ic. The ruins of the amphitheatre situate near the river
Tame were grand even in their decay, and all the imaginative faculties
of the boy were aroused, as one of the most learned inhabitants
described the scenes of former days, of which tradition had been
preserved, the gladiatorial combats, the wild beast fights.

The heir of Aescendune found hospitality at the episcopal palace, where
Wulfstan,[vii] once the turbulent Archbishop of York, held his court.
The prelate seemed favourably impressed with his youthful guest, whom
he dismissed with a warm commendation to Dunstan.

They left the city early in the morning, and passed through Baenesington
(Benson), which having been originally taken from the Welsh by the Saxon
chieftain Cuthulf, in the year 571, became the scene of the great
victory of Offa, the Mercian king, over Cynewulf of Wessex in the year
777. One of Elfric's ancestors had fought on the side of Offa, and the
exploits of this doughty warrior had formed the subject of a ballad
often sung in the winter evenings at Aescendune, so that Elfric explored
the scene with great curiosity. Inferior to Dorchester, it was still a
considerable town.

Late at night they reached Reading, where they slept, and started early
on the morrow for London, where they arrived on the evening of the
fourth day.

CHAPTER IV. LONDON IN THE OLDEN TIME.

London, in the days of King Edred, differed widely from the stately and
populous city we know in these days, and almost as widely from the
elegant "_Colonia Augusta_," or Londinium, of the Roman period. Narrow,
crooked, and unpaved lanes wound between houses, or rather lowly
cottages, built of timber, and roofed with thatch, so that it is not
wonderful that a conflagration was an event to be dreaded.

Evidence met the eye on every side how utterly the first Englishmen had
failed to preserve the cities they had conquered, and how far inferior
they were in cultivation, or rather civilisation, to the softer race
they had so ruthlessly expelled; for on every side broken pedestal and
shattered column appeared clumsily imbedded in the rude domestic
architecture of our forefathers.

St. Paul's Cathedral rose on the hill once sacred to Diana but was
wholly built within the ruins of the vast temple which had once occupied
the site, and which, magnificent in decay, still surrounded it like an
outwork. Further on were the wrecks of the citadel, where once the stern
legionary had watche