quarrel. Time was, Time is, as Friar Bacon's Brass Head
remarked; and withal Time will be. There are three Tenses,
_Tempora,_ or Times; and there is one Eternity; and as for us,

'We are such stuff as Dreams are made of!'

Indisputable, though very dim to modern vision, rests on its hill-
slope that same _Bury,_ _Stow,_ or Town of St. Edmund; already a
considerable place, not without traffic, nay manufactures, would
Jocelin only tell us what. Jocelin is totally careless of
telling: but, through dim fitful apertures, we can see
_Fullones,_ 'Fullers,' see cloth-making; looms dimly going,
dye-vats, and old women spinning yarn. We have Fairs too,
_Nundinae,_ in due course; and the Londoners give us much
trouble, pretending that they, as a metropolitan people, are
exempt from toll. Besides there is Field-husbandry, with
perplexed settlement of Convent rents: comricks pile themselves
within burgh, in their season; and cattle depart and enter; and
even the poor weaver has his cow,--'dung-heaps' lying quiet at
most doors (_ante foras,_ says the incidental Jocelin), for the
Town has yet no improved police. Watch and ward nevertheless we
do keep, and have Gates,--as what Town must not; thieves so
abounding; war, _werra,_ such a frequent thing! Our thieves, at
the Abbot's judgment bar, deny; claim wager of battle; fight,
are beaten, and _then_ hanged. 'Ketel, the thief,' took this
course; and it did nothing for him,--merely brought us, and
indeed himself, new trouble!

Every way a most foreign Time. What difficulty, for example, has
our Cellerarius to collect the _repselver,_ 'reaping silver,' or