Stories of the British Isles

Stories of the British Isles

Selected Authors

FORGOTTEN CLASSICS FAMILY LIBRARY Libraries of Hope

Stories of the British Isles

Copyright © 2014, 2022 by Libraries of Hope, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission of the publisher. International rights and foreign translations available only through permission of the publisher.

Compiled From:

Little Stories of England, by Maude Barrows Dutton, New York, Cincinnati, Chicago: American Book Company, (1911).

Stories from English History from BC 55 to AD 1901, by Henry Warren, Boston: D.C. Heath and Co. (1901).

True Stories from the History of Ireland, by John James McGregor,Dublin: William Curry, Jun. and Co., (1829)

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Little Stories of England

by Maude Barrows Dutton

Preface

The common school curriculum has been broadened during the last generation, until the number of subjects in the weekly program doubles and sometimes triples that of former days. And while there is serious danger of dissipation now, no one questions the general wisdom of this change. Indeed, any pupil who confines himself even now to the prescribed course of study is leading altogether too narrow a life. The textbooks, no matter how numerous and varied, are only a text after all, and a good portion of a young person’s ideas should come from other sources than the immediate school instruction.

Again, one weakness of the school touches reviews. After having once presented valuable topics, it lacks variety of ways of reviewing and thereby fixing them as permanent possessions.

This book aims to meet both of these needs; and in my estimation, it meets them admirably. It introduces children to many topics of common interest that are not found in any ordinary course of study. And it reviews many others in a delightful manner.

There are two reasons why such books as this may well occasionally receive a period of the regular school time. In that way only will the importance of general reading be properly impressed upon many pupils. Only in that way, too, will the teacher have opportunity to give needed ideas about the proper method of general reading. Textbooks in school are usually covered so slowly that children rebel if they have preserved enough individuality to harbor ideas of their own. And, as a consequence, any books that they are free to read

in their own way they cover altogether too rapidly. They need to learn a middle way. By reading such stories as these with a class, or by talking them over one by one with a class after the latter have read them, the teacher can give many valuable facts about method that will influence all later general reading. Since general reading of books, magazines, and papers, as distinguished from strenuous study of a particular text, constitutes the main part of reading for most persons after their school is past, the magnitude of this matter is easily apparent.

F. M. McMURRY. Teachers College, Columbia University.

The White-Cliffed Island

The first story of England was written fifty years before Christ was born. It was written long before England bore the name of England; long before the first words of the English language had been formed; long before people had learned how to make pens and paper. Julius Cæsar, the great Roman general, wrote the story. He wrote it in his own language, Latin, cutting the words into a wax-covered tablet with a hard-pointed stylus. It was a part of his diary, that he kept faithfully, to tell the Romans of the strange lands that he had visited and the strange peoples whom he had conquered in battle.

For Julius Cæsar was a wonderful soldier. He grew up in Rome in the days when the dream in the heart of every boy was to be strong enough and brave enough to march some day at the head of a Roman legion. To the north and to the south of Rome, over the mountains and down to the sea, ran the hard white roads that stretched out from the city like the spokes of a great wheel. Many a time the boy Julius watched the legions, the swift chariots, the standard bearers carrying the Roman Eagles, the long lines of soldiers, the flying banners, going forth to add new glory to the name of Rome. Many a time the man Cæsar marched forth at the head of a legion and brought his armies back laden with spoils. It was under his leadership that the western part of Europe, which was then called Gaul, was turned into a Roman province and forced to pay a yearly tribute to this greedy Italian city. Some of the people of Gaul first told Cæsar about the island of Britain not far from the mainland. They knew little about it except that now and again when the weather was fair

their merchants ventured across the water to exchange their goods for corn or cattle. As Cæsar marched along the coast of Gaul, he saw for himself the white cliffs of the island shining through the sea fog. His eyes were as sharp and piercing as an eagle’s, but they could not see what lay beyond those white cliffs. He felt that his work for Rome would not be done until he had set up her standard on this island.

At the end of August, in the year 55 B.C., Cæsar set sail at midnight. Two legions of soldiers sailed with him. They were sturdy, strong-hearted men. Each man wore a heavy helmet, breastplate, and shield, and carried a sword, javelin, and dagger. Morning found the Romans near the coast of Britain. The chalk cliffs looked different now. They were alive with warriors. Crowds of tall men clad in skins and with long streaming hair lined the coast. Chariots dashed back and forth, driven at a mad speed. With the roaring of the waves mingled the war chants of the white-robed Druid priests. Wild horsemen plunged into the sea and hurled their lances at the Roman galleys. As the ships attempted to land, a shower of flint-tipped arrows fell upon them. More than this, the wind and the tide were against the Romans. The only way to reach the shore was to wade through the shallow water.

For a moment the Romans hesitated. Then the standard bearer of the Tenth Legion, holding the bronze eagle high above his head, sprang into the waves shouting, “Follow me, fellow soldiers, if you would not betray the Roman Eagle into the hands of the enemy!”

With a shout the men obeyed him. A wild, disorderly battle ensued. The Britons were fearless, but they could not hold out against the trained army of Cæsar. Still Cæsar saw that his forces were not strong enough to conquer the island. Content with winning the first battle, he soon afterward returned to Gaul.

The next summer he came again to Britain. This time his eight hundred ships and galleys, filled with five legions of

soldiers, sailed with him. To the Britons the whole sea seemed filled with ships. They fled, leaving Cæsar to land unharmed. Cæsar followed them inland, fought more battles, won more victories, and, after forcing Britain to agree to pay tribute to Rome, withdrew.

This Roman conquest meant little to Britain. Still, it is from Cæsar’s diary that we first hear about the white-cliffed island. It was a land, Cæsar tells us, of vast forests, flat, barren moors, and great marshes. The people were terrible to look upon. Their eyes were blue, and their yellow hair hung about their shoulders uncut. They wore no garments but skins of animals, and they spent their days either hunting or fighting, planting grain or minding their flocks. Their homes were mud huts hidden in the forests. The most savage tribes of all, the Picts and the Scots, lived like robbers in the far north.

The Britons believed that the woods and fens were full of goblins and fairies. Every river was protected by good fairies and haunted by evil ones. The priests of the Britons were called Druids. They dressed in flowing white garments, and their chief wore a golden box hung about his neck, which held a magic serpent’s egg. The Druids went into battle with the soldiers, and cheered on the fighting by their chants. They were also the judges of all disputes. They had no books of laws, but the old priests taught the young ones all the customs of the people, and the little that they knew themselves about herbs, about the planting of grain, and about the stars. These Druids taught the people that there was one very great and powerful God who had made them all and they worshiped this God in the forest under some huge oak, or in stone temples open to the sky. But their worship was as cruel as their fighting, for they were still a wild, savage people.

This was a strange story to the people in Rome. To them it seemed as if this island was at the farther end of the earth. The more they read of Cæsar’s story, the more they longed to make Britain subject to Rome.

Caradoc

For over a hundred years after Cæsar’s second visit to Britain, Rome left the island alone. Then an emperor came to the throne who read again the stories in Cæsar’s diary, and was filled with the desire to make Britain truly a Roman province. Again the Britons rallied strongly to protect their land from the foreign foe, but they were no match for the trained and disciplined armies of Roman soldiers. Yet one brave man stood defiant for over nine years. Caradoc, a young Briton chief, still believed that the fearless courage of his people would in the end be triumphant. Back, back, back, ever farther and farther and farther inland, he was driven by the Romans. Yet he seemed to gain new hope from each defeat. At last he was obliged to flee into the hills. After him, with firm, steady, onward march, came the Roman legions. Caradoc took his stand on a high hill which was cut off from the Romans by a river at its foot. He threw up a defense of huge stones. He gathered the Britons from far and near. He knew that this was to be the final struggle. As he saw the army approaching he rushed through the ranks, cheering his men and crying, “To-day shall decide whether Britain shall be free or subject to Rome.”

The Britons caught his spirit. A shower of stones and darts fell like biting hail on the approaching Romans. But the Romans were armed with breastplates and helmets of the finest metal, whereas the Britons wore no armor. It was a terrible battle. Caradoc escaped, but soon afterwards he was captured, and he and his whole family were sent to Rome.

All Rome thronged the streets to see the triumphant

procession of the Roman general who had finally conquered the far-away island. They gazed with pride at the golden treasure that was borne before him, and at the long line of captives who marched behind in chains. Whenever Caradoc passed, cheers went up, cheers for the Roman general who after nine years had conquered this brave patriot. Caradoc did not march like a captive. He held his head as high as if he were wearing a crown instead of chains. He saw in astonishment the beautiful palaces and temples of Rome. A picture came into his mind of the mud huts of his own people. “Strange, strange,” he said, half aloud, “that people who own so many and such rich possessions should envy us our poor homes.”

Slowly the long procession moved through the city to the field of Mars, where the emperor Claudius and the empress sat in state, waiting to welcome the triumphant general. Weeping and begging mercy the captives fell on their knees before the emperor. Caradoc, alone, remained standing in haughty pride. Claudius turned his eyes upon him. There was a moment of silence as the emperor spoke:—

“Briton, knowest thou that thou must die? All who bear arms against Rome, as thou hast done, are doomed to death.”

Caradoc’s voice was as calm as the emperor’s as he replied:—

“I had men and horses, arms and wealth. I might have been your friend instead of your captive. Had I surrendered to your power, neither my fall nor your triumph would have been so great as now. Put me to death, and my story will be forgotten. Spare me, and your mercy will be remembered forever. As for me, I have nothing to live for; I fear death no more here than on the field of battle.”

The noble bearing of the man appealed to the emperor. Caradoc was set free, and, as he said, his story has not been forgotten.

But meanwhile in Britain the Roman conquest went on.

STORIES OF THE BRITISH ISLES

All the island, except the North, where the wild Picts and Scots lived, was gradually conquered. Then, as was her custom, Rome began to send her masons, her builders, her merchants, to follow after the soldiers. The great marsh lands were drained. The mud huts were shattered, and houses, temples, theaters, and baths were built in their place. The forest trails were beaten down into broad, hard roads running from town to town. A mighty wall was built in the North reaching from sea to sea; bridges spanned the rivers, and guards kept them day and night against the Picts and Scots. The people were taught to wear cloth garments instead of skins. They were shown how to till the soil and raise grain. The captives were forced to work in the lead and tin mines.

For over four hundred years the work of the Roman conquest went on, changing the island from a savage to a civilized country. Yet it was not all gain for Britain. Many of her men and women worked as slaves for Rome. Many of her young men were sent to fight in the Roman army. Every year the island was forced to pay a heavy tax to Rome. Little by little the Britons lost their warlike spirit. They were no longer warriors, for if an enemy attacked them, the Roman legions were there to protect them.

But the end of Rome’s greatness was drawing near. Wild tribes began attacking the city which had once been the most powerful city of the world. Her legions were needed at home. One by one they were withdrawn from Britain. The Picts and Scots were quick to learn that the Romans had gone. They came down from the North like a swarm of angry hornets. The Britons were powerless against these invaders. Terrorstricken, they sent a letter to the Roman General, calling it “The Groans of the Britons.” It was a pitiful letter begging for help.

“The savages drive us into the sea,” they wrote; “the sea drives us back on the savages. Our only choice is whether we shall die by the sword or drown; for we have none to save us.”

But Rome could only send back the answer, “Britain must look to her own defense.”

The Coming of The English

Years passed by, each one more troublesome for Britain. The robber tribes in the North grew bolder in their plundering. Pirates from the barbarians living along the North Sea began to ravage the eastern coast of the island. The spirit of Caradoc was dead. Rome had withdrawn all help. Where should the Britons turn for aid? Then Vortigern, a Briton king, bethought himself, “I shall do well if I can set these robbers one against another.” So he sent word to the Jutes, a warlike people living on the peninsula that we call Denmark, and said, “Let us make an alliance together.”

So Hengist and Horsa, the leaders of the Jutes, gave a great feast to Vortigern, and the pledge was drunk that if the Jutes would aid the Britons in driving back the Picts and Scots the king Vortigern would give to them the island of Thanet. If we may believe the legend, another pledge was also made at this feast, for Hengist had a daughter Rowena, who was very beautiful, and who served the king at table. When Vortigern looked into her blue eyes, he loved her, and said to Hengist:

“Give me the maid to wife, and I will give you the kingdom of Kent.”

Be this story as it may, band upon band of Jutes sailed for England. These tribes had never been subdued by the Romans. The love of war was born in their blood. They drove the Picts and Scots back behind the great wall, and placed guards there, as the Romans had done before them. As a reward for their great service they were given the island of Thanet. Here many of the Jutes settled, but others returned

home to Denmark. At home they told strange tales. They told of rich cities. They told of fertile fields. They told of the cowardice of the Britons, who fled at the sight of the Picts and Scots. In Britain, it seemed, was wealth to be had for the taking.

Other tribes besides the Jutes began to turn longing eyes upon the island. The Saxons and the Angles, from Germany, were quick to follow the lead of the Jutes. At first they went merely to plunder and return home. Then, as they saw that the stories of the Jutes were true, they came bringing with them their wives, children, and cattle. They came seeking homes in a land that was better than their own.

In dismay the Britons saw that a new enemy was upon them. These Saxons and Angles were a merciless people. In war they killed all their captives or made them slaves. They tore down the beautiful palaces and theaters that the Romans had built. They turned the Christian churches into Pagan temples. The few Britons who escaped sought refuge in the West among the mountains of Wales. Slowly the Angles and Saxons made the island their own. In the fertile fields they built up villages like those they had left behind in Germany. Each freeman of the tribe had a small piece of land which he called his own. Here he built his rude hut of branches, woven together and covered with mud. There was little furniture in the hut, but on the walls of the very poorest hung the freeman’s arms. He must be ready at a moment’s notice to rally around his chief.

