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in to expressions of regret for the “good times,” when corn was double the price it is now, and farms were all let, and market-days were occasions for heavy dealing in “beasts” and sheep. The people take life easily. They can look back with pride on the days when Boston was the third port of England, and its custom-duties exceeded those of London even (1279-1288); when the quays were crowded with shipping, and merchants flocked into the town from all parts of England, France, and Holland. They can look back to the time when William the Conqueror visited Lincolnshire in 1068, and found merchants trading at Boston who had come from Ypres, Caen, Ostend, and Cologne.

Even at that early period the town had become a great emporium for merchants. Trading guilds were established, as well as a great fair, extending over several days in December; and there were four religious houses to keep up the tone. Then, as now, there was more money to be made in business than in agricultural work, and the Bostonians seemed to have grasped that fact at an early stage. They pushed their trade in every direction,—wool, corn, wine,—nothing came amiss. Here they were in Boston 600 years ago, before America was even thought of, paying something like 36 per cent of the customs duties of the whole kingdom. What a time those old people must have had! Merchants came from all parts of the kingdom to buy their goods, and even the necessaries and luxuries of life. Shopping was not in fashion, as there were few or no shops, so most of the buying was done by “commission.” There are records how various religious houses sent their friars to buy at the Boston mart. The canons of Bridlington, in Yorkshire, came all the way to Boston—what a journey that must have been across the Humber!—to buy their wine and cloth, for in the compotus of the priory is a yearly account (1290 to 1325) of wine, &c., bought apud sanctum Botolphum. Commissions were also undertaken for the ladies and gentlemen of Craven, to buy stuffs and dresses.

It is hoped the buyers looked well after the interests of their clients, for an old statute ordains that “dyed cloth should be of equal quality throughout, and that the merchants should not hang up red or black cloths at their windows, nor darken them by penthouses to prevent any one having a good light in buying their cloths.” Shocking! In these degenerate days of wooden nutmegs and paper boots, such a statute might be understood, but to learn that in the good old times these laws were necessary is a revelation. There is an old comedy by Middleton, “A Mad World my Masters,” and one of the characters is made to say, “Oh! the honestest thieves of all come out of Lincolnshire, the kindest natured gentlemen! They’ll rob a man with conscience; they have a feeling of what they go about, and will steal with tears in their eyes. Ah, pitiful gentlemen!” Certainly the kindest natured gentlemen are to be found in Lincolnshire; and as Middleton tells us the “thieves came out’” well, we must assume there are none but honest men left now.

The even tenor of life in Boston was sadly upset by an incident which seems to have done almost irreparable harm to the town. It earned a bad name perhaps, and naturally the frightful excesses