has received the name of Maumsbury, from what cause it is difficult to conjecture. In the neighborhood are other antiquities, and one of the ancient roads of the Romans passes near the spot. The dimensions of this ruin are considerable, the longest diameter being two hundred and eighteen feet, and the shortest one hundred and sixtythree. The arena is sunk somewhat below the level of the surrounding plain, while the sides, formed of solid chalk, which abounds in this part of Dorsetshire, are elevated some thirty feet above it. The entrance is at the northeast end of the oval, opposite to which is a staircase, or sloping pathway, ascending to the top of the superstructure, having beneath what appears to be the remains of a cave or subterraneous apartment, used to confine the animals destined for the sports. Commencing near the entrance, and gradually ascending on each side till it attains the middle row of seats, whence it declines to the opposite end of the oval, is a passage or terrace, probably intended to separate the popularia, or seats of the common people, from those of the knights, &c. This may be described by a circle, the centre of which is in that of the ellipse, having a diameter of about the mean of the two diameters of the ellipse or oval. On the top of the rows of seats is a terrace, about twelve feet broad, divided from the seats by a parapet; and from this, descending to the smaller terrace just described, is a cuneus, or parcel of seats, thirty feet in breadth, but somewhat different in dimensions to the rest, which are each one foot high and two feet and a half wide. It is probable these seats were covered with stone or wood, although it was the practice of even the plebeians to bring cushions with them to sit on.

In consequence of the arena having been much ploughed up, it is difficult to trace the outline of the podium, a broad platform which surrounded the arena, and to which the senators and highest officers were admitted; but its extent may be defined on a close scrutiny. Before the podium, grates, nets, and lattice-work of iron, were placed for security against the wild beasts; and to prevent their escaping among the spectators, there were also fixed wooden rollers, which, turning round, prevented the animals from climbing up. At the amphitheatre at Rome, in the time of Nero, these nets were knotted with amber; and the emperor Carinus caused them to be made of golden cord or wire, while the rollers were formed of ivory.

Dr. Stukely, who published an account of this amphitheatre in 1723, computes the area capable of containing nearly 23,000 people. He supposes it to have been constructed about the time of Titus; but of course, in such a matter, where the remains offer nothing, either in plan, construction, or inscription, capable of affording any information, and where no record exists to which we may refer for a solution of the question, it is impossible to arrive at anything but a conjectural conclusion. In modern times the arena has been used for the execution of criminals; and when, so late as 1705, a woman was burnt here for some crime, 10,000 people assembled to witness the punishment. The frequent assemblages on similar occasions had, when Stukely visited it, much defaced the structure; and although it has not much altered in appearance since, the plough has rendered the arena very different from its origi nal appearance.

CHAPTER XIII.

MONASTIC ANTIQUITIES.

UNDER this head we propose to describe a few of these picturesque ruins which add such a charm to the English landscape, and which, with the ruined towers and old castles which diversify the topography of that celebrated kingdom, tend to give a romantic interest to every portion of this gem of the ocean.

Netley (or Nettley) abbey, near Southampton, has long been celebrated as one of the most picturesque ruins in England. The proper name of the place appears to be Letteley, which has been Latinized into de lato loco (pleasant place), if it be not, as has been most commonly supposed, a corruption of this Latin designation. Another abbey in the neighborhood was, in the same manner, called Beaulieu in

French or Norman, and de bello loco in Latin. The founder of Netley abbey is stated to have been Peter Roche, bishop of Winchester, who died in 1238. The first charter appears to be granted by Henry III., in 1251. The abbey is there called Ecclesia Sanciæ Mariæ de loco Sancti Edwardi, and, in conformity with this, another of the English names of the place is Edwardstow. The monks of Netley abbey belonged to the severe order of the Cistertians, and were originally brought from the neighboring house of Beaulieu. Hardly anything has been collected with regard to the establishment for the first three hundred years after its foundation, except the names of a few of the abbots. At the dissolution it consisted of an abbot and twelve monks, and its net revenue was returned at only about 1007. It appears, indeed, to have been always an humble and obscure establishment. In the valuation of Pope Nicholas IV., made toward the end of the thirteenth century, it is set down as having an income of only 177. Nor did the riches of the good monks consist in their library. Leland found them possessed of only one book, which was a copy of Cicero's Treatise on Rhetoric. In 1537, the place was granted by the king to Sir William Paulet, afterward the celebrated marquis of Winchester, who, according to his own account, was indebted for so much success in life to "being a willow, not an oak." From him, or his descendants it passed to Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford, the son of the Protector Somerset, who is said to have made it his residence. In a little work, entitled " A Companion in a Visit to Netley Abbey," printed in 1800, there is an extract given from the parish register of St. Michael's, Southampton, from which it is inferred that Queen Elizabeth visited Lord Hertford in August, 1560; a circumstance not noticed in the elaborate account of her majesty's "Progresses," published by the late Mr. Nicholls. It states that she came from the castle of Netley to Southampton on the 13th, and went thence to Winchester on the 16th. The abbey, it is supposed, at this time, was known by the name of the castle. About the end of the seventeenth century it became the property, it is said, of a marquis of Huntingdon; but the earl of Huntingdon must be meant, for there never was a marquis of that name. He has the credit of having commenced the desecra tion of the old building, by converting the nave of the church into a kitchen and offices. There is also a strange story in which he is implicated, told by Browne Willis, the antiquary, and the memory of which is still preserved by tradition, in the neighborhood. The earl, it is said, about the year 1700, or soon after, made a contract with a Mr. Walter Taylor, a builder of Southampton, for the complete demolition of the abbey, it being intended by Taylor to employ the materials in erecting a townhouse at Newport, and other buildings. After making this agreement, however, Taylor dreamed that as he was pulling down a particular window, one of the stones forming the arch fell upon him and killed him. His dream impressed him so forcibly that he mentioned the circumstance to a friend (who is said to have been the father of the well-known Dr. Isaac Watts) and in some perplexity asked his advice. His friend thought it would be his safest course to have nothing to do with the affair respecting which he had been so alarmingly forewarned, and endeavored to persuade him to desist from his intention. Taylor, however, at last decided upon paying no attention to his dream; and accordingly began his operations for the pulling down of the building, in which, however, he had not proceeded far, when, as he was assisting in the work, the arch of one of the windows, but not the one he had dreamed of, which was the east window, fell upon his head and fractured his skull. It was thought at first that the wound would not prove mortal; but it was aggravated through the unskilfulness of the surgeon, and the man died. It is very possible that the whole of this story may have originated from the single incident of Taylor having met with his death in the manner he did; the added circumstances of the previous dream, &c., are not beyond the license of embellishment of which rumor and tradition are accustomed to avail themselves in such cases. The accident which befell Taylor, however, being popularly attributed to the special interposition of Heaven, is said to have, for the time, saved the abbey from demolition. But the place soon after passed out of the possession of the earls of Huntingdon, and has since been successively in that of various other families. It is, or was lately, the property of Lady Holland, the widow of Sir Nathaniel Holland, bart.

