whether such a skirmish required a long preliminary description of the surrounding country. Mr. Macaulay might just as usefully have described the plain of Troy. Indeed at the close of his long topographical and etymological narrative Mr. Macaulay has the tardy candour to confess that-- little is now to be learned by visiting the field of battle, for the face of the country has been greatly changed, and the old _Bussex Rhine_, on the banks of which the great struggle took place, has long disappeared. This is droll. After spending a deal of space and fine writing in describing the present prospect, he concludes by telling us candidly it is all of no use, for the whole scene has changed. This is like Walpole's story of the French lady who asked for her lover's picture; and when he demurred observing that, if her husband were to see it, it might betray their secret--"O dear, no," she said--just like Mr. Macaulay--"I _will have the picture_, but it _need not be like_!" But even as to the change, we again doubt Mr. Macaulay's accuracy. The word _Rhine_ in Somersetshire, as perhaps--_parva componere magnis_--in the great German river, means _running_ water, and we therefore think it very unlikely that a running stream should have disappeared; but we also find in the Ordnance Survey of Somersetshire, made in our own time, the course and name of _Bussck's Rhine_ distinctly laid down in front of Weston, where it probably ran in Monmouth's day; and we are further informed, in return to some inquiries that we have caused to be made, that the _Rhine_ is now, in 1849, as visible and well known as ever it was. But this grand piece of the military topography of a battlefield where there was no battle must have its picturesque and pathetic episode, and Mr. Macaulay finds one well suited to such a novel. When Monmouth had made up his mind to attempt to _surprise_ the royal army, Mr. Macaulay is willing (for a purpose which we shall see presently) to persuade himself that the Duke let the whole town into his secret:--