When we visit the site of some battle with the history book in our hand, it is possible to imagine the lonely hillside peopled again with the dense ranks of English archers, or hear the clanging of the armour as the men-at-arms charged for "St. George and merry England"; and the air will be full again of the battle-cries, of the groans of the wounded and the shouts of the victors. Visit the scene of the battle of Hastings. Here on the high ground, flanked by a wood, stood the brave English, under the leadership of Harold, with his banner, woven with gold and jewels, shining conspicuously in the morning sunlight. Here they stood in the form of a wedge; there they turned the Normans, and put them to flight. Then the Normans rallied, pretended to fly, decoyed the brave English from their position, and by stratagem succeeded in defeating them at last. Or go to the Madingley Windmill, near Cambridge, and see the fifteen miles of rich drained cornfields which intervene between "Ely's stately fane" and the spot on which you are standing. Here read Kingsley's well-known story of _Hereward; or, The Last of the English_, and instead of the rich cornfields you will see that black abyss of mud and bottomless slime into which sank the flower of Norman chivalry as they tried to cross that treacherous bog to conquer the gallant Hereward and to plunder the monastery of Ely, the last stronghold of the English. On they came, thousands upon thousands, rushing along the floating bridge which they had formed, until at last it gave way beneath the weight, and the black slime swallowed up the miserable wretches. Or let us take our stand on the Round Tower, near the summit of the Edge Hill, and see the site of the first battle between the troops of Charles I. and the soldiers of the Parliament. The whole of that green lane was lined with troops. In a cottage which stood at our feet the king breakfasted before the battle; from that mound he surveyed the forces of the enemy. Just as the bells in yonder church had ceased to ring for service on Sunday afternoon the cannon began to roar, and the fight commenced. There Prince Rupert charged with headlong fury, carrying all before him. And so we can follow the fortunes of the fight until the brave Cavaliers retired to rest-- "And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die." The memory of many a fight is recorded in the names of the fields, places, and hills on which the battle raged. Lichfield (_i.e._ the field of the dead), Battlefield, Battle, Battleflats, Standard Hill, Slaughterford, and many others, all tell the tale of war and slaughter.