Sebert, king of the East Saxons, and possessed, from a very remote antiquity, the peculiar and important right of sanctuary. It is called a right, but though history lends a romantic interest to the custom in the tales of our early bards, it seems a fitter thing to designate it as a chartered wrong. It has been ingeniously conjectured, that as among our Saxon ancestors, punishment for every crime was allowed to be commuted by fine, the right of sanctuary was afforded, to provide a temporary asylum to criminals, until they could arrange the weregild with the injured person or his representatives. Thus, as the City of Refuge afforded safety to the manslayer, Westminster Abbey shielded the criminal from the penalties of law. The origin was simple, and the object good; but the misguided priesthood took advantage of the power thus placed in their hands to assert for the Church unheard-of authority, and the fiercest anathemas were breathed out against such as disregarded her sacred privilege, consigning to swift destruction such as in hot pursuit were venturous enough to lay hands on any who had thrown themselves prostrate before the altar of sanctuary.

Then it was too great a temptation not to accept the grateful alms of those thus befriended in the time of sorest need, and from offerings of land and money to the Abbey, the holy brotherhood enriched themselves by fees, which were at length enforced by undisguised demand. There were, no doubt, bold and guilty men who sought sanctuary, and to whom it was nothing to pay; but there was also the serf, bowed down with tyrant cruelty; the yeoman, oppressed by rigorous forest laws; the widow and orphan, who, becoming the property of the lord of the soil, fled for refuge within these hallowed walls, these green spots in the desert, "within which not even the clamour of arms could be heard, to dis

turb the chant of holy men, and the sacred service of the altar."*

Thus, after the Conquest, in the rapid advance of civilization, consequent upon obtaining the great Charter, the right of sanctuary became a grievous evil. The inclosure where helplessness and innocence sought and obtained an inviolate asylum, became the resort of felons of every description, and more particularly of those so emphatically designated by their ancient appellation, "stoute maysterlesse menne." Thus it was said, "Riche menne run thyther with poore mennes goodes, nightlye they steale out, and they robbe, and reve, and kille, and come in as though these places gave them not only a safeguard for the harme done, but a licence to do more;" and while the Archbishop of York says, "God forbydde thatte anye manne should, for anye thinge earthlye, enterprize to break the immunities of the sacred sanctuarye," referring to that of Westminster, the Dean of St. Martin le Grand boldly refuses to give up the outlaws who had sallied from thence and wounded several citizens, and when the Lord Mayor bears them off in defiance, loudly complains to the king of this unhallowed breach of privilege.

The income derived from the privilege increasing, the place of sanctuary was no longer confined to one spot; the abbey was sacred as the altar, and the churchyard as the church. The privilege survived the Reformation-as lately as 1753, the houses which formed the precinct were standing. To this day the open space in front of the abbey retains the name of the Sanctuary, and gave a place of safe standing to a poor hunted fugitive, even against the malice of the powerful Wolsey.

While we refer to this right of sanctuary as of

* Hallam.

peculiar and ancient interest, originated for the poor and oppressed, there are events of rare occurrence connected with this noble edifice, and the Hall adjacent, which gather their lustre from the splendour of the age of chivalry.

It is recorded that in the reign of Edward, Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke, assembled the royal armies to march forthwith across the Scottish frontier. A proclamation was made that the Prince of Wales would be knighted on the day called the Feast of Pentecost, and all the young nobility of the kingdom were summoned to meet at Westminster to receive that honour with him.

What a scene that must have been to behold! There, on the 22nd May, 1306, was the flower of England's nobility, to the number of 270, clad in complete armour, with their pages and retinues, silently watching their arms throughout the night, according to the usage of chivalry; and then having been knighted at daybreak, with what splendour must that train, Prince Edward at their head, have passed out of that ancient doorway as they took their departure for the Border country!

Poor youth, the Feast of Pentecost sees him kneeling in royal state before his father in the great Hall— a career of twenty years, and the Feast of St. Denis finds him kneeling to the headsman, the last sands of life running out.

Such scenes crowd around us as we stand within the portal of this old abbey, and when we cast our looks around what histories do those walls speak forth.

"A man may read a sermon, the best and most passionate that ever man preached, if he shall enter into the sepulchre of kings. Where our kings have been crowned their ancestors lie interred, and they must walk over their grandsire's head to take his crown. There the warlike and the peaceful, the fortunate and the miserable, the beloved and the despised princes

mingle their dust and pay down their symbol of mortality, and tell all the world that when we die our ashes shall be equal to kings, and our accounts easier, and our pains or our crowns shall be less."*

There lie the mortal remains of royalty, and side by side the representatives of nature's true nobility.

Roubiliac, the sculptor, is said to have been found standing with his arms folded and his looks fixed on one of those knightly_figures which supported the canopy of Sir Francis Vere, and suddenly exclaiming to some one who accosted him, "Hush, he will speak presently." So let these monuments of departed greatness and glory converse with us as we tread that worn pavement. Let humbled pride, vanquished desire, unavailing covetousness, speak to us from out this charnel house; and as we stand by these tombs let the lives of Mary and Lady Jane Grey-Edward VI. and Charles II.-the Queen of Scots and Elizabeth of England, teach us the fitting moral.

The sanctuary was but a hiding-place; and sinners as we are, we need to think of the One Refuge which no hand of man, or malice of foe, can deprive us of. The vow of the knight, in chivalry, was fidelity to religion and the cross, and we are called upon to take up the same vow, and be faithful unto death. The lives of the departed speak of things and men that were, and we must remember that this mortal must put on immortality, and that the crown and glory we should seek are of heavenly lustre, far removed from corruption, and enduring for ever.