On the edge of the village was the plowland, where the slaves were set to work, plowing, planting, and reaping grain. Round the plowland ran a high hedge to keep out the wild beasts of the forests. No man ventured far into these forests unarmed. But on the border of the woods beneath the beech trees the boy swineherd fed his swine. The boy was dressed in uncombed sheepskins, with sandals on his feet, bound with leather thongs. His matted hair was his only cap. Around his

neck he wore a brass ring, like a dog’s collar, telling the name of his master, for the swineherd was a slave. A ram’s horn hung from his belt, to call the swine together at night. The Romans had come as conquerors. These new tribes came as settlers. In the course of time seven great separate kingdoms grew up in Britain. The Jutes settled in Kent. The Saxons formed three kingdoms: Essex, or the land of the East Saxons; Wessex, the land of the West Saxons; and Sussex, the land of the South Saxons. And the Angles named their three kingdoms Anglia, Mercia, and Northumbria. Their whole territory they called Angles’ land, and from this name came England, the name of the southern part of the island of Britain.

King Arthur

In the days when the heart of every Briton was terrorstricken by the word Roman, one man had arisen from their own midst Caradoc. Now, when the Saxons were sweeping across the land like fire, another Briton hero met the foe fearlessly, and dared lead his army against them. The name of this hero king was Arthur, and history tells us little about him except that in his courage lay the dying hope of his people. Today when a great man dies a monument is erected to his honor, so that even those who never saw him can look into his face and feel that they, too, have known him. But in these early days, when the Britons were fleeing for their lives to the woods and mountains, they could do little to honor a hero. Still, they did not forget King Arthur. The story of his brave deeds passed from lip to lip. Mothers told of it to their children, and these children in their turn told it to their own. It came to be the favorite tale of the Britons. And the oftener it was told the more their love grew for this king. They came to believe that he had power to do any deed that was good and noble. Centuries afterwards these legends and tales were gathered together and printed in a book. Which were true we of today can no longer tell; but what is true is that boys and girls of today love the tale of King Arthur just as much as did the little Britons who listened to it in the far distant past. This is the story.

It happened in the days when Uther was king in England that a son was born to him. But the king did not like the child, and, when he was still a wee baby, he commanded two knights and two ladies to wrap the child in a cloth of gold, and give it

to the first poor man who passed the castle gate. So it befell that the baby came into the hands of Merlin, the Enchanter, who named him Arthur and gave him to Sir Ector to bring up as his son.

About two years after this, King Uther fell sick and died, leaving the realm without a ruler. There were many lords who came forth eager to be king, but none could decide who should be chosen, and for a long, long time only strife and jealousy reigned in England. Then Merlin bade the lords of the land gather in the greatest church in London on Christmas morn and see if God would not send them a sign who should be their king. And when the mass was over there was found in the churchyard a great stone, four feet square, and in the midst of it was an anvil of steel in which a sword of gold was imbedded. And round about the sword ran this inscription in letters of gold: “Whoso pulleth this sword out of this stone and anvil, is rightwise born king of the Britons.”

Many a knight was eager to try his hand, and each was given his turn, but the sword clung fast in the anvil as if it were in truth a part of the stone itself. Then the archbishop said, “Truly this is a miracle of God, and He will send us our king in due season. Till then let us wait in peace.”

So the knights went forth to gather again on New Year’s Day at a great tournament. And among those who rode to the tournament was Sir Ector with his son Sir Kay, and the young Arthur his foster brother. But when Sir Kay was about to enter the jousts, he bethought him that he had left his sword at home, and bade young Arthur ride quickly and fetch it. On the way the boy remembered the tale he had heard of the sword in the churchyard, and determined that he would try his strength. So when he had come to the church he tied his horse to the stile and went over to the great stone. He clasped the hilt firmly with his right hand and drew the sword lightly from its bed of steel. A moment later he was back on the field, delivering the sword to Sir Kay.

When Sir Kay had looked at the sword, he knew well whence it came. The tale spread fast among the knights that Arthur had drawn forth the miraculous sword. Then all together they rode back to the churchyard, and placed the sword in the anvil. Again ten knights tried one by one to draw it forth, but it yielded to none of them. Yet when Arthur’s hand fell upon it, it slipped out with no effort. Thereupon Sir Ector and Sir Kay knelt down before Arthur, and all the other knights knelt down, and Arthur was proclaimed king. So once more did his friend, Merlin the Enchanter, help him.

At another time Merlin and the king were together, and Arthur was sad because he had broken his sword in battle with a knight. Then said Merlin, “Let us ride down to yonder lake.”

Together they came to the lake side, and there in the midst of the water arose an arm holding aloft a beautiful sword. And over the waters was seen coming a maiden.

“Speak fair to yonder maiden, for she is the Lady of the Lake,” quoth Merlin; “and she will give you the sword.”

“Fair lady,” spoke Arthur, “pray tell me whose is yonder sword? I wish indeed that it were mine, for mine is broken in twain.”

“The sword is mine,” was the maiden’s answer; “but gladly will I give it to thee. Do thou take yonder barge and row out and fetch it.”

So Arthur and Merlin rowed out into the lake, and the king took the sword, while the arm again went under the water. Then Merlin told him that the name of the sword was Excalibur, and that he should do with it many a brave and noble deed.

The words of Merlin came true, and Arthur’s fame grew wider and wider. Then his barons came to him and said, “So noble a king should take to himself a wife. Now is there not some lady of the land whom ye love better than another?”

“Yea,” said King Arthur, “I love Guenevere of the house of Cameliard, whose father holdeth the Table Round that ye told me he had of my father, Uther. She is the gentlest and the fairest lady in the land.”

So Merlin went forth and brought Guenevere to be Arthur’s wife, and her father sent with her as a gift the Round Table and a hundred knights. And the noble deeds that were done by King Arthur and his knights of the Round Table would fill a book of many pages, for the king lived to a good old age.

Nobly did the king live, and nobly did he die. Wounded in battle he lay dying in his tent. Then he called to him one of his knights, Sir Bedivere, and handed him his sword.

“Take thou Excalibur, my good sword,” he said, “and carry it to yonder lake, where thou shalt throw it into the water, and then return to me and tell me what thou shalt see.”

At these words Sir Bedivere knew that the king’s end was near. He went out, sad of face, to do his command. But on the way he paused to look at the sword. “It is, forsooth, a pity to cast such a fine sword into the water,” he thought to himself, and straightway hid it beneath a tree.

“What saw ye at the lake?” questioned the king, when Sir Bedivere returned.

“Sir,” said the knight, “I saw nothing but the waves driven by the wind.”

Then Arthur looked into his eyes, and said, “As thou art dear to me, go and do my command.” And Sir Bedivere went out the second time. But a second time, when he held the sword in his hand, he said to himself, “It is indeed a shame to throw away such a noble sword.” Again he hid it, and went back to the dying king.

“What saw ye there at the lake?” The king repeated his question, and the knight made answer: “Sir, I saw nothing but the lapping waves.”

“Ah, traitor!” cried the king, “now hast thou betrayed me

twice. In the name of the love which I have ever borne to thee; depart and do my command.”

A third time Sir Bedivere went out and took the sword, but this time he carried it to the lake and threw it far into the water. He stood above on the cliff and watched. He saw the waves part, and an arm and head come out of the water and seize the sword. Three times the sword was brandished in the air, and then it sank forever beneath the waves. So Sir Bedivere came again to the king, and told him what he had seen.

“Alas,” said Arthur, “now help me hence, for I fear that I have tarried too long.”

Then the knight took the king gently in his arms, and carried him down to the lake side. And there stood a barge with many fair ladies in it, all wearing hoods of black. And when they saw the king they wept and wailed.

“Now put me in the barge,” quoth the king. Sir Bedivere lifted him in, and noiselessly the barge left the shore. And the king said unto his knight:—

“... now farewell. I am going a long way

To the island-valley of Avilion; Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies Deep-meadowed, happy, fair with orchard-lawns And bowery hollows crowned with summer sea. Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.” This is the last story of the Britons.

How the Story of Christ Was Told in England

Little by little all Roman influence disappeared from the white-cliffed island. Missionaries from Ireland brought to the Britons the news of the new religion of Christianity that Rome had sent to them. But this religion gave way to the German paganism when the Angles and Saxons came. The Latin words were forgotten for the rougher tongue of the newcomers. The one remaining link between England and Rome was her trade, and the selling of English men and women and boys and girls in Rome as slaves.

It so happened that one day Gregory, a priest, was passing the slave market in Rome, and saw two English boys standing there. Their fair skin and hair and blue eyes, so different from the Italians, attracted his attention.

“Who are these golden-haired boys?” he asked of the slave dealer.

“They are Angles,” was the answer.

“Not Angles, but Angels,” returned the priest. “And whence come they?”

“From Deira.”

“Deira!” repeated Gregory (which in Latin means, “from the wrath of God”). “Aye, verily they are plucked from the wrath of God and called to Christ’s mercy. And what is their king’s name?”

They told him “Ælla.”

“A word of good omen,” replied Gregory; “Alleluias shall be sung in Ælla’s land.”

Gregory never forgot the faces of those slave boys. He

longed to go himself to their land, but this was not possible, for he afterwards became Pope, and there were many other pressing matters for him to attend to. Still, after many years, he sent to England a certain monk named Augustine to tell the story of Christ there. Augustine set out with a little band of followers across Gaul. On his journey he heard so many terrifying tales of the Saxons that he wrote to Rome begging to be allowed to return. But Gregory bade him go on his way. “The more difficult the labor, the greater the reward,” was his reply. In the year 597 Augustine and his fellow missionaries landed on the island of Thanet.

They had chosen Kent for a first landing spot because Ethelbert, the king, had married a Frankish princess Bertha, who was a Christian. Bertha persuaded the king to receive the strangers kindly, but Ethelbert would not allow them to come under his roof. He feared they might cast a magic spell over his house. So the first meeting was held out of doors under a great oak.

The king and his court watched the procession of whiterobed priests coming up from the sea, bearing ahead a silver cross and a banner on which was painted a picture of Christ. They listened, too, to the chants that the priests sang and the long sermon that Augustine preached. Then the king said, “Your words are fair, but they are new.” He was not willing to give up his old religion so quickly. Yet he permitted them to come back with him to Canterbury and worship in an old Roman church, St. Martin’s, which was still standing there. After a year, when he had seen what good men Augustine and his followers were, and how they helped the poor and taught the ignorant, Ethelbert was himself baptized, and not long after his whole court, and Kent became a Christian kingdom with Augustine bishop of Canterbury.

The next kingdom to become Christianized was Northumbria. Edwin, who was the rightful king of Northumberland, had been deposed, and had fled for protection to Redwald,

the king of East Anglia. At first Redwald was kind to him, but finally he was persuaded to give him over to his enemies. Edwin had learned of the plot and had gone out in the early morning to think over what he could do. He was seated on a stone near the palace, when a stranger came up to him and said:

“Think not that I do not know why you are wakeful when others sleep. What will you give to him who will persuade Redwald not to hand you over to your enemies?”

“He shall have all the gratitude of my heart,” Edwin made reply.

“And what if he overcomes your enemies and makes you the most powerful king in England?”

“I will give myself to him,” answered Edwin.

“And if he tell you more of the meaning of life and death than any of your forefathers have known, will you listen to him?”

“I will.”

Then the stranger, laying his hand on Edwin’s head, made the sign of the cross. “When this sign shall be repeated,” he said, “remember it and this hour, and what you have promised.” With these words the stranger vanished.

Many years afterwards, when Edwin’s kingdom had been returned to him, Paulinus, a priest, came and asked him if he remembered the sign and his promise. Edwin answered yes, and pledged himself to become a Christian. But first he called together a council of his nobles to discuss the matter. He told them the story, and asked them if he should give up the old religion for the new. This is the answer that one of his men made:

“The present life seems to me like the flight of a sparrow. The bird of a wintry night flies into the great hall where we sit feasting, and for a few moments it is safe and warm by our fire. But an instant later it vanishes into the dark of the night and the cold of the storm. If the new religion can tell us more

about this night into which we must all some day pass, let us too become Christians.” So the king and all the nobles adopted the new faith.

It was in this kingdom, in Lammermoor, that one of the greatest English missionaries was born. Cuthbert was a lame shepherd boy. A pilgrim in a white mantle, coming over the hill and pausing to heal the shepherd boy’s knee, seemed to him an angel. The stars in the sky seemed to him to be angelic hosts. He was not happy until he joined a brotherhood and became a monk. But he did not spend his days in the monastery. He went out over the moors and the meadows, telling the people who lived in little thatched huts the story of Christ. On foot and on horseback he traveled through woods and villages, preaching in simple fashion to the peasants.

“Never did man die of hunger, who served God faithfully,” he would say, when nightfall came upon them supperless in the waste land. “Look at the eagle overhead! God can feed us through him, if He will.” And even as he finished these words, the frightened bird let fall a fish that she was carrying home in her beak.

Another time, when the storm drove him inland, as he was trying to make his way down the coast, his companions grew disheartened. “The snow closes the way along the shore,” they cried; “and the storm bars our way over the sea.”

“There is still the way of heaven that lies open to us,” Cuthbert made answer.

Thus it was that the story of Christ was told in England both to the kings and to the people.

King Alfred, England’s Darling

King Alfred is the best beloved of all of England’s kings. An old English writer tells us that he was the favorite son of his father and mother because he was the “lovesomest,” and one thousand years after his death all England held a great celebration in his memory, because they still loved this king. He was the youngest of four brothers, but he soon showed that he was more eager to learn than any of the others.

One day the mother was showing the boys a book of Saxon lays. There were no printed books at this time, and in this book the letters had been painted, probably by some monk, and they were done in gorgeous reds and greens and gold. To Alfred, leaning against his mother’s knee, this book seemed the most beautiful thing that he had ever seen, and he longed to have it for his own. Then he listened and heard his mother saying: “Whichever of you can soonest learn this volume, to him will I give it.”

Alfred looked up with wide-open eyes. “Wilt thou indeed give one of us this book and to him who can soonest understand and repeat it before thee?”

And his mother answered, “Yea, I will.” Perhaps she guessed then which of her sons it would be, for while the others soon ran away to their play, Alfred took the book very carefully and carried it to his master. He could not read himself, but his master read the Saxon poems aloud, until his little pupil learned them word for word. That was the way Alfred earned his first book.

