same kingdom, far too numerous and unimportant to be detailed here in
full.

With such a state of affairs as this, it became a matter of deep
importance that there should be some one institution where the arts of
peace might be carried on in safety; where agriculture might be sure of
its reward; where literature and science might be studied; and where
civilising influences might be safe from interruption or rapine. The
monasteries gave an opportunity for such an ameliorating influence to
spring up. They were spared even in war by the reverence of the people
for the Church; and they became places where peaceful minds might
retire for honest work, and learning, and thinking, away from the fierce
turmoil of a still essentially barbaric and predatory community. At the
same time, they encouraged the development of this very type of mind by
turning the reproach of cowardice, which it would have carried with it
in heathen times, into an honour and a mark of holiness. Every monastery
became a centre of light and of struggling culture for the surrounding
district. They were at once, to the early English recluse, universities
and refuges, places of education, of retirement, and of peace, in the
midst of a jarring and discordant world.

Hence, almost the first act of every newly-converted prince was to found
a monastery in his dominions. That of Canterbury dates from the arrival
of Augustine. In 643, Kenwealh of Wessex "bade timber the old minster at
Winchester." In 654, shortly after the conversion of East Anglia,
"Botulf began to build a monastery at Icanho," since called after his
name Botulf's tun, or Boston. In 657, Peada of Mercia and Oswiu of
Northumbria "said that they would rear a monastery to the glory of
Christ and the honour of St. Peter; and they did so, and gave it the
name of Medeshamstede"; but it is now known as Peterborough.[1]