daily engaged in diligent efforts to conquer
the difficulties of learning: as we peeped
through the large windows of an immense
hall of study, we had an opportunity of
judging of the zeal of the numerous pupils:
not a head was lifted from the desk, not an
eye directed from a book, while the clerical
instructors strode with solemn steps up and
down the chamber, keeping careful watch on
their charges. One side of the enclosure,
where the famous church stands, is taken up
by a long and well-built range of rooms,
forming the kitchen and the dining hall of
the pupils, whose bodily welfare seems as
well attended to as their mental advantages;
and it was with no inconsiderable pride that
two nuns exhibited to our party, courteously
and cheerfully, the mysteries of the kitchen
in which they ministered, and the comforts
of the dining-hall to which they attended.
The church is still undergoing restoration,
though a great deal has already been
accomplished, and we were invited to observe some
of the work by a very jolly, lively, good-
tempered priest, who was idly superintending
the labourers, and who hastened to silence
the angry barking of an enormous dog who
was, apparently, set to guard the premises.
Every body in Saint Blquier looked contented
and fat, and idle also, except the students,
and courtesy seemed the general characteristic.

Our guide in the church was an exception
as to gaiety of demeanour, for, after unlocking
the doors, he relapsed into total abstraction,
and to every question asked he replied.
without looking up, "I don't know." Finding
we had no remedy, we resigned ourselves to
make our own discoveries, concluding, as was
probably the case, that this guide, appointed
to assist strangers in their researches, was an
idiot, incapable of other exertion than using
his keys, and extending his palm for gratuities.
Afterwards, when we visited the church of
Saint Wolfran at Abbeville, we had reason to
regret that our conductor was not of the same
genus, for his nervous fidgetting for fear his
"little benefit" should be forgotten, caused
him to insert that clause into every bit of
information he afforded us.

Charlemagne, in the year 800, put the
whole of his imperial treasure at the disposal
of the first Abbot Angilbert for the construction
and adornment of the Abbey of
Saint Riquier, called at first, of Centule,
from the hundred towers of the town,
which afterwards was placed under the
dominion of the monks; it is not therefore
surprising if some remains of the fine columns,
which were sent from Italy to beautify the
structure, are still found in the church, which
time and violence have spared. Whether any
of the beautiful pillars which support the
fine roof are amongst those which, tradition
affirms, being broken in the erection were
repaired by angels in the night, we cannot say,
but something more than common taste and
grace certainly appears in all the details of
this exquisite building.

The first foundation of the abbey was two
centuries before Charlemagne, in the days of
no les.s a personage than King Dagobert, a
monarch as well known in the nursery rhymes
of France, as that "worthy peer King Stephen"
in reference to the same portion of his apparel
is, or was, in England. King Dagobert seems
to have been fated to continual scolding from
his friends and ministers, and it must be
recorded to his credit, that while he meekly
agreed to repair that inelegance of his costume
which so much shocked "le grand Saint Eloi "—
he was not deaf to the remonstrances of
Saint Riquier, who reproved him for numerous
errors of more consequence, and who had
the boldness to make a remark to him which
few courtiers, even in these ages of freedom,
would venture to utter.

"A subject is accountable to none but himself:
but a sovereign is accountable to all."

But Saint Riquier was a man superior to,
though yet made for, his age. He rose from a
peasant's estate to command princes and
dictate to popes; he lived on barley bread
mixed with ashes, and on water mixed—adds
his chronicler—mixed with tears. He was
converted from idolatry by an Irish Saint,
whose mission led him to Ponthieu. and his
zeal led him to exert himself for the good of
his country. He saw the unprotected state
of the kingdom, and bent all his energies to
resist the barbarian incursions of hordes
from the North, which ravaged the country;
he employed the wealth placed in his hands to
establish defences, not only for his monastery,
but for the whole province.

Those who behold the single isolated tower
in the centre of the little quiet town, used
only as a belfry, can scarcely conceive the
strength and importance of the Saint Riquier
of ancient times. There are, however,
extraordinary remains of enormously high walls
which run along one side of a street for nearly
a quarter of a mile, and impress one with
surprise at their powerful appearance. These
are the last remains of the grandeur of the
town, whose defences were finally destroyed
by order of Louis the Thirteenth, as well as
those of Abbeville, Rue, and other strong
places in the country.

What studies the pupils at the modern
college pursue we know not, but in early days
the monks, who were the most learned of
their class, were celebrated for the manuscripts
they produced; and the library possessed,
in Charlemagne's time, no less than
two hundred and fifty-six volumes, some
written in gold letters on purple vellum, one
of which may still be seen at Abbeville, where
it is kept as a great treasure. The mighty
king, who, some impertinent authors assert,
could neither read nor write himself, was
extremely proud of this library.

When the great and powerful abbey was
condemned in 1790, and sold as national