When Alfred was still a little boy, he was sent on a pilgrimage to Rome, where he was confirmed. We do not know how many months he stayed there nor what he did, but this

long journey to the Eternal City must have made a deep impression upon him. All through his life he was a devout churchman. As soon as he could read, which was not until he was twelve years old, he learned the church service by heart. Next he wrote down in a little book certain of the psalms and prayers, which he bore with him constantly in his bosom, so that he might feel that God was near him always in the stress and strain of his life.

For Alfred was destined to see stormy times in England, which called him away from his books out into the battlefield. The Danes, those wild seamen from the North, came down upon England in their black ships like a vast flock of thieving ravens. It was the first year of Alfred’s reign, and he was only twenty-three years old. But in his youthful heart was born the courage to gather his fighting men and lead them out against these dreaded invaders. Nine times he went to battle with the Danes during the first year of his reign. When Alfred was victorious the Danes made treaties with him to which they swore, by the sacred golden bracelets on their arms, that they would be true. But when they had regained their strength, they broke their oaths and spread once more over Alfred’s land, plundering, slaying, and burning wherever they could make their way.

Oftentimes the king and his band of faithful followers were driven far into the waste lands. There is a strange tale of an adventure which befell Alfred at this time. He had been forced into Athelney, where there was no food to be had except fish and game. One morning when the men were out fishing, the king was left alone and was comforting himself in his loneliness by reading from his little book of psalms. Suddenly he felt that some one was near him. Looking up, he saw a pilgrim standing, who looked at him with hungry eyes, and said: “In the name of God give me to eat and drink.”

The kind-hearted Alfred called his servant, and asked him what food there was in the tent.

“One loaf of bread and a little wine, sir,” replied the servant.

“Then quickly bring it hither,” was the king’s answer, “and give the half of each to this starving man.”

The beggar thanked him, and a few moments later was gone. But the bread and wine were left untasted, and at evening the men returned with heavy baskets.

That night the king could not sleep because his thoughts were full of the strange pilgrim who had come to visit him. Suddenly a great light shone about his bed, and in that light he saw an old man standing, clad in priestly robes and wearing a miter on his head.

“Who art thou?” questioned the king.

Whereupon the old man made answer, “I am he to whom thou gavest bread and wine today. I am called Cuthbert, the servant of the Lord, and I am come to tell you how to free England from the Danes. Tomorrow arise with trust in God in your heart. Cross over the river and blow loudly three times upon your horn. About the ninth hour of the day friends shall come to your aid. Then shall you fight and be victorious.”

The next morning Alfred hastened to do as St. Cuthbert had commanded, and even as he had spoken it came to pass.

Still there were many more hard battles fought between Alfred and the Danes, and never did the king succeed in driving them out of England. But at last they settled north of Alfred’s kingdom, and now he could find time to do many things for his people, that he had long wanted to do. He started schools, and, as there were few English books, he translated many foreign books himself for his people. Alfred was not content to be a mere reader. Whenever he found a beautiful verse or thought, he wished to share it with some one else. One book of which he was particularly fond was the writings of the great St. Augustine. This book, Alfred wrote, was like a great forest, and he loved to wander about in it, cutting down here a beam, here a joist, and here a great plank

with which to build a palace for his soul. “For in every tree,” he said, “saw I something needful for my soul.” And more than that, he bade every man who could to fare to that serene wood to fetch beams for himself so that there might be many a comely house built.

Alfred loved justice, too, as much as he did learning. He collected the laws of the land and made his people abide by them. There was a saying that during Alfred’s reign gold chains could hang across the streets and no one would steal them.

He went to the monks, and encouraged them to keep a chronicle of all that took place in the kingdom, and so we have today the history of those far-away days. It is chiefly due to this chronicle that we know about the life of this great king, who said when he died:

“I have desired to live worthily while I lived, and after my life to leave to the men that should be after me my remembrance in good works.”

Cædmon, the First English Singer

High above the little fishing village of Whitby, in the seventh century, stood an old wooden church and monastery. It was a beautiful spot to live in. Below it, on the one hand, was the blue sea with the little fishing vessels sailing upon it; and on the other stretched the wild moors and meadows, with the River Esk running through them to the sea.

This monastery was founded for both monks and nuns by a beautiful woman whose name was Hilda. She was a very good woman, spending her days teaching and helping the ignorant and poor. The monks and nuns loved her so dearly that they all called her “mother.”

In the monastery on long winter evenings, the monks and servants often gathered for a feast, and afterward told or sang stories and songs. There was always a harp, which was passed from one to another, and each in turn sang some lay. There was seated at one of these feasts one evening a middle-aged man who cared for the cattle of the monastery. He had been listening eagerly to the songs, but when he saw that the harp was coming soon to him, he was greatly afraid. When no one was looking, he slipped out of the room. He hurried sadly down the cliff, with the music of the sea beating below. There were songs in his heart, but he could not sing them.

But that night, as he lay sleeping in the stable, suddenly one stood by him, and saluting him, said, “Cædmon, sing me something.”

And he answered, “I know not how to sing, and for this reason left I the feast.”

Then the other said, “Nevertheless, you will have to sing to me.”

“What shall I sing?” Cædmon replied.

“Sing,” said the other, “the beginning of things created.” Then, still in his sleep, Cædmon began to sing in verse of how the Lord created heaven and earth. When he awakened the next morning, he remembered his dream and the verses he had made. As he repeated them to himself, he added new ones. He had suddenly learned to put into words the songs that had been hidden in his heart. He was so happy that he told one of the other servants in the monastery of his new gift. Soon afterwards he was taken before Hilda and bidden to tell his dream. When Hilda had heard his verses, she said quietly, “Surely this is the gift of God.” Then she read Cædmon another story from the Bible, and bade him turn it into verse. This he did, and then Hilda bade him become a monk and live in the monastery. He now had time to learn the beautiful stories in the Bible, and one after another he turned them into sweet verses. He sang the history of the Children of Israel, their captivity and exile, and their entrance into the Promised Land. And later he sang of the birth of Jesus in the lowly manger and his life and death upon the cross. So he lived many years, a devout and humble man, until he died one night as he lay sleeping. But his songs went from one monastery to another, until they were known throughout the land. They were so beautiful that they inspired many other monks to write verses, but none could write so well as the master, Cædmon. These poems are called “The School of Cædmon.” They are different from the poems that our poets write today, but they are poetry because they too are full of beautiful thoughts and pictures. We can see this if we read these few verses which were written about the dove that Noah let fly from the ark:—

“Far and wide she flew, Glad in flying free, till she found a place, Fair, where she fain would rest! With her feet she stept

STORIES OF THE BRITISH ISLES

On a gentle tree. Gay of mood and glad was she.

Then she fluttered feathers; went a-flying off again, With her booty flew, brought it to the sailor

From an olive wood a twig; right into his hand, Bore the blade of green.

Then the chief of seamen knew that gladness was at hand.”

Canute, the Danish King

The years that followed Alfred’s peace were years of most terrible warfare. Ever and again, the mighty black ships of the Danes came coasting along England’s shores and sailing boldly up the rivers. And wherever the Danes went they left a trail no less black than their ships, a trail of villages burned to the ground. Some of the English kings met these dreaded invaders in battle; and some of them bought the Danes off with large sums of money. The Danes took the money, went home, and waited only until they could gather together fresh men and build new boats to break their promises and sweep down upon England. Finally, in desperation, Ethelred, the English king, ordered every Dane left in England to be slain. Among those who were put to death was Gunhild, the sister of Sweyn, king of Denmark.

“My death will bring many wars upon your land,” she murmured with her last breath.

This prophecy was soon fulfilled. The next year Sweyn himself landed in England to avenge the death of his sister and countrymen. Sweyn had a most gorgeous fleet. The beaks of his ships were of brass; the sterns were adorned with lions of gold, and on the mastheads were birds and dragons for weathercocks. Sweyn made many attacks on England, and the story of his ravages and plundering are terrible to read. At last Ethelred, who was called the Unready, had to leave his country, and Sweyn became the real king of England. But Sweyn died before he was crowned.

His young son, Canute, who had accompanied his father to England on this last voyage, now took up his father’s work.

Soon afterwards Ethelred the Unready died, and his son, Edmund Ironsides, claimed the English crown. These two sons fought many battles, and, when at last both forces were worn out, they met on a small island and agreed that Canute should reign over Northern, and Edmund Ironsides over Southern, England. Scarcely had these terms been agreed to when Edmund Ironsides died, and all England was left in the hands of a Danish king.

It might be thought that Canute, who had been such a cruel foe, would have been a heartless king; but this was far from true. When his people swore obedience to him, he promised to rule them justly, and he kept his promise well. He sent his Danish soldiers home, and ruled according to England’s law. He built churches, and was a good friend to the monks and nuns. He even made a pilgrimage to Rome to pray for the forgiveness of his sins and for the welfare of his new subjects. Sometimes he used to row on the river at Ely and listen to the chanting of the monks in the great cathedral. When the service was over, he bade his boatmen sing a song as they plied their oars, and made up himself this little verse for them to sing:

“The Ely monks sang clear and high As King Canute was passing by.

‘Row near the land and hear them sing,’ Cried to the boatmen Canute the King.”

Canute loved also to listen to the songs of minstrels. One evening he saw a stranger at the feast. “He looks like a poet,” said the king; “bid him sing us a song.” The stranger, who was Othere the Black, an Icelander, stepped forth and asked that he might recite a poem about the king. Canute consented, and when the poet had done, he praised it highly. He took from his head a Russian cap that he was wearing, a cap embroidered with gold, and bade his chamberlain fill it with silver for the poet. The chamberlain did as he was told, but in

passing the cap over the heads of the great crowd that was assembled, some of the silver pieces fell upon the floor. He stooped to pick them up, but the king’s voice stopped him. “The poor shall have it, and thou shalt not lose thereby,” he said to Othere the Black.

There is another tale that we read in the old chronicles about the Danish king. It is very quaintly written:

“In the very height of his power, he [Canute] bade them set his chair on the shore of the sea, when the tide was flowing; and to the tide, as it flowed, he said, ‘Thou art my subject; and the land on which I sit is mine; nor hath there ever been one that resisted my bidding, and suffered not. I command thee therefore, that thou come not up on my land, nor presume to wet the garments and limbs of thy lord.’ But the sea, rising after its wont, wetted without respect the legs and feet of the king. Therefore, leaping back, he said, ‘Let all dwellers on the earth know that the power of kings is a vain and foolish thing, and that no one is worthy to bear the name of king save only Him, whose bidding the heavens, and the earth, and the sea obey by everlasting laws.’ Nor ever thereafter did King Canute set his crown of gold upon his head, but put it forever on the image of our Lord, which was fastened to the cross.”

William the Conqueror

In the year 1066 the king of England lay dead, leaving no heir to the throne. These were days when England needed a strong leader, for invaders were still seeking her shores; so the Witan, or council of Wise Men, hastened to assemble and select a ruler. The lot fell upon Earl Harold, and through England and through Europe rode messengers proclaiming “King Edward is dead, and Earl Harold has been chosen king.”

Now across the channel from England in France lies a fair province that had been seized and settled by the men of the North, much as England had been by the Danes, and had been given the name of Normandy. The Duke of Normandy was a relative of the late King Edward, and it was claimed that Edward had promised him the English crown. There is another story that Earl Harold had taken an oath to help Duke William claim the throne. For not many months before King Edward died, Earl Harold was shipwrecked on the coast of Normandy. As was customary in those times, he was taken prisoner and held for a large ransom. Then Earl Harold sent word of his sorry plight to the duke, and besought him to free him. The duke had the English earl brought before him, and bade him swear on the Prayer Book that he would help him, Duke William, in his claim to the English throne. Earl Harold took the oath, and then William lifted up the Prayer Book and showed him that it rested upon some holy relics. Such an oath was doubly sacred. Thus did Harold gain his freedom.

Now when the herald brought word to Normandy that Harold was seated on the English throne, Duke William was off on the hunt. Such anger flashed from his eyes that no one dared speak to him. He laid down his great bow, that no man

but he could draw, and strode back to the castle. There he sat down on a bench in the great hall, and leaned his head against a stone pillar, drawing his mantle over his face. His companions followed him in silence, and sat down about him in the great hall. Only one, bolder than all the rest, dared at length to speak. “Arise and be doing,” he cried. “There is no need for mourning. Cross the sea, and snatch the kingdom from the usurpers hand.”

The old Viking blood was aroused in William. He sent messengers into all the neighboring countries, offering gold and castles in England to any man who would come and serve him with bow and spear. He ordered the trees of the Norman forests to be hewn down and ships built of them. He sent word to the Pope that Harold had broken his oath, and asked his leave to punish the usurper. The Pope sent back his consent and a banner which he had blessed.

On the afternoon of September 27 the Norman fleet set sail. At nine the next morning the Mora, William’s vessel, lay at anchor on the coast of Sussex. As William set foot on English soil, he stumbled and fell, and his men gave a groan at this omen of ill luck. But the duke seized a handful of sand, crying, “By the splendor of God, I have taken my kingdom; see the earth of England in my two hands.”

In the meantime Harold had been fighting in the North, and was at a feast celebrating a great victory, when word came that the Normans had landed on his shore. With all speed he made his way to the South, collecting his army as he went. In the middle of October, in the year 1066, the English and Normans stood face to face, arrayed for battle. The English stood on a hill, every soldier covered by his shield and armed with his huge battle ax. In the midst of them stood the noble Harold, on foot, holding the royal banner.

On the hill opposite were drawn up the Norman host. In front ranged the archers in a long line; behind them the foot soldiers, and in the rear the horsemen. “God help us!” was

their battle cry; and it sprang from many hundred lips.

“God’s Rood! Holy Rood!” answered the English; and they waited for the Normans to make the attack. A tall Norman knight rode forth alone on a prancing steed, tossing his heavy sword in the air and catching it as it fell, and singing songs of the bravery of his fellow countrymen. From the English forces, a knight rode out to meet him, and fell by the Norman’s hand. A second English knight advanced, and fell. The third came forth, and killed the Norman. The battle of Hastings had begun.