Netley abbey is now a complete ruin, nothing remaining except a part of the bare walls. It stands on the declivity of a gentle elevation, which rises from the bank of the Southampton water. The walk to it from the town of Southampton, of about three miles in length, is one of enchanting beauty, the surrounding landscape being

rich in all the charms of water and woodland scenery. The abbey itself is so embosomed among foliage, partly that of the oaks and other trees which rise in thick clumps around it, and some of which, springing up from the midst of the roofless walls, spread their waving branches over them, and partly that of the luxuriant ivy which clothes a great part of the gray stone in green, that scarcely a fragment of it is visible till the visiter has got close beside it. The site of the ruin, however, is one of considerable extent. Originally the buildings seem to have formed a quadrangular court or square; but scarcely anything more is now to be seen, except the remains of the church or chapel which occupied one of the sides. It appears to have been about two hundred feet in length by sixty in breadth, and to have been crossed at the centre by a transept of one hundred and twenty feet long. The walls can still be distinctly traced throughout the whole of this extent, except in the northern portion of the transept. The roof, however, as we have said, no longer exists, having fallen in about thirty or forty years ago. Its fragments, many of them sculptured with armorial bearings and other devices, lie scattered in heaps over the floor. Many broken columns still remain; and there are also windows in different portions of the wall, the ornamental parts of which are more or less defaced, but which still retain enough of their original character to show that the building must have been one of no common architectural beauty. The east end is the most entire, and the great window here is of elegant proportions, and elaborately finished. Besides the church, various other portions of the abbey, such as the kitchen, the refectory, &c., are usually pointed out to strangers; but the conjectures by which these apartments are identified, must be considered as of very doubtful authority. The whole place appears to have been surrounded by a moat, of which traces are still discernible; and two large ponds still remain at a short distance from the buildings, which, no doubt, used to supply fish to the pious inmates. Their retired and undisturbed waters now present an aspect of solitude which is extremely beautiful, overhung as they are by trees and underwood. About two hundred feet distance from the west end of the church, and nearer the water, is a small building, called Netley castle, or fort, which was erected by Henry VIII.

But the chief attraction of Netley abbey must be understood to consist, not so much in any architectural magnificence of which it has to boast, as in the singular loveliness of the spot, and in the feelings inspired by the overthrown and desolate state of the seat of ancient piety. No mind having any imagination, or feeling for the picturesque and the poetical, but must deeply feel the effect of its lonely and mournful, yet exquisitely beautiful seclusion. It has accordingly been the theme of many verses, among which an elegy, written by Mr. George Keate, the author of the account of the Pelew islands and Prince Le Boo, was at one time much admired. A living poet, the Rev. Mr. Bowles, has also addressed the ruin in some lines of considerable tenderness, which we shall subjoin:

"Fallen pile! I ask not what has been thy fate,

But when the weak winds, wafted from the main,
Through each lone arch, like spirits that complain,
Come hollow to my ear, I meditate

On this world's passing pageant, and the lot
Of those who once might proudly, in their prime
Have stood with giant port; till, bowed by time,

Or injury, their ancient boast forgot

They might have sunk, like thee; though thus forlorn
They lift their heads, with venerable hairs

Besprent, majestic yet, and as in scorn

Of mortal vanities and short lived cares,

E'en so dost thou, lifting thy forehead gray,

Smile at the tempest, and time's sweeping sway."

The ruin of Rievaulx abbey is in the parish of Helmsley, north riding of Yorkshire, half-way between Ripon and Scarborough, and about twenty-five miles northeast of York. Several interesting associations are connected with the immediate neighborhood of Helmsley. Helmsley castle was the retreat of Villiers, duke of Buckingham, after his retirement from the court of Charles II. The adjacent town of Kirkby Moorside was the last scene of his humiliation, after health and fortune had been recklessly thrown away in a life of dissipation. Here he breathed his last, though not "in the worst inn's worst room," as the lines by Pope would infer, there being no tradition of the humble dwelling in which the fallen duke closed his career hav