, and lived to finish it, had been displaced from his employment at the age of near ninety years.

At Wimbledon Common lived and died the Marquis of Rockingham, head of the short-lived administration bearing his name. Charles James Fox resided here, whilst holding the office of Secretary of State.

The visitor to Wimbledon must by no means omit a careful inspection of the circular entrenchment, popularly called Cæsar's Camp, on a table-land at the south-west angle of the Common: it is not only a romantic and curious object, but derives additional interest from the mystery hanging over the traditions of its origin, occupants, and purposes. It remains a monument, perhaps a tomb, not of individuals merely, but of nations long since passed away; and all that antiquaries or topographers can do, is to surmise by whom, when, and why, it was shovelled up from the bosom of mother Earth.

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This structure—for such we have a right to call it, includes a surface of about seven acres: the trench is deep, and tolerably perfect; the sites of the two gates, or openings, are still marked by an ordinary farm-road traversing a diameter of the circle, which may measure about two hundred and twenty paces.

Camden, who says that in his time this camp was called Bensbury, is of opinion that this spot, or the immediate neighbourhood, was the site of a battle between Ceaulin king of the West Saxons, and Ethelbert king of Kent, in which the latter was defeated ; and which is said to have been fought in the year 568, at a place called Wibandune, whence, it may be, we have by euphony, Wimbledon. In this battle, two of Ethelbert's generals, Oslac and Cnebba, were said to have been slain. No mention is made of meaner victims to the hostility of the rival monarchs of Kent, and the West Saxons; yet, if Oslac and Cnebba had been drummer-boys, cut off in the retreat, their insignificancy, in the eyes of posterity, could not have been greater.

Thus it is with war and its memories : by just and proper retribution, military glories, exciting, spirit-stirring, as the sound of their own trumpets, and, when victorious, the most splendidly recompensed by honours and rewards, of all public services, are the soonest forgotten, and their apparently grand results the most difficult of remembrance; perhaps, when time has ripened tradition into rottenness, the topographer of future Belgia may record some rusty particulars of a battle gained upon her plains by a British general, whose name may fall as unheeded on the ear as that of Oslac; and the historian of the Russia of a thousand years hence, may surmise the destruction, at some long anterior period, of a foreign army under the command of a hero whose name, if it be at all remembered, will sound as ridiculous as that of Cnebba.

Yes—thus it is, and ever will be, with the immortalities of war ; influencing political changes which are only the interests of the managing few; their influences are soon extinguished by other changes, and with each successive change, memory grows fainter, and particularity less particular. Not only are subordinate agents altogether effaced from our memories, or rescued from oblivion to a less worthy fate, but the name of emperor or king is bestowed in derision on a slave, and the brass collar of a cur becomes the monument of a Cæsar or a Pompey.

Arts of peace alone flourish for ever and ever ; the names of those who contributed to their advancement may be and will be forgotten, but the arts themselves remain; the triumphs of the olive crown are not over kings or dynasties, treasons, usurpations, rebellions, but over material, inconsumable elements of nature; which, educated by a Newton, analyse the sunlight, or directed by a Watt, force fire and water to the work of thousand men's hands, and unite the ends of earth,—bringing the scattered family of man into close and brotherly proximity.

Before we proceed upon our tour we must not forget a hint to the pedestrian, who, wishing a constitutional holiday walk not unmixed with intellectual entertainment, may take his way as far as Wandsworth, with our libretto in his pocket. When there, let him forthwith inquire for the thoroughfare through Earl Spencer's Park; a pleasant stroll over hill and dale, through corn-clad fields and alleys green, will bring him, in a couple of miles, upon Wimbledon Common; thence, after a visit to the camp or entrenchment, upon which he may philosophise and moralise to his heart's content, he will wend his downward way to the Robin Hood Gate of Richmond Great Park: entering the Park, he will find himself in as absolute a solitude as if he were hundreds of miles from London; and every variety of scenery, that of the mountains alone excepted, may be luxuriated in at his own sweet will. Leaving the Park by the Richmond Terrace Gate, he can descend the Thames on his return to town, or by the Roehampton Gate, taking water at Putney.

Those who take our advice in this particular, will, we doubt not, thank us for a delightful day.

Let us now, leaving Wimbledon, proceed to


in Surrey, eleven and a half miles from Westminster Bridge.

