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 find ever fresh delight in every trace and vestige of antiquity which presented itself; and while enjoying not less than his companion the other delights of the excursion, the fresh spring air, or the distant view, or the various objects on his way, he would have this great additional source of interest, which the person destitute of that information would be compelled to forego.

Or let us descend to a lower sphere: let us not wander out of the circle of this very borough wherein we are now assembled, and it will be equally easy to show that archæology is not a mere holiday-thing, to be assumed on some special occasion, but that it may mix and blend with the affairs of every-day life, with our hours of business and our moments of leisure—not only without interfering with our occupations, but also diminishing the monotony of our toil. Which, think you, will pursue his avocations with the more elastic spirit: he who passes through the streets of Southwark with no other emotions than those of gain, or he who, as he glances at the stately tower and crumbling glories of the neighbouring church, can recall the legend of the Ferryman Overs, and his daughter Mary, who founded a house of sisters in the place where the last part of that very Church St. Mary Overie now stands; who, as he hastens through the defilement of Kent-street, can call to mind the fact that he is treading upon the very Roman road itself, whereby, 1,800 years ago, Cæsar's legions marched into the metropolis; who, as he passes the Talbot Inn, about midway between these two extremes, can recollect that this is the very identical "Tabard," that hostelrie where Chaucer tells us, in verses still fresh after near 500 years have passed, he lay,