It began at dawn; at sunset it was still raging. Once the cry went out that William had been slain. Duke William instantly snatched his helmet from his head, and shouting “I live!” rode down the front of his line.

At last William feigned a retreat. The excited English, confident in their victory, rushed upon the Normans. Then the Normans turned about.

“There are still thousands of the English firm as rocks about their king. Shoot!” was William’s cry. And the Norman arrows fell like hail on the English host. The Normans won the day. The English found their king among the slain, and knew that their cause was lost.

On Christmas Day, William, Duke of Normandy, was crowned in Westminster Abbey as William I of England. The question was put first in French to the Normans, “Will you have William for your king?”

They answered, “Yea, yea.” Then it was repeated to the Saxons in English, and their reply was the same, “Yea, yea.”

In fact, so loudly did the Saxons shout their answer that the Norman guards outside mistook it for an outbreak. They began to set fire to the neighboring buildings, and a great tumult arose. The crowd rushed out of the church in terror, and William was left alone in the Abbey with a few priests, who hastened to place the crown upon his head.

William had won his kingdom by might, and he was obliged to keep it by might. He brought over many Norman nobles, and had them build Norman castles all over England to defend him. At London he built the Tower, where hundreds of armed men stood ready to put down any rebellion. William was always the Conqueror, and his rule in England was severe. Still he bound the English together into one people, as they had never been united before. Like the Roman conquerors, the Normans, too, did much for England. The Normans taught the English how to build better buildings; they blended their Norman French with the harsh Anglo-Saxon tongue, and gradually the new English language was born.

Yet England never loved the Conqueror. There was no grief in the land when he died. He met his death in France, where he was at war with the French king. True to the old Norman fashion, he had plundered the town of Nantes and then set it on fire. Riding over the ruined city, his horse set foot on some glowing embers, reared, and William was thrown forward against the pommel of his saddle, receiving his death wound. He lay for six weeks in a little monastery near Rouen, where he made his will, leaving England to his son William, Normandy to his son Robert, and a large sum of money to Henry, the youngest. The sons were so anxious to seize their new possessions that they hurried away without waiting for their father to die, and William the Conqueror was buried by the priests in an unknown grave, across the sea from the land which he had conquered.

King Henry and the White Ship

Two of William’s sons ruled England after him; his namesake first, who was called William Rufus because of his red beard, and, on his death, Henry, who bore the name of Beauclerc, or the Scholar. William, as soon as he heard that his father was dying, came hurrying in breathless haste to Winchester to claim his throne. This same greed showed all through his reign. He sought to get Normandy away from his brother Robert, and thus brought many wars upon England. There was little grief felt when the news came that the Red King was dead. He went a-hunting one morning in one of the great forests that his father had stocked with game. A single companion rode out by his side into the wood. That evening a poor charcoal burner going home found the body of the king shot through by an arrow.

With no less speed than William had shown on his father’s death, Henry now hastened to Winchester to seize the royal treasury. But the keeper of the treasury refused to give it up. Then Henry the Scholar drew his sword from the scabbard, and threatened to kill the treasurer. As the treasurer stood alone and Henry was surrounded by a group of barons who were determined to make him king, the treasurer stepped aside, and Henry took the jewels and the crown for his own. Three days later the coronation took place in Westminster Abbey, and Henry I “promised God and all the people to put down all the injustices that were in his brother’s time, and to maintain the best laws that stood in any king’s day before him.”

One of his first deeds was to imprison in the Tower

Flambard, or Firebrand, whom the Red King had made Bishop of Durham. His reason for doing this seemed to be because Firebrand had been a favorite of William Rufus. Firebrand was a very jolly man, and soon had won the friendship of all his keepers by his jokes and good nature. They pretended not to see a long rope that was sent into the Tower coiled at the bottom of a cask of wine. The guards took the wine, and the bishop the rope, and the next morning he was out at sea on his way to Normandy.

In Normandy he met Robert, Henry’s older brother, who had been away on a crusade at the time of the Red King’s death. Firebrand and others persuaded Robert that he should have been king of England instead of Henry, and urged him to declare war upon his brother. Most of the English took Henry’s side, but one, the Earl of Shrewsbury, went over to Robert. There was, however, no war. Robert was a gentle, trusting nature, and when his brother promised to pay him a pension and to pardon all his followers, he returned home to Normandy. King Henry’s way of keeping his promise was to first banish the Earl of Shrewsbury from the land. The earl fled to Normandy, where Robert befriended him.

Meantime Henry had but been waiting for an excuse to attack Robert. He declared now that Robert had broken the treaty, and invaded Normandy, saying he had come to free the Normans from his brother’s misrule. Indeed, affairs were going very bad in Normandy, for Robert, although good and kind, was not a ruler. He trusted all men, and his servants were quick to perceive this. It was said that sometimes he had to lie abed all day because his servants had stolen all his clothes.

But he headed his troops now like a brave prince and gallant soldier, and went to the war. Fortune went against him, however. He was taken prisoner, and sentenced by his brother to be shut up for life in one of the royal castles. He was allowed to ride out, but only under strict guard. One

morning he broke from the guard and galloped off. He might have escaped, but that his path crossed a swamp. The horse stuck fast in the marsh, and the royal prisoner was taken back to the castle. When Henry heard of this, he ordered him to be blinded.

So for years and years poor Robert lived on in his dark prison, a sad-hearted, lonely man, glad enough to die when the end came.

There was a great sorrow in store for King Henry I, in spite of his victories. He was very eager that Normandy should always belong to the English king. Thus he set sail, one fair day, with his only son, for Normandy. He wished to have the Norman nobles acknowledge the prince as their future sovereign. The ceremony was performed with great pomp, and in November Henry, his retinue, and the prince were ready to embark for England. On the very day on which they were to set sail, an old sea captain, Fitz Stephen, came to the king and said:

“My liege, the king, my father served your father, the great William, for many years upon the sea. His hand was at the helm of the Boat with the Golden Boy that brought the Conqueror to England. I ask of you this boon, that I may carry you in my boat, the White Ship, across the same path that my father bore your father.”

“It grieves me,” replied the king, “that I cannot grant this request; but my vessel is already chosen and made ready. I will, however, intrust to your White Ship, and your hand, the prince and all his company.”

An hour later, when the wind was fair, the king set sail, and came the next morning safely to the English shore. But the prince delayed his sailing. He loved Normandy, and hated England. “When I am king,” he had once said, “I will yoke the English to the plow like oxen.” He did not sail until night. One hundred nobles and eighteen ladies of high rank came on to the White Ship to sail with him.

“Now let us make merry before we leave,” quoth the Prince. “Let each of the fifty sailors have his fill of wine. We have time yet to reach England with the rest.”

They made merry indeed. The sailors drank their flasks of wine, and the noble lords and ladies danced on the deck in the moonlight. At last the command was given to sail, and Fitz Stephen stood at the helm. The Prince cried to the sailors to ply their oars for the honor of the White Ship.

In the night there was a terrible crash, and then the White Ship stood still. She had struck upon the rocks. Fitz Stephen hurried the Prince into a small boat with some nobles:—

“Row for the land with all your might,” he cried.

But as they were rowing, the prince heard the voice of his sister Marie. “Row back back at any risk,” he cried.

The rowboat turned back. As it came near the sinking ship, a hundred or more nobles and seamen rushed forward and sprang into it. It was the one means of escape. The small boat upset, and the sinking ship went down. They sank together. Only two men floated on the sea, clinging to the broken mast.

“Who are you?” asked one.

“I am a nobleman, Godfrey by name; and who are you?”

“I am Berold, a poor butcher of Rouen.”

Then they added in one breath “God be merciful to us both.”

Through the darkness they slowly distinguished another swimmer. It was Fitz Stephen. “Where is the prince?” he cried.

“Drowned,” was the answer. Then Fitz Stephen cried, “Woe is me,” and sank, even as his ship had sunk.

The other two clung to the mast a little longer until Godfrey’s hands were so chilled that he could hold on no longer. “Farewell, my friend, may God preserve you,” he said feebly, and let go. Only the butcher survived to tell the terrible tale. Some fishermen found him the next morning,

more dead than alive, floating in his great sheepskin coat. For three days no one was found brave enough to bear the sad news to the king. At last a little boy was sent in, but he could only weep, and finally stammered, “The White Ship.” That was enough. The king understood, and though he lived to reign seven years longer over England, he was never seen to smile.

Thomas À Becket

Once upon a time a London merchant, Gilbert à Becket, went on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Before he reached Jerusalem, however, he and his servant Richard were both captured by a Saracen lord. The Saracen had one daughter, who was very beautiful, and who straightway fell in love with the English prisoner, and promised to help him to escape if he would carry her home with him to England. Gilbert’s heart was touched by her beauty and her love, and he promised to wed her if she would free him. At last an opportunity of escape came, and Gilbert fled from the Saracens, quite forgetting in his haste both the Saracen lady and his promises to her. But she did not forget him so soon. Gathering together her jewels and gold, she dressed herself in disguise, and went out to follow him. Two English words were all she knew: “London” and her lover’s name, “Gilbert.” When she came to the seacoast she wandered up and down among the ships, repeating over and over, “London,” “London,” “London” and showing her jewels. Finally the sailors understood that she wanted to go to London, and was offering her jewels to pay her passage. So they put her in an English ship and bade her God-speed.

One day Gilbert à Becket, busy in his counting house, heard a great noise in the street. He looked out, and saw a great crowd gathered about a lady dressed in the brightcolored costume of the East. Just then Richard, his servant, came running in, shouting: “Master, master, the Saracen lady is here in London going up and down the streets crying “Gilbert.” Gilbert could not believe the words, but he looked again, and his eyes told him that Richard had spoken truly. Then he bade him fetch her in; and when the lady saw her

lover she fainted in his arms. In a few days they were married. They had one son, Thomas, who became the favorite of King Henry II of England. Thomas was very clever, very brave, and very rich. When the king made him chancellor of England, he lived in state almost equal to the king. He was sent once as ambassador to France, and when he entered that country “his procession was headed by two hundred and fifty boys. Then came his hounds in couples; then eight wagons, each drawn by five horses driven by five drivers; two of the wagons filled with strong ale to be given away, four with his gold and silver plate and stately clothes; two with the dresses of his numerous servants. Then came twelve horses, each with a monkey on his back; then a train of people bearing shields and leading five war horses splendidly equipped; then falconers with hawks upon their wrists; then a host of knights, and gentlemen and priests; then the chancellor with his brilliant garments flashing in the sun, and all the people capering and shouting with delight.”

The king was delighted to have such a favorite. He thought it made his own splendor greater to have such a chancellor. If we would know how Henry II himself looked, we must look among the old chronicles. “You ask me to send you an accurate description of the appearance and character of the King of England,” writes Peter of Blois, secretary to Henry II. “You may know then that our king is still ruddy, except as old age and whitening hair have changed his color a little. He is of medium stature so that among small men he does not seem large, nor yet among large men does he seem small. His head is spherical, as if the abode of great wisdom… His eyes are full, guileless and dovelike when he is at peace, gleaming like fire when his temper is aroused, and in bursts of passion they flash like lightning… His feet are arched and he has the legs of a horseman. Although his legs are bruised from hard riding, he never sits down except when on horseback or at meals… He does not loiter in his palace like other kings,

but hurrying through the provinces he investigates what is being done everywhere.”

This was King Henry II of England. Such a king was eager to be sole leader in the land. When Henry found that the churches looked to their bishops instead of to him, he decided to make his chancellor, Thomas à Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury. He thought that through him he would have control over the Church.

Thomas à Becket hesitated to accept, but his longing for fame finally made him consent. Great now was Henry’s surprise when Thomas suddenly changed the whole manner of living. He turned off his brilliantly clad followers. He ate coarse food, dressed himself in sackcloth, and washed the feet of thirteen pilgrims every day. He was soon talked about as archbishop much more than he had been as chancellor.

At first the king was amused, then, when Thomas strongly took the side of the Church in all disputes between the clergy and the crown, the king grew angry. A great quarrel arose. Finally Thomas à Becket, disguised as poor Brother Deaman, had to flee to Flanders. After many years, the king of France arranged a meeting between Henry and Thomas à Becket, to try to bring about peace. The quarrel had gone on for six years, and both men were utterly weary of it. They decided to forget the past. The archbishop came back to England, although he had been warned that he should not live to eat a loaf of bread there.

The first piece of news that reached his ears on arriving home was that during his absence Henry II had had his eldest son crowned. This so enraged the Archbishop of Canterbury that he at once excommunicated the bishops who had performed the coronation. Henry II was in Normandy. When word was brought him of Becket’s deed, he cried out before all his court, “Will no one deliver me from this man?”

Four knights who were present slipped quietly out of the room. A day or so later they appeared before the Archbishop

of Canterbury. They neither bowed nor spoke, but sat down upon the floor. At length Thomas à Becket said, “What do you want?”

“That you take off the excommunication from the bishops,” was their reply.

When he refused they went out, sullen and defiant. They came back a little later, fully armed and with drawn swords. But in the meantime the archbishop had gone into the cathedral to service. His servants would have fastened the church doors, but he said, “No. This is God’s house and not a fortress.”

Even as he was speaking the four knights came through the door. Their sword blades flashed through the darkness of the church, and their armed tread resounded as they came over the stone pavement. “Where is the traitor?” they shouted.

Thomas à Becket turned where he stood, beside a great stone pillar, but he made no answer.

“Where is the archbishop?” they thundered.

“I am here,” answered Becket proudly.

Then they slew him, then and there, in his own cathedral.

When the king learned of the archbishop’s death, he was filled with dismay, and declared that his words were uttered in a fit of temper, and he had no desire that they should be fulfilled. The knights who had done the terrible deed fled from the court, and finally for penance went to Jerusalem where they died.

With Thomas à Becket dead, Henry II could rule very much as he pleased. But there were sad days waiting for the close of his reign. His son Henry, whom he had had crowned, died, and his other two sons revolted against him, trying to seize the crown. When Henry II saw that the name of his favorite son was among the conspirators, he leaned his face to the wall. “Let things go now as they will,” he moaned; “I care no more for myself or the world.”