The parish, which is of considerable extent, is bounded by Petersham, Richmond, Putney, Mortlake, Wimbledon, Merton, Morden, Malden, Chesington, and Long Ditton.

"That this town was a celebrated place in the early periods of our history, is evident, from the record of a council held there in the year 838, at which Egbert, the first king of all England, his son Athelwolf, and all the bishops and nobles of the land were present; Ceolnothus, Archbishop of Canterbury, presided. This record, in which the town is called “Kyningestun, famosa illa locus,' destroys the supposition that it did not receive that appellation till the reign of King Athelstan; and proves that it was a royal residence, or at least a royal demesne as early as the union of the Saxon heptarchy.

Kingston was made choice of as the place of their coronation by some of the succeeding monarchs. The tounischmen,' says Leland, ‘have certen knowledge of a few kinges crounid there afore the conqueste. The following list of them is given on the authority of our ancient historians Edward the Elder, crowned A. D. 900; his son Athelstan, in the year 925; Edmund, in 940; Eldred, or Elred (who is said to have first assumed the title of King of Great Britain) in 946; Edwy, or Edwin, in 955; Edward the Martyr, in 975; and Ethelred II., in 978; Edgar, who succeeded to the throne in 959, is said to have been crowned either at Kingston or at Bath; Edward the Elder, Edmund, and Edgar, are not mentioned by Aubrey amongst the figures of the Saxon kings, which formerly existed in St. Mary's Chapel.—In the inscriptions over these figures some of the kings were said to have been crowned in the market-place, and others in the chapel; but I find no mention of the particular spot in any of the old chronicles above quoted. In the year 1264, Henry the Third, then at war with his barons, having marched out of London, is said to have taken the Castle of Kingston, belonging to Gilbert Clare, Earl of Gloucester ; the castle was probably then demolished, its memory, except by this mention of it, is not preserved even by tradition.

In the year 1472, the bastard Falconbridge, with an army of 17,000 men, went to Kingston in pursuit of Edward the Fourth, but finding the bridge there broken down, he retired with his army into St. George's Fields.

Catherine of Arragon, on her journey to England, lodged at Kingston the night before she arrived at Kennington Palace.

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Sir Thomas Wyat, during his unsuccessful rebellion against Queen Mary, after the death of Lady Jane Grey, having in vain attempted a passage over London Bridge, came to Kingston, where he found the wooden bridge broken down by order of the council, and the opposite bank of the river defended by men, who, upon sight of two pieces of ordnance planted against them, quitted their station, and gave Sir Thomas Wyat and his men an opportunity of repairing the bridge in such a manner, with planks and ladders, that his whole army passed safely over. It is probable that it was in consequence of the damage done to the bridge at this time, that the wear was granted to the town by Queen Mary.

The last struggle in behalf of the royal cause was made at Kingston. The Earl of Holland, who had been of all parties, at a time when the king's affairs were in the most desperate situation, and himself a prisoner in the Isle of Wight, formed an ill-concerted plan for rescuing him, and persuaded the Duke of Buckingham and his brother Lord Francis Villiers, to join him in the attempt. They assembled at Kingston, with a body of about 600 horse; their avowed object being to release the king and bring him to parliament; to settle peace in the kingdom, and to preserve the laws. A declaration to this effect was sent to the citizens of London, who were invited to join them. The parliament immediately sent some troops of horse from Windsor, under the command of Colonel Pritty, who found the royalists but ill-prepared for defence ; a skirmish took place near Surbiton Common, in which the Earl of Holland and his party were soon defeated. The Earl himself fled to Harrow, but was soon afterwards taken prisoner; the Duke of Buckingham escaped; but his brother, the handsome Lord Francis Villiers, was slain in the skirmish. He behaved with signal courage, and after his horse had been killed under him, stood with his back against a tree, defending himself against several assailants, till at length he sank under his wounds. The next day, the Lords, who had heard the report of the skirmish, and that Lord Francis Villiers was dangerously wounded, made an order, that chirurgeons might be permitted to go to Kingston, and take care of him, if he were yet alive; but as one of the journalists of that time observes,—“It was too late, for he was dead, and stripped, and good pillage found in his pocket.” His body, covered with wounds, was conveyed to York-house, in the Strand, by water, and was afterwards buried in Henry the Seventh's chapel in Westminster Abbey: the following inscription was

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