None of the phenomena of Nature can earlier, or more widely, or more deeply have attracted notice and curiosity than the phenomena of the Seasons ; and none, probably, earlier or more widely became embodied in art and poetry. For that reason few subjects, probably, would prove of greater interest in themselves, or in the light which they reflected, incidentally, on the life and thought of those who have gone before us, if undertaken by an accomplished antiquary, than the enumeration, and description, and comparison of the different modes of representing the Seasons employed in different countries and ages, from the earliest to the latest times. Few subjects, on the other hand, could be chosen less fit for unexhaustive or discursive treatment, or that would sooner exhibit the incompetence of him who is incapable of more. I would willingly, however, bear this reflection, should the notes which I have collected be thought worthy of the attention of this Society, or should they, imperfect as they are, hereafter induce others, more able than myself, to contribute what they have seen and thought upon the subject.

The subjugation of Kent by the Jutes is perhaps the most interesting of all the barbarian conquests of South Britain, from its priority in date and the romance with which it has been invested.

Several stories of the invasion which led to this conquest have come down to us.

A few years ago, in commenting upon certain inscriptions published by Dr. Bruce, I contended that they referred to the estates of Roman colonists called centuriæ, and not to the cohortal divisions known by the same name, as maintained by Dr. Bruce. In a later publication Dr. Bruce controverts my view and reasserts his own. Thus there is a distinct antiquarian issue between us. As such divergences of opinion will never be rare in archæology, I should have left the matter where it stood if there were not something else to import into the question, which at the time I had the honour of bringing the subject before the Society I did not think necessary to state, believing that my evidences were sufficient without it. What I now refer to, and propose to import, are two rules of the formal language of Rome, which of their own force determine the meaning of the word centuria, according as it occurs in conjunction with one quality of proper name or another.

Beneath the Chapter House at Westminster is a Crypt of so remarkable a character that it is surprising no efforts should have been made to ascertain the purpose of its construction, or, if such efforts have been made, that they should have produced no result.

There is no subject that appears to me to present a better field for inquiry to a Christian antiquary than the architecture and antiquities of the Byzantine Church and the Churches associated with it.

James Montagu (or Mountagu, as he wrote it himself), fifth son of Sir Edward Montagu, of Boughton, in the county of Northampton (who was the eldest son of Sir Edward Montagu, Lord Chief Justice of the Common Pleas, and the founder of the ducal house of Montagu), was born at Boughton in the year 1568, and educated in Christ Church College, Cambridge, and became eventually Master of Sidney College, “where,” as Anthony Wood observes “he was noted for his piety, virtue, and learning.” “When the University went to meet James I. on his coming from Scotland, his Majesty first took notice of him at Hinchinbrooke (the seat of the loyal Sir Oliver Cromwell, uncle to the Protector), and made him Dean of the Royal Chapel, and in 1604 (December 17) Dean of Worcester. On the 17th of April, 1608, he was consecrated Bishop of Bath and Wells, and eight years afterwards, viz., in 1616, translated to the see of Winchester. “For his faithfulness, dexterity, and prudence,” adds Wood, “in weighty affairs, the king chose him to be one of his Privy Council.” (Oct. 11, 1617).

There are few pieces of coast scenery in England so little familiar to the tourist as the northern shores of Cornwall. Unexplored, yet well worth exploring, that bleak district still happily remains a “land beyond railways.” Of the treasures it has in store for the geologist, or the lover of natural history, it would be superfluous here to speak; suffice it to say, that, in the shape of cliff castles and tumuli, it presents to the antiquary one continued series of objects of interest. Along the whole line there is scarcely a high piece of cliff or a promontory which does not bear on its rough crest some landmark of pre-historic times. So rapidly, however, is the work of denudation going on, that even within the memory of those now living many a tumulus has fallen a prey to the sea, carrying with it, probably, the bones of some ancient rover, thus rudely restored to that element on which, centuries ago, his bark so gallantly rode. To quote one of the most striking examples of the encroachment of the sea since man left his traces on the cliff, I will take the instance of a “cliff castle” three miles to the north of the town of Camborne. This fortification, in common with all these singular entrenchments, was raised for purposes of defence against the land side, and consists of a double line of earthworks drawn across the neck of what was once a promontory some 70 paces broad. Within these ramparts, where once no doubt there was ample space to accommodate the whole defending force, there is now nothing but a precipice descending abruptly to the sea, some 300 feet below, and leaving scarcely standing room for a single individual between it and the inner side of the earthwork. I mention this instance of the rapidity of the process of denudation on this coast because, from their close proximity to the edge of a similar cliff, it is highly probable that in another half century the very barrows I am about to describe will have shared the same fate.

The progress of building has of late years destroyed many of the old historic features of our land, removed ancient earthworks, and covered their sites with modern dwellings; and as the growth and improvement of modern cities have almost effaced the traces of the old fortified towns—which usually formed the centres from which they have spread, so their surrounding villas have not unfrequently destroyed the vestiges of the earthworks that once crowned the hills in their neighbourhood.

In the Exhibition of Works of the Old Masters made this year (1873) at Burlington House there have been four pictures attributed to Holbein. Three of the four were from the collection of the Earl of Radnor at Longford Castle, where they have long been well known, and they are particularly described by Mr. Wornum in his Life and Works of Hans Holbein, 1867. But the occasion of their being publicly exhibited to many thousands of intelligent observers is one which must invest them with fresh interest, whilst it has afforded an opportunity for more considerate examination than it is always possible to bestow upon pictures when suspended on the walls of a great house. I therefore think there may be room for a few remarks upon these three pictures, even after the attention they have received from Mr. Wornum; whose general conclusions I do not propose to dispute, but rather to confirm; whilst I would offer some historical illustrations in relation to them, which, though actually not very recondite or far-fetched, do not appear to have been hitherto applied as they might have been.

On the brow of a hill situate about a mile to the north of the market town of Newbury in Berkshire stand the picturesque ruins of Donnington Castle. The castle derives its name from the little village of Donnington, which is linked with the adjoining hamlet of Shaw in the parochial designation of Shaw-cum-Donnington—a rural district, divided from the parish of Speen by the tiny river Lamborne, which, to use the quaint expression of Sylvester,

in haste doth run

To wash the feet of Chaucer's Donnington.