Richard I—England’s Royal Crusader

In the year 1188, the news reached Europe that Jerusalem had again fallen into the hands of the Turks. The crusading spirit spread across the continent. Even the kings and princes pledged themselves to give their personal aid in recapturing Jerusalem. Among the foremost to give his promise was Richard of the Lion Heart, one of Henry’s rebellious sons. When, a year later, Henry died, and Richard bethought him of all his cruel deeds toward his father, he was the more eager to go to the Holy Land. The crusade would bring him full pardon, he believed, for all his misdeeds.

Richard was crowned in Westminster Abbey with great ceremony. He marched into the church under a silken panoply, stretched on the top of four lances, each carried by a mighty lord. As soon as the coronation was over, he began to raise money for the Crusade. He sold the lands which belonged to the crown. He sold his castles. He said he would even sell London itself, if he could find a purchaser whose purse was long enough. At last he set out with his splendid army, leaving his kingdom in the care of two bishops and his brother John.

Richard stopped first at the island of Messina in Sicily. His sister had married the king there, but he had died, and his brother, Tancred, had seized the throne and put the widow in prison. Richard made it his first duty to free his sister. His large forces soon frightened Tancred into submission. He released Richard’s sister, restored her lands, and presented her with a golden chain, four-and-twenty silver cups, and four-and-twenty silver dishes.

So when peace was once more brought about in the island, Richard sailed on to Cyprus. We may well imagine that the restless, burly Richard was only too glad to pick a quarrel with the sovereign of this island. Before many days there was fighting, and the end of it was that Richard ordered the king to be bound in silver fetters, and claimed Cyprus for his own.

These exploits of Richard made Philip of France, who was also on his way to the Holy Land, very jealous. Richard and he had been great friends, but when the two monarchs met now at Acre, neither would agree with the other as to the best time to make an attack on this town. The result of it was that Philip of France finally gave up the crusade and returned to his own country.

Richard had now left one other royal ally, the Duke of Austria, and before very long he had quarreled with him. There came a pause in the fighting, and during this time Richard busied his men by rebuilding some fortifications. When he asked the Duke of Austria to assist in this task, the latter replied, “I am not a bricklayer.” Whereupon Richard is reported to have kicked the duke, who returned to Austria in a rage.

With his enemies, Richard managed to keep on better terms. Saladin, the ruler of the Saracens, was a finely built man, as stanch and brave a fighter as the lion-hearted English king. He and Richard both admired each other, and when they were not in battle, were very friendly.

There is a story that Richard visited Saladin in his tent, and was boasting of his skill as a swordsman.

“Come now and show us what your royal highness can do!” said Saladin at last.

Then Richard drew his sword, and with one mighty stroke cut in two one of the huge iron props of the tent. Saladin and all his court applauded loudly. Then the ruler of the Saracens unsheathed his sword. He took a flimsy veil from the neck of one of the dancing girls who sat at his feet, and tossed it into

the air. As it floated downward, like a soft cloud, he unsheathed his sword, and with a deft blow cut it in twain. Afterwards, when Richard fell ill of the desert fever, Saladin sent him fruits and snow and ice which had been brought down from the summit of Mount Lebanon. Still this friendship was entirely forgotten when the war was on, and many brave English soldiers were left dead upon the desert before Richard turned his face southward.

They reached Jerusalem at last. But rumors of troubles in England had come to Richard’s ears, and he bethought him that it was time for him to go back and look after his people. He stayed in Palestine only long enough to deliver some Christians whom the Saracens were besieging. Then he signed a truce with the Saracens to last three years, three months, three weeks, and three days. The weather was threatening, but the impatient Richard heeded neither wind nor tide. He set sail in a small vessel with a few followers, only to be shipwrecked in the Adriatic Sea. With great difficulty he succeeded in reaching land, and then determined to make his way home on foot.

As he had to go through Austria, he disguised himself as a poor pilgrim, hoping thus to escape the notice of the duke. He feared that the duke’s anger had not subsided yet, and in a few days he learned that this was true. Richard was recognized by a ring which he always wore. He was taken prisoner and hidden in a German castle.

When the rumor of his imprisonment spread over Europe, Philip of France and Richard’s brother John rejoiced greatly. They began to plan how they would divide up his kingdom. But one heart, so an old story goes, beat true to his king. Blondel, a young minstrel, resolved to find and free his master. He set out across Europe, earning his daily bread by singing in the streets. Every time he came to a castle, he paused and sang beneath its walls, hoping his master might hear him and reply. One night his heart was very sad, and beneath an

ivied turret he sat down to rest, and sang softly the first verse of a song which only he and Richard knew. As he finished the verse, a strong voice from within the tower took up the second stanza. He hastened back to England to tell the people that Richard was found.

The German emperor refused to free Richard until a large ransom was paid, but this the English people quickly raised, and King Richard returned to his throne.

King Richard loved a fight. He found plenty of trouble awaiting him at home. Then, when he had settled the affairs of his realm, he made war with France. During a truce, word came to him that an English lord, the Viscount of Limoges, had dug up a great treasure on his land, twelve knights of gold seated at a golden table. Being the king’s vassal, and an honest one at that, he immediately sent one half of the treasure to his king; but the king demanded the whole. When the viscount refused to give it, he returned to England and besieged his castle.

Now there was an old song that had often been sung in that part of the country, saying that an arrow should be made in Limoges by which Richard should die. This arrow lay in the quiver of Bertrand de Gourdon. From his post within the castle he could easily distinguish the king. Richard’s great figure towered above all his men. Bertrand de Gourdon took aim, and the arrow flew to its mark. The wound was not fatal, but Richard had to retire to his tent. The physicians who attended him did their work so badly that it soon became known that Richard was dying.

The castle was taken, and all who had fought against the king were put to death. Only one life was to be saved, that of Bertrand de Gourdon. He was put in chains and brought before Richard. He met Richard’s bold gaze by one equally bold. “Knave,” said the king, “what did I ever do to thee that thou shouldst take my life?”

The knight pointed to the ruined castle. “Yonder my

father and my two brothers lie slain by thine hand. Myself thou wouldst have hanged. Torture me now as thou wilt. I am content, since through me England is quit of such a king.”

A gentle note came into the king’s voice. “Youth,” he said, “I forgive thee. Take off his chains,” he said to his guard; “give him a hundred shillings, and let the youth go free.”

He sank down on his couch and died. And the officers, who had truly loved their lord, heeded not his last command, but in their grief hanged Bertrand who had slain Richard of the Lion Heart.

Robin Hood of Sherwood Forest

It was in the days of King Richard’s reign, that Robin Hood, England’s boldest outlaw, lived in Sherwood Forest, with his famous archers, all clad in Lincoln green. The lieutenant of Robin Hood’s band was named Little John because of his size. They say that he stood seven feet high or more, and measured an ell around the waist. And this is the manner in which Robin Hood first met Little John.

The hunting was poor in Sherwood Forest, and Robin Hood had told his men that he would go out alone. He made his way through the wood and was crossing a stream on a narrow foot bridge when he met a stranger half way. Neither would give way to let the other pass. Then Robin Hood grew angry and drew his bow to shoot the man. But the stranger spoke up boldly:

“You are indeed a fine fellow to shoot at a man who has naught with him but a staff.”

“That is just, truly,” replied the outlaw; “and so I will lay down my bow and arrow and get me a staff like thine to try if thy deeds be as good as thy words.”

So saying, he went into a thicket and cut himself a young oak sapling and returned to the foot bridge.

“Now I am your match,” he cried, “and whoso shall first knock the other into the water shall be awarded the victory.”

So they sparred together with their staves right merrily. First Robin smote the stranger such a blow that it warmed his blood from top to toe, and “their sticks rattled as if they had been threshing corn.” But the stranger had the greater strength. He brought his stave down on Robin’s head with

such force that the outlaw fell headlong into the stream. Then the stranger laughed loud and long. Looking down into the water, he cried:—

“Where are you now, my good fellow?”

And Robin answered as he waded to the shore, “I grant that thou hast won the day.”

Then he raised his horn to his lips and blew a blast. And at that, fifty bowmen, clad in green, sprang out of the wood and rallied about them.

“Why, master, ye are wet to the skin,” cried one of his men. “What may this mean?”

“Naught,” responded Robin, “save that that fellow on yonder bridge tumbled me into the water.”

Then the men would have seized the stranger and ducked him, but Robin forbade them.

“No one shall harm thee, friend,” he said, “of all these my bowmen; but if you will be one of us, you shall straightway have my livery. What say you?”

“With all my heart,” said the stranger. “Here is my hand upon it. My name is John Little, and I will be a good man and true to you.”

Then Robin took his hand, and laughing, said, “Not John Little, but Little John,” for, as I told you, he stood seven feet and measured an ell about the waist. And then and there they christened him Little John, and he lived ever in the green wood with Robin Hood.

Now the bold and merry deeds of Robin Hood and his men were told throughout the land, and came even to the ears of the king. They pleased King Richard, and made him wish to meet the outlaw. So, taking a dozen of his men, he dressed them all and himself in friars’ gowns and rode out one morning across to Sherwood Forest. They had hardly entered the wood when they came upon Robin Hood and his fifty yeomen drawn up ready to assail them. With a bold step Robin came forward, and seized the bridle of the king’s horse, and

bade him halt. As Richard was the tallest, Robin thought that he was the abbot.

“Now stand,” cried Robin, “for it is against ye and all like ye that we make war.”

“But,” answered Richard, “we are messengers from the king, who is waiting not far off to speak to you.”

“God save the king!” quoth Robin, taking off his cap, “and all who wish him well! And accursed be every man who does not acknowledge that he is king.”

Then replied the king, “You curse yourself, for you are a traitor.”

The angry look leaped into Robin’s bold eye, and he held the bridle fast. “Were ye not the king’s messenger, ye should rue that word,” he answered; “for I never harmed an honest man in my life, but only those who steal goods from others. And, as you are the king’s messengers, I bid you welcome in Sherwood Forest, and invite you to come and share our greenwood cheer.”

He brought the king to his tent, and there he blew upon his horn. Five score and ten of Robin Hood’s men answered to the call, and knelt before their leader. And they laid a dinner for the king and his lords, who swore that they had never tasted a better. Then Robin took a can of ale, and cried, “To the king! Let each man drink the health of the king.” And they all drank, even the king to himself.

After dinner the yeomen took their long bows, and showed the king such archery as he never had seen before even in foreign lands. Then said the king to Robin Hood:

“If I could get thee pardon from King Richard, wouldst thou serve the king well in all that thou didst?”

“Yea, with all my heart,” said Robin; and so said all his men.

Then Richard said, “I am your king, who is now before you.”

And at these words Robin Hood and all of his men fell on

their knees; but the king bade them stand, and told them they should all be pardoned if they would enter his service. So Robin Hood and all his men went up to London to serve the king.

But it was in Sherwood Forest that Robin met his death. There was a battle, and Robin was sore wounded. Then spoke he to Little John, his trusted friend:—

“Now truly I cannot shoot one shot more, so I will go to my cousin, the abbess in Kirkley Hall, and bid her bleed me, for I am grievously wounded.”

Then he left Little John, and went alone to the abbey, and he was so weak when he reached there that he could scarce knock upon the door.

“My cousin, ye see how weak I am,” he said to the abbess. “I bid ye bleed me that I may not die.”

And his cousin took him to an upper room, where she laid him upon a bed and bled him. But she hated Robin Hood because of his wild pranks, and so did not tie up the vein again. Then Robin knew that his life was flowing out of him, and sought to escape from the abbey, but he could not because he was so weak. Knowing that he must die, he raised his horn to hear once more the bugle call.

Afar in Sherwood Forest Little John heard the blast, and said, “Alack and alas! Robin must be near his death, for his blast is very weak.”

He got up from under the tree where he was resting, and ran to Kirkley Hall as fast as his long legs could bear him. The door to the abbey was locked, but Little John broke it down and came to his master. He saw him lying upon the bed, and his face was strangely pale.

“Good master, I beg one boon,” cried Little John, as he fell upon his knees. “Let me burn Kirkley Hall and the nunnery to the ground!” for he saw that treachery had been done to Robin Hood.

But Robin Hood said, “Nay, I cannot grant you your boon,

for never in my life have I harmed a woman, nor shall it be done for my sake after I die. But I would ask a boon of you. Give me my long bow and arrow, and open wide the casement.”

Then Robin drew his bow for the last time, and let the arrow fly.

“It lieth in the greenwood,” quoth Robin. “Find it, Little John, and where ye shall find it there dig my grave. Make it long and broad, that I may lie easily. Place my head upon a green sward and my long bow at my side.”

John and the Great Charter

England has never been ruled by a worse king than John. In all history we cannot find one good deed recorded of him. He rebelled against his father, Henry II, when he was king. He was false to his brother Richard when he was in the Holy Land. He stole the English crown, which belonged by right to Richard’s little nephew; and then he filled his reign with unjust and dishonest deeds.

One of John’s worst faults was that he had a terrible temper. There is an old story that once when he was on a hunting trip he lost his way in a swamp near Olmwick. So angry was he over this misfortune that he swore to himself that every free man in the town should have the same experience. Consequently when the young men of Olmwick became of age, they were obliged to dress themselves in their best clothes and go down and wade through this muddy swamp.

It is not surprising to learn that a man with such a temper was continually quarreling. One of his greatest quarrels arose over the appointing of a new archbishop of Canterbury. John chose one man. The bishops chose another. When the matter was sent to the Pope to be decided, he chose a third, Stephen Langton. Now John hated Langton because he was a good and holy man. He refused to let Langton act as archbishop. Then the Pope showed his power. He placed England under an interdict. For six years no church bells sounded in the land. No services were held in the churches. It was not even allowed to read the burial service for the dead. But John did not care. Even when the Pope went further and deposed John, giving his kingdom to Philip of France, the king only laughed.

But John was always a coward. When he saw that an army was being collected to invade England, he became frightened. He begged the Pope’s forgiveness; he promised to receive Langton; he laid his crown at the feet of the papal legate to show that he yielded his kingdom to the Pope; and he promised to pay a yearly tribute. The Pope at once removed the interdict, and forbade Philip to bring his army across the Channel. John felt now that all was well once more.

But the English barons were far from pleased at John’s deeds. They did not wish to become vassals of the Pope. They wanted England to be a free land and they themselves to be freemen. They saw that John had no real love for the English people. They despised his cowardice. At last they united under the leadership of the Archbishop of Canterbury, and demanded of John that he sign a paper, stating what were the rights of the English people, and restoring to them their tributes. When the king read the paper, he went half mad with rage. “Why do they not ask me for my kingdom?” he cried out. “I will never grant such liberties as will make me a slave.”

The archbishop brought back the king’s refusal. The barons then formed into a great army, which they called “The Army of God and the Holy Church,” and marched against London. London threw open her gates, and other towns were quick to follow her example. The king was taken quite by surprise. Only seven knights had remained on his side. He agreed to meet the barons on an island in the Thames, at the meadows of Runnymede, on the fifteenth of June.

On that date the barons and their army were gathered on one bank of the river. The king was encamped on the other. Delegates from both sides were sent to the island. The Great Charter was talked over, and that very day King John put his sign and seal to it. He did not dare do otherwise. Copies of the charter were sent through the land, to be posted in all the cathedrals, and one copy still remains today, brown with age,

one of the greatest treasures of the British Museum.

The barons knew that John, who had so often broken his word, would not keep these promises unless they forced him to. So before they parted, they appointed twenty-four barons, whose duty it should be to see that John ruled according to the charter, and to declare war upon him if he failed to do so.

“They have given me four and twenty overkings,” cried John, throwing himself on the floor in another fit of rage. Surely, such a king had need of overkings. But nothing could hold John to his word. He broke his promises, and then sent secretly to Europe for an army of foreign, paid soldiers. The barons as a last resort called Louis, the son of the King of France, to come and rule over them. As soon as Louis landed, King John fled. He always ran away as soon as a battle began. There was the greatest confusion throughout the land. In the midst of it all King John died. He was crossing a dangerous quicksand called the Wash, when the tide came up and nearly drowned his army. The royal treasure was swept away, and horses and baggage carried off in the swift current. Cursing his ill luck, the king hurried on to Swinestead Monastery. The monks, knowing his fondness for good things to eat, put before him ripe peaches and pears and beer. The king devoured this repast, and the next day lay ill with a burning fever. A horse litter was made ready in all haste, and the king carried to the nearest castle. A few days later he died, and England was free from as bad a king as ever sat upon the English throne.

Henry III

The jeweled crown had been lost in the flood with the other royal treasure, so John’s little son was crowned with a circle of plain gold.

“We have been the enemy of this child’s father,” said Lord Pembroke at the coronation; “and he merited our ill will; but the child himself is innocent, and his youth demands our friendship and protection.”

So the ten-year-old boy was crowned Henry III of England, and Lord Pembroke chosen as regent, to rule until Henry should become of age.

Lord Pembroke’s first act was to promise to rule according to the Great Charter. That brought many of the barons, who had revolted against John, over to his side. Yet there were Prince Louis of France and his followers still in the land. But at last they were defeated in a sea fight, and Prince Louis went back to his own country, so poor, it is said, that he had to borrow money from the citizens of London to pay his traveling expenses.

At the end of three years Lord Pembroke died and two protectors were chosen to look after the affairs of the kingdom, Peter de Roches, and Hubert de Burgh, who defeated the fleet of Prince Louis. These two personages did not like each other, and when the king became of age Peter de Roches retired and went abroad. After an absence of ten years he returned. The king, in the meantime, had grown tired of Hubert, and welcomed De Roches. He sought to find some way of getting rid of Hubert. Finally he accused him of misusing some of the funds in the royal treasury. Hubert, seeing

that he had fallen out of favor, fled to an abbey instead of answering the charges. Then Henry summoned the Mayor of London, and said: “Take twenty thousand citizens, and drag Hubert de Burgh out of that abbey, and bring him to me.” Some of his father’s violent temper lived on in Henry.

But a friend of Hubert’s warned Henry that the abbey was sacred, and he had no right to harm Hubert there. So Henry called the mayor back, and proclaimed that for four months Hubert should be free to go as he chose and prepare his defense. Hubert came out of the abbey, and Henry proceeded to break his word, just as his father had done before him. He ordered one Sir Godfred and his Black Band to seize Hubert. Hubert was in bed when he saw them coming. He leaped out, ran to the nearest church, and stood there breathless. He was within the sanctuary. But the Black Band cared nought for the rights of the Church. They followed through the open door, and dragged Hubert out into the daylight. With swords flashing above Hubert’s head, they commanded the blacksmith of the town then and there to rivet a set of chains upon him. The smith took one look at the prisoner’s face.

“This is the brave Earl Hubert de Burgh, who destroyed the French fleet and has done his country much good service. You may kill me, if you like, but never a chain will I forge for Earl Hubert de Burgh.”

The Black Band kicked him aside in disgust, and had to be content with tying Earl Hubert on horseback and carrying him off to London Tower. Thereupon the bishops became very angry because the king had violated the sanctuary of the church. They frightened Henry into releasing Hubert and sending him back to the little church where he had taken refuge. Henry did this, but he told the Black Band not to let Hubert escape. A deep trench was dug about the church, and a high fence built. The Black Band guarded it day and night. For thirty-nine days Sir Hubert held out. Then hunger drove him forth from the church, and he gave himself up. Once

more the Black Band carried him off to the Tower. He was tried, and after some months of imprisonment was finally pardoned and his place restored to him. This was the unhappy story of a king’s favorite.

As Henry grew older, he seemed to grow more and more like his father. He was not so cruel, but he was cowardly, and he hated the Great Charter. His greatest desire seemed to be to squeeze the pocketbooks of rich and poor throughout his realm into the royal treasury.

In desperation, one day in May, the clergy and the barons met together in Westminster Hall, each one holding a burning candle in his hand. The king was present too, and the archbishop read in his most solemn voice the solemn words that any man in England who should infringe the Great Charter should be excommunicated, that is, cut off from all the privileges of the Church. When he had finished, there was a hush through the great hall. Then all together the barons and the clergy put out their candles, and uttered a curse upon any man who should deserve this punishment. Solemnly the king arose and promised to abide by the Great Charter. “I promise to do so,” he said, “as I am a man, as I am a Christian, as I am a knight, as I am a king.”

The king made this promise without hesitation, and without hesitation he broke it. The barons soon saw that they must deal with him as they had with his father. When Parliament assembled the next time, every man appeared clad in armor from top to toe.

The story of the king’s struggle with his barons is a long one. The great bell of St. Paul’s at London was tolled to summon the people to war against their king. Simon de Montfort, the Earl of Leicester, put himself at their head, and with his other forces marched to Lewes, where Henry and his son Edward lay in camp with their army. Before the battle, the Earl of Leicester stood up before his men, and said that Henry III had broken so many oaths that he had become the enemy

of God, even as the Turks. Therefore he bade them wear white crosses on their breasts, and fight not as against Christians, but as against infidels. The next morning they went into battle wearing their white crosses. The king and the prince were both taken prisoners.

The prince was always treated like a prince, but he was never allowed to go out without the Earl of Leicester’s attendants. One afternoon he rode out under their guard into the country. When they came to a fine, level piece of turf, the prince suggested that this would be a good place to race their horses. He himself did not race, but was the umpire. As they were riding home, chatting merrily over their horses, suddenly a strange rider on a gray steed rode up over the top of the hill, and waved his hat once in the air.

“What signal is that?” asked the attendants one of another. And while they were puzzling their heads about it, the prince put spurs to his horse and galloped away to the stranger on the top of the hill. The attendants rode after them, but their horses were tired with the racing, and the prince’s horse was fresh. The last they saw of him was a cloud of dust far down the road. Prince Edward had gone to the Earl of Gloucester, who had remained faithful to the king.

At Evesham Edward’s forces and Simon de Montfort’s met. The earl saw that the chances were against him, but he fought like the true knight that he was until his horse was killed under him, and then he fought on foot. The old king, seated on a great war horse, rode about, getting in everybody’s way. He was nearly killed once, but he managed to cry out, “I am Henry of Winchester,” and Edward, who happened to hear him, took his horse by the bridle and led him away out of danger. The Earl of Leicester was still fighting when he fell, sword in hand. The leader was gone, but the cause for which he had spent his blood lived on, for Prince Edward stood ready to carry on the good work which Simon de Montfort had begun.

Edward I, the Hammer of the Scots

Edward I was far away from his kingdom when word was brought him that his father was dead and he was king of England. He had gone to the Holy Land on a crusade, the eighth and the last of the crusades. Like Richard the Lionhearted, Edward was a valiant knight. When crossing the scorching sands of Asia, his ranks of soldiers grew thinner and thinner as the men died from fever and fatigue. His generals grew discouraged, and wished to go home. But Edward turned his face to the desert, and answered: “I will go on if I go with no other follower than my groom.” Such a spirit aroused great fear in the hearts of the Turks, and they resolved to kill this prince.

One of the Saracen nobles, pretending that he wished to become a Christian, sent a messenger to Edward bearing a letter. As Edward was reading the letter, the dark-faced slave stole nearer, drew a dagger from his flowing sleeve, and sprang at Edward’s heart. But Edward was on the alert in a moment. His arm was strong and sure. He smote the slave to the ground, and killed him with the dagger. A moment later he noticed that his own arm had been scratched by the dagger. The wound began to swell, and Edward realized that the point of the dagger had been smeared with poison. The physician was called at once, and, thanks to his skill and the constant nursing of Eleanor, Edward’s wife, the prince’s life was saved.

Soon after his recovery, word reached him of his father’s illness, and Edward turned about to go home. In Italy he heard that his father had died, and he had been proclaimed king.

Edward’s march across Europe was a march of triumph. The tales of his bravery in the Holy Land went before him, and everywhere he was entertained and given royal presents of purple robes and prancing horses. When he landed in Dover, England, and went on to Westminster, the greatest rejoicing of all took place. “For the coronation feast there were provided, among other eatables, four hundred oxen, four hundred sheep, four hundred and fifty pigs, eighteen wild boars, three hundred flitches of bacon, and twenty thousand fowls. The fountains…in the streets flowed with red and white wine instead of water; the rich citizens hung silks and clothes of the brightest colors out of their windows to increase the beauty of the show, and threw out gold and silver by whole handfuls to make scrambles for the crowd. In short, there was such eating and drinking, such music and capering, such a ringing of bells and tossing up caps, such a shouting and singing and reveling as the narrow overhanging streets of London had not witnessed in many a day.”

King Edward I was a bold thinker. At the beginning of his reign he set his heart on being king of England, Scotland, and Wales. Wales is the mountainous country, lying west of England, where the Britons had taken refuge at the time of the Saxon Conquest. In Wales the people still spoke the old Briton language, and sang and harped the old Briton folk songs. There was a tradition in the land that Merlin, the old enchanter, had prophesied that when money should be round, a Welsh prince would be crowned in London. Now one of Edward’s early decrees was that the big English pennies should not be cut into halves and quarters, as had been done formerly, to make half and quarter pennies. So the Welsh believed that the day was near when Merlin’s prophecy should come true.

At this time Llewellyn was the Prince of Wales. It was his duty to swear allegiance to Edward. This Llewellyn refused to do. Just then it happened that Eleanor de Montfort, the young

lady to whom Llewellyn was betrothed, was returning from France. The English king ordered her to be detained until Llewellyn swore allegiance. That was how the quarrel began. It ended, as most quarrels did in those days, in bitter bloodshed. Llewellyn was killed, and his people subdued. His nobles came before Edward, promising to be faithful to him if he would give them as governor a prince born in their own land. Edward promised, and straightway brought into the room his little baby son, who had been born there in Wales in the Castle of Carnarvon a short time before. Later Edward’s oldest son died, and this, the first prince of Wales, became the heir apparent to the throne. Ever since then the Crown Prince of England has borne the title of Prince of Wales.

Now that the Welshmen had submitted to him, Edward turned his attention to the North. The king of Scotland, who had married Edward’s sister, was dead. He had no children, so the throne fell to a little eight-year-old princess of Norway. King Edward proposed that the little Maid of Norway should become engaged to his eldest son, but as she was on her way to England she fell ill and died. Immediately thirteen different Scotsmen came forward claiming the Scottish throne. The task of deciding which one of these should be king of Scotland was left to Edward. The English king decided upon John Baliol, but on the condition that he should receive his crown by the English king’s favor. Then Edward caused the great seal of Scotland to be broken in four pieces, and carried to the English treasury. He now considered that his kingdom stretched over England, Scotland, and Wales.

To instill it into Baliol’s heart that he was England’s vassal, although king of Scotland, Edward repeatedly summoned him to appear before him in London. At length the Scottish people took this to be an insult. Baliol refused to come. With thirty thousand foot soldiers and four thousand horse, Edward marched into Scotland. The English king was victorious. When he went back to London he bore with him

EDWARD I, THE HAMMER OF THE SCOTS

the Scottish throne and scepter, and the old stone coronation chair. For ages the Scottish kings had been crowned upon this stone, which was now placed in Westminster Abbey in London.

Perhaps it was this very act that kept alive in the Scots the burning desire to be free from England’s overrule. They found a noble and daring leader in Sir William Wallace, and the whole country was soon in arms. Edward was an old man, but he had resolved not to lose Scotland. He went to war borne on a litter. Just within sight of Scotland he died, at Burg-on-Sands. But even in dying his spirit was unquenchable. “Tell my son,” he said, “to bear my bones ahead of the army into Scotland.”

His dying request was not granted. His body was carried back to Westminster Abbey where these words are engraved upon his plain gray marble monument:

“This is Edward the First, the hammer of the Scots keep troth.”

The Black Prince

For a hundred years England was at war. The war with Scotland led to a war with France, and two of the greatest battles in history were fought before England and France signed a treaty of peace.

King Edward III was England’s monarch, who crossed the Channel and met the French at Crécy. With him he took his son, Edward, who was called the Black Prince because of the color of his armor.

The morning of the battle the king and the prince heard mass with the army, and then the command was given for all to arm and prepare for battle. Edward, mounted on a small palfrey, with a white wand in his hand, rode down the long ranks of his soldiers, encouraging the fearful, and bidding them all to guard his honor and defend his right. Thus they waited for the French, with fresh courage in every English heart.

As soon as the French forces came up, and the French king saw the English lined up on his ground, his blood began to boil.

“Order the Genoese crossbowmen forward, and begin the battle in the name of God and St. Denis!” he cried to his marshals.

A terrible rain was falling, and the sun was eclipsed. Thunder and lightning broke through the storm. Just before the rain a flock of huge crows hovered over the battalions, cawing and shrieking. To the Frenchmen, weary from their long march, the storm seemed a prophecy of doom. But the king had given the command, and they must advance. The storm broke, but the sun came out with dazzling brightness,

shining in the Frenchmen’s eyes. With a shout, the Genoese went forward. The English remained motionless. A second shout came from the French, yet the English never stirred. With the third shout, they began to shoot. Then the English battalion advanced one step, drew their bows, and let fly their arrows. So thick and fast they fell that it seemed to the Genoese as if it snowed. They turned and retreated. But other French forces came up rapidly behind them, and the battle raged fiercely. The Black Prince was in the very midst of the fray, and his men were falling on either side of him. King Edward was watching the battle on the hill near a windmill. Suddenly he saw a knight riding toward him at top speed. “Sir,” he cried, saluting the king, “the Earl of Warwick and others who are about your son are vigorously attacked by the French, and they entreat that you should come to their assistance with your battalion, for if their numbers should increase they fear that he will have too much to do.”

The king did not move from his post. “Is my son dead, unhorsed, or so badly wounded that he cannot support himself?” he asked.

“Nothing of the sort, thank God,” replied the knight; “but he is in so hot an engagement that he has great need of your help.”

Still the king did not move. “Go back to those who sent you,” he said quietly, “and tell them not to return again for me this day, or expect that I shall come. Let what will happen as long as my son has his life. And say that I command them to let the boy win his spurs; for I am determined, if it please God, that all the glory and honor of this day shall be given to him and to those to whose care I have entrusted him.”

The knight rode back to the lords with the king’s answer, which gave them such courage that they repented of having sent such a message.

So the great roar and tumult of the battle went on all day, until the French king had to flee; and night brought victory

to the English. Then they lighted their torches and built great fires that blazed up into the skies. And King Edward then came down from his post, and advanced with his whole battalion to meet the Prince of Wales.

“Sweet son,” he said as he embraced and kissed the Black Prince, “God give you good perseverance. You are my son, for most loyally have you acquitted yourself this day. You are worthy to be a sovereign.”

The prince bowed very low, and humbled himself, saying that all the honor belonged to his father. And the English feasted all night, and gave thanks to God for their great victory.

The war lingered on through the years. Ten years after the battle of Crécy, the Black Prince won another great victory for his people. At Poitiers he met the king of France with his four sons, and all the flower of the French nobility. When the Prince of Wales saw the enemy drawn up before him, he addressed his own men with these words: “Now, my gallant fellows, what though we be a small body when compared to the army of our enemies? Do not let us be cast down on that account, for victory does not always follow numbers, but where Almighty God pleases to bestow it. If, through good fortune, the day shall be ours, we will gain the greatest glory in this world; if the contrary should happen, and we be slain, I have a father and beloved brethren alive who will be sure to avenge our deaths. I therefore entreat you to combat manfully; for if it shall please God and St. George, this day you shall see me a good knight.”

And with a cry, “Banners advance in the name of God and St. George,” the English went forward into battle.

The French leader, King John, was no less brave of heart than the Prince of Wales, but the English put the French to confusion. In the midst of his shattered ranks the French king stood his ground, fighting valiantly with his battle ax, and beside him stood his fair-haired son Philip, just sixteen years

old. But finally an English knight rode up, and demanded King John to surrender.

“I will surrender to the Prince of Wales,” said the French king, for he saw that he was hard pressed.

“Surrender to me,” replied the knight, “and I will lead you to the Prince of Wales.”

So King John and his son Philip were taken prisoners, and the battle of Poitiers came to end.

That night the Prince of Wales gave a great feast to King John and all the royal prisoners. The table was spread in the prince’s tent, and the prince himself served at the table. At the end he pledged a toast to the king and said:

“Dear sir, do not make a poor meal because the Almighty God has not gratified your wishes in the event of this day; for be assured that my lord and father will show every honor and friendship in his power, and will arrange your ransom so reasonably that you will always remain friends. In my opinion, you have cause to be glad that the success of this battle did not turn out as you desired; for you have this day acquired such high renown for prowess that you have surpassed all the best knights on your side.”

At these words murmurs of praise went up on all sides, and the French said that the prince had spoken nobly and truly, and that he would be one of the most gallant princes in Christendom if God should give him life to pursue his career of glory.

But although the Black Prince was a brilliant warrior, he was a heartless man. His health broke down when he was still young, and the pain he had to bear made him cruel and revengeful instead of gentle and courteous as became a knight. Yet when he died all England mourned for him.

Chaucer and the Canterbury Pilgrims

It was many years now since Cædmon had dreamed that he could sing, and had awakened to turn the beautiful old sacred stories into song. There had been other singers after him, minstrels and ballad writers, but the first great English poet was not born until the reign of Edward III. He would seem a queer-looking figure indeed, this first English poet, Geoffrey Chaucer, if we should meet him on the streets today in his clerk’s dress. A dark-colored hood was pulled lightly over his head, with a long tail to it, which indoors hung down his back, and out of doors was twisted lightly around his head to keep it from blowing off. His gray tunic, which was loose with big baggy sleeves, hung to his knees. His stockings were bright scarlet, and his boots black. He was rather shy in his manner, and, as he tells us himself, when he went along the London streets, he kept his eyes cast down upon the ground, “as if he would find a hair.”

It was a very different London from the noisy crowded city that we know today, else Chaucer could not have passed along the highways with drooping eyes. He called it a “dear and sweet city,” and tells us how he loved to arise early and go out to see the daisies open and hear the morning songs of the birds.

For many years Chaucer worked in the Custom House. He must have found it very dull work, bending over the great custom books all day long. But when night came, although his eyes were almost dazed and his back was aching as if it would break, still he turned to study and to books, and was “dumb as a stone” to all about him. He loved to read other people’s

stories long before he thought of writing them himself.

One of Chaucer’s best friends was John of Gaunt, a younger brother of the Black Prince. This friendship lasted throughout life, and as long as John of Gaunt was in power, Chaucer was well provided for. He was a prominent figure at the Court of Edward III, and in later years was sent abroad by the king on many important embassies. He married, too, one of the court ladies, Philippa, a maid of honor to the queen. During these years Chaucer had plenty of money, and lived a happy, prosperous life. Later, when the king died and John of Gaunt fell into disfavor, Chaucer, too, was disgraced because he still remained true to his friend. He lost his position in the Custom House, and became very poor. Still his heart did not grow bitter, although he was treated very unjustly. It was during these hard years that he wrote his most famous poems, the “Canterbury Tales,” which are full of pictures of a beautiful world, and of love and merriment.

He begins these poems with a description of a lovely spring day, when April showers had pierced the heart of March and the little birds were making melody. He was resting at the Tabard Inn, ready to go on the next day on a pilgrimage to Canterbury, the shrine of Thomas à Becket. At nightfall, the inn grew more and more full of guests, until there was great company in the hall, and the stables were full of horses. And Chaucer tells us how shortly after sunset he made friends with all the people and learned that they had met by chance and were all starting on the morrow on a pilgrimage like his own. They therefore agreed to all rise early and start together. Then the host at the inn, when he had given his guests a capital supper and had received the just reckoning from each one, stood up and commanded silence. “Well, my masters,” said he, “I say that each of you shall tell the rest four stories two on the way to Canterbury, and two on the way home. For you know that it is small fun riding alone dumb as a stone. And whichever in the party tells the

best story shall have a supper at this inn at the cost of the rest when you come back. To assure you better, I will myself gladly join your party and be at once guide and judge.”

So it was agreed, and the company started off the next morning in fine spirits. So vividly has Chaucer portrayed these Canterbury pilgrims that we could scarcely see them better if he had painted a picture of each one. There was a knight, a very perfect noble knight, who loved all chivalry, honor, truth, and courtesy. With him was his son, as squire, with locks all curled and fresh as the month of May. His heart was light, and he whistled and sang all day long as he rode. He had no attendant save one yeoman clad in coat and hood of green. There was also a nun, with eyes gray as glass and a little red mouth, who carried in her arms some little dogs which she often fed with roasted meat, milk, and the finest bread. Then there was a jolly monk, whose horse’s bridle jingled like a chapel bell as he rode along, and a friar, who carried with him a number of pretty pins and knives which he gave away as presents to all the friends he made. A merchant with a forked beard was in the company, who sat high on his horse and wore a Flemish beaver hat, and also an Oxford student in threadbare coat, riding a horse as lean as a rake, because he spent all his money on books and learning. Then there was a franklin, with beard as white as daisies; a haberdasher, a carpenter, a weaver, a dyer, a cook, a sailor, a doctor, a good wife from Bath, a plowman, and a pardoner whose long yellow hair hung in shreds about his shoulders, and many others. It was a motley but gay company.

At daybreak they all rode out together from the court of the inn into the glad spring day. They halted at the Watering of St. Thomas, and there drew lots to see who should tell the first tale. The lot fell to the knight, which delighted every one; and as the party set out again, he began his tale.

Chaucer did not invent new stories for all of his Canterbury pilgrims, but he filled the old tales with so much life that

they are as fresh and full of wit and humor, love and pathos, to us to-day, as they were to England five hundred years ago when the first great English poet first wrote them.

Madcap Harry

The desire that burned in the heart of Edward III was kindled afresh in Henry V, who reigned about forty years later. He wanted his kingdom to stretch across the sea and cover France. The wars with France had gone on so long now, that every English boy seemed to be born with a hatred for the French boys across the Channel. It was only necessary for an English prince to shout, “Forward in the name of St. George!” to arouse the war spirit in their blood. The Black Prince had worn himself out in war, but now another prince was wearing the English crown, who was destined to be as great a hero in English eyes as the Black Prince. This prince was Henry of Monmouth, whom history has nicknamed “Mad-cap Harry.”

There was no great artist in those days to paint portraits of famous men and women, so it was customary for writers of history to give long descriptions of the personal appearance of the kings and queens. The biographer of Henry V tells us that this king “had an oval, handsome face with a broad, open forehead and straight nose, ruddy cheeks and lips, a deeply indented chin and small well formed ears; his hair was brown and thick; and his bright hazel eyes, gentle as a dove’s when at rest, could gleam like a lion’s when aroused to wrath. He rejoiced in all kinds of sports and exercise, had no equal in jumping, and was so swift of foot that with one or two chosen companions he would start the quickest buck from the woodlands and run it down in the open.”

And to this picture of Henry we must add that he was hotheaded, kind of heart, bold in thought and deed, loving his

people and beloved by them. As a prince he had been wild and fearless, and in this same spirit he led his army across the sea to win the French crown. The great and terrible battle of this war was fought in the autumn of 1415. The two armies came together near the village of Maisoncelle at night. In Henry’s ranks his discipline was so strict that all through the night there was scarcely a whisper heard in the camp. The French even thought that the English had retreated in the rain and darkness. In the meantime in their camp there was turmoil and confusion, the shouting of orders, the din of tramping men and horses, and the shouting of the nobles who were feasting and drinking, sure of tomorrow’s victory.

At daybreak Henry was up and clad in his armor. He put on his head his helmet, blazing with its coronet of rubies, sapphires, and pearls; mounted a small gray horse, and gave the orders for the day. The army was drawn up four lines deep, with the archers in front. Few of Henry’s archers wore any armor. They were clad instead in their heavy doublets, with their hose tucked up and their feet bare that they might stand the more firmly. When all was in readiness, Henry asked the hour.

“It is the first watch,” they told him.

“Good,” replied the king. “For at this hour all England prayeth for us; let us therefore be of good cheer.”

“And,” writes Henry’s chaplain, “so long as the battle lasted, I who write these words, sat upon my horse amid the baggage in the rear, and with all the other priests humbled my soul before God, saying in my heart: Be mindful of us, O Lord! for our enemies are gathered together and boast themselves in their strength. Break down their power, and scatter them, that they may know there is none other that fighteth for us but Thou, O God.”

About a mile away stood the French, three times as strong. But Henry’s courage never faltered. He rode down the lines, bidding his men be of good cheer, for they would have

a fair day and a gracious victory. And the men caught his spirit, and answered, “Sire! we pray God grant you a good life and victory over our enemies!”

The order to advance was given, and with a ringing cheer the English went forward. When they were within bowshot of the French, Henry commanded them to halt. The archers planted their stakes before them in the ground, and with a cry, “Hurrah! Hurrah! St. George and Merry England!” the battle began. In less than three hours the English had won the day. Then Henry called to him a French herald, and asked, “Tell me the name of yonder fortress which overlooks the field.”

“Agincourt,” the herald replied.

“Then,” said Henry, “this battle shall now and forever be called the Battle of Agincourt.”

News was sent that very night to England, and early the next morning the church bells throughout the country proclaimed the great victory. But there were many sad hearts in England, and many more in France, because of the brave soldiers who lay among the heaps of dead the day after that terrible battle.

A month later Henry set sail for home. As the fleet came into Dover, the excited townspeople rushed down even into the sea to carry their king to the shore upon their shoulders. Never was there a greater triumphant march through England than Henry’s march from Dover to Westminster. At Cornhill tower there was stretched a great canopy adorned with the banners of St. George, and underneath stood a number of men dressed as prophets in gold and purple robes. As the king came by, the prophets let loose a flock of little tame birds, which fluttered about the king and even perched on his shoulders.

At Chepe Cross great arches spanned the streets, and through these archways came maidens dancing and striking timbrels, just as the women in the olden days had welcomed

King David back to Jerusalem.

On either side stood white-robed boys to represent angels, who scattered wreaths of laurel as the king rode by.

Dressed in his purple gown and surrounded by only a few personal friends, King Henry rode with a sober face through the festive town. He would not let any songs be sung in his praise, nor would he allow his “bruised helmet and his bended sword” to be borne before him as the nobles wished.

“The glory and honor is due alone to God,” he said, as he dismounted and went into St. Paul’s, where a Te Deum was sung for his victory.

Still the troubles with France continued for five years, until a treaty of peace was signed, and it was agreed that Henry should marry the French king’s daughter, Catherine, and when the French king died, he should be king of France. There was great rejoicing when Henry brought his French queen home, for it looked now as if Henry’s ambition would be accomplished. But two years later he died, when he was only thirty-four. He was buried in Westminster Abbey, and for over a hundred years tapers were kept burning about his tomb.

Wat Tyler and the Peasant Revolt

The long, long wars with France were draining England of many of her best men. Suddenly another enemy came upon the land. It was an enemy even more terrible than war. It swept across the land through city and village alike. Everywhere, where people were living in dark houses, in dirty streets, in unhealthy homes, this new enemy entered.

The Black Death was the name given to this plague. The first time it visited England over half the people died of it. In some villages scarcely enough men were left living to bury the dead. On many farms there were not left enough men to reap the autumn harvest. The few remaining laborers, or villains, as they were called, saw that this was a good time to demand higher wages. This angered some of the nobles so greatly that they let their crops rot in the ground rather than pay the wages that the men asked. Finally they appealed to Parliament to help them.

The result was that Parliament passed laws requiring the laborers to work at the old rate of wages and forbidding them to leave the land upon which they were born. Any villain who was found running away was to be branded with a red-hot iron on his forehead. A little later a poll tax was levied on every person in the land over fifteen years of age. This tax was to help pay for the war with France. It was only fourteen pence, but the villains’ wages were so low that it often took them many days to save money enough to pay it.

The faces of the laborers grew dark and sullen. As they walked home together across the fields at night, they talked in low tones of the unjust nobles and the unjust king. They

saw the rich landlords in their castles dressed in beautiful, soft silks and satins. They themselves wore coarse woolen tunics belted in at the waist with rope. They came into their homes, which were low, dirty, and filled with bad air. Silently they ate their evening meal of bacon, cabbage, and home-brewed beer. There was no light in the room save from the burning rushes on the hearth. Here the family gathered. They had no books to read. They could only sit there, thinking of their aching backs, of the taxes to be paid, and their few scant pennies saved up for the winter’s food. Finally, tired out, they threw themselves on their straw pallets to sleep heavily until daybreak.

One day Wat Tyler, one of these laborers, was mending a roof, when he heard the loud outcry of his daughter at home near by. Running down the ladder, he found that the tax collector was at his house, and had insulted the girl. Scarcely realizing how strong his arm was, Wat struck the collector a blow that killed him on the spot. A crowd soon gathered about the house, and these laborers were only too ready to take Wat Tyler’s part. Still hot with anger, the roof-mender begged them to go to London with him and demand relief for the many wrongs they were suffering.

Headed by Tyler, the little band started afoot for London. Long before it reached there it had grown to be one hundred thousand strong. With them, too, marched John Ball, a poor priest who knew how to put into glowing words the feelings that were burning in the laborers’ hearts. As they were nearing London he gathered the crowd about him in a churchyard. “Good people,” he cried, “why do the great folk hold us in slavery if we are all children of the same father and mother, Adam and Eve? They dress in velvets, but we must go in rags. They have wine and spices and fair white bread upon their tables, while we have oatcake, and straw beds, and water to drink. They have leisure and fine houses; we have pain and labor, the rain and the wind in the fields. When Adam delved

and Eve span, who was then the gentleman?”

With renewed courage the army of villains pressed on to London, and for three weeks held possession of the city. They ransacked the homes of the wealthy, and destroyed all the silver and gold that they could find. Finally the king agreed to meet them. King Richard was only sixteen, and his heart was fearless.

“What will you, good people?” he asked bravely in the face of the mob. “I am your king and lord. What will you?”

“We will that you free us forever,” the mob shouted like one man; “and that we be never more named or held as serfs.”

“I grant it,” the king replied.

The crowd broke up, and many went home. Thirty thousand remained to see that the king kept his word. The next morning, when the king was talking with Tyler, some hot words passed between them. Tyler raised his arm, and the Mayor of London, fearing that he was about to strike the king, drew his sword and slew the laborer. It was a moment of great peril, but the king did not lose his head. Wheeling his horse about, he shouted to the mob, “Follow me, I am your captain and your king.”

The people trusted him, and soon after this returned to their homes. But King Richard’s promises were not kept. There was no law in England that gave him power to make such promises. Parliament continued her unjust taxes. But the barons had seen once for all the strength of the villains when once aroused. They were too afraid of another revolt to press their tenants more than necessary. Then, too, there were other forces at work in the land that were to lessen the power that the barons had held ever since the days of William the Conqueror.

The Last of the Barons

There is an old legend of a French king whose life was made miserable because of his quarrelsome nobles. These lords and barons were always fighting one another and then coming to the king for him to settle the dispute. Finally in despair the king shut all the nobles of the land up in one room, and locked the doors. An hour later, when he opened the room, he found that all the nobles were either dead or so weak with wounds that they were glad to go meekly home and hang their weapons on their castle walls. Much the same thing happened in England when the barons came home after the long wars with France. These barons came back from France with hearts grown hard, cruel, and merciless. Many of them came home rich with plunder. It is said that the Earl of Warwick was so rich that he fed thirty thousand daily at his castles. Six huge oxen were killed every day for the breakfast of his retainers. He boasted that no man ever went hungry from his door, and that soldiers could enter his kitchen at any hour and carry off as large pieces of meat as they could pick up on their daggers.

The barons had not been home two years before they began to fight one another. The story reads that two of them, Warwick and Somerset, were walking together in the temple gardens, each one attended by a large court of followers. A dispute arose as to whether a prince of the House of Lancaster, or a prince of the House of York, should be the next king of England. Each house was of royal blood, and could lay claims to the throne. The words between Somerset and Warwick became hotter and hotter. Finally Warwick turned

about, plucked a white rose from a bush near by, and, sticking it into his buttonhole, bade all true and loyal followers of the House of York do likewise. Thereupon Somerset seized a rose of flaming red, and shouted that this should be the emblem of the House of Lancaster. It would have been well if King Henry had been strong enough to imprison all these angry nobles in one great room and let them fight one another, as the legends said the old French king did. Then the farmers who wished to plow and sow their land, and the traders in the city who wished to work at their honest business, could have gone peacefully about their work. For these good people had no interest in this “War of the Roses” which for thirty years the barons waged in England. But King Henry VI was not a strong man, and he was not a fighter. He had been made king when only a boy of seven, and while he was still a child, had often been called to settle the quarrels between his barons. The strain proved too great for him. Shortly before the War of the Roses broke out, he became insane. There was, therefore, no strong hand to hold the barons in check. All England lay at their mercy.

The story of this war is very long and very uninteresting. One year the White Rose was victorious; the next year found the Red Rose in power. It is a story of many cruel deeds, that we are glad to forget as soon as we can. Many a baron lost his life. Somerset was slain in battle at the beginning of the war; and Warwick in the battle of Barnet, near the close. He had been called the “Last of the Barons,” because he was the last baron who was strong enough to dictate to the king.

The War of the Roses came to an end on the battlefield of Bosworth. The two leaders in this battle were Henry Tudor, the head of the Lancastrians, and Richard III, the last of the three York kings. The night before the battle Richard III was tormented by bad dreams. He believed this to be an evil omen. The next morning his commander-in-chief deserted him. Nevertheless, Richard, with no sign of fear, mounted his

horse and rode bravely into battle. He died fighting. His crown, which he had worn into battle, was found by the Lancastrian soldiers under a holly bush. They brought it to their leader, and there on the field crowned him Henry VII of England. Thus the war closed with a triumph for the House of Lancaster. Soon afterwards Henry married a princess of the House of York, and thus the two parties were at last peacefully united.

William Caxton

England’s first printer

It is hard to believe that the fifteenth century dawned before the first book was printed in England. The bards had told over and over the old lays of Beowulf; Cædmon had sung his verses of the Creation; Chaucer had written his merry “Canterbury Tales,” but no book had yet been printed in England. In the great palaces and homes of the wealthy there were books, and very beautiful ones, but they had all been written by hand the painstaking task of some monk who had spent years over his work. They were written on heavy parchment, and many of them had pages decorated with colored borders of birds and flowers. But these books were so costly that few besides kings and princes could have libraries in those days. Probably no little child in England at that time owned a book.

The man who printed the first book in England was William Caxton. He was born in the woody county of Kent early in the fifteenth century. In one of his books he wrote, “I was born and learned my English in Kent, where I doubt not is spoken as broad and rude English as is in any place in England.” In these days the English language was made up of many different dialects. The people in the South spoke so differently from the people in the North that they could scarcely understand each other. Later, when printed books could be bought by rich and poor, the people in the North and the South, the East and the West, began gradually to understand and speak the same tongue. Then the English language came to be the language that we speak today.

In Kent, Caxton’s early home, as he writes, the people spoke a rude tongue. There were many Flemish settlers there, and their language became mixed with the Kentish English. Caxton himself tells about a party of merchants who were delayed on the Kentish coast, and came to a little cottage to buy some eggs. The good wife, who opened the door, shook her head, and replied that she knew no French. Then the merchant was angry, for he spoke no French either but was a stanch-hearted Englishman. “Eggs,” “Eggs,” he kept repeating, but she could not understand. Then at length, one of his company said “Eyren,” which is the word for “eggs” in the old Kentish dialect, and the good wife hastened to fetch him a basket full.

When Caxton was quite a young man he was sent on business to Bruges, where he lived for thirty-five years. This now sleepy old town was then a flourishing city. There were many young men there who were interested in the making of books, and we soon find Caxton at work evenings translating a French book. In his prologue to this book, Caxton writes in his quaint English, “When I remember that every man is bound by the commandment and counsel of the wise men to avoid sloth and idleness…then I, having no great charge of occupation, followed the said counsel, took a French book and read therein many strange and marvellous stories wherein I had great pleasure and delight… And for so much this book was new and lately made and drawn into French, and never had been seen in our English tongue, I thought in myself it would be a good business to translate it into our English to the end that it might be had as well in England as in other lands, and also for to pass away my time, and thus concluded in myself to begin this work.”

Caxton, however, grew weary of his task before he had half finished the translation. He had given it up, when the Duchess of Burgundy saw his work and commanded him to finish it. When it was once completed, other nobles saw it,

and wanted Caxton to make copies for them. Caxton found himself overburdened with the tedious task of copying his translation by hand. He began to look into this new art of printing which had been invented in Germany. But he tells us the story in his own words in a prologue to the first printed copy of the “History of Troy.”

“And for as much as in the writing of the same my pen is worn, my hands weary and not steadfast, my eyes dim with over much looking on the white paper, and my courage not so prone and ready to labor as it hath been, and that age creepeth on me daily and feebleth all the body, and also because I have promised to diverse gentlemen and to my friends to address them as hastily as I might this said book, therefore I have practiced and learned at my great expense to ordain this said book in print after the manner and form as ye may here see and is not written with pen and ink as other books be.”

This was the first book ever printed in the English language. The next year Caxton translated and printed another book, “The Game and Play of Chess.” Then he returned to England, bringing his printing press with him and settling in Westminster, London. Just where he lived and how long we do not know; but his life must have been a busy one, for we know of twenty-one translations that he made, and about seventy books that he printed.

In order that it might be known what books were printed by him, Caxton made a device or trade mark which he stamped in all his books. It is hard to make out just what Caxton meant by his device. We can easily see the “W” and the “C” which stand for his name, and it is supposed that the two figures between these letters are a fantastic “74.” That is, his device meant, “William Caxton printed the first English book in 1474.”

Many fragments of Caxton’s books can be seen to-day in the British Museum and elsewhere, where they are guarded

as the greatest treasures. And in 1877, the four hundredth anniversary of the printing of the first English book in England, a great festival was held in St. Paul’s Cathedral to honor William Caxton, England’s first printer.

Bluff King Hal

Henry VII, who was crowned on the battlefield of Bosworth, was the first of the Tudors, who now for over one hundred years sat on the throne of England. The most famous of the Tudor kings was Henry VIII; the most famous of the queens was Elizabeth. Henry VIII was crowned when he was eighteen years of age.

His father, Henry VII, had left the royal treasury full, and Henry’s greatest delight was in spending this money to surround himself with every pomp and glory of which he could dream. It was said that he was very handsome, but he must have had a hard and cruel look in his eyes, for no man ever thought more of his own pleasure and less of that of others than did Henry VIII. At first his people did not realize this. They were proud because he could ride a horse well, proud that he could speak good French, Latin, and Spanish, and proud of his red beard, which they said shone like gold, and was far handsomer than the beard of the king of France. The English people would have discovered much sooner than they did how little real interest Henry VIII had in their welfare if it had not been for Cardinal Wolsey. Wolsey was the son of a well-to-do Ipswich butcher, but as he was very clever, he worked his way up from being tutor in a noble family to the position of Archbishop of York. Later the Pope made him cardinal, and Henry VIII appointed him chancellor of the realm. He was a gay companion for the king, fond of the show and glitter that Henry VIII loved. He was a great statesman as well, and Henry, knowing this, gave him almost unlimited power in ruling England. These were days when

Europe was the seat of continual warfare, and Spain, France, and Germany were all seeking England’s aid. The king easily saw that no other man was so diplomatic in arranging foreign affairs as Wolsey. So he heaped favor upon favor upon him, until finally Wolsey was living in greater state than the king himself. His palaces were as splendid as Henry’s. He had a retinue of eight hundred. He held his court dressed from head to foot in flaming scarlet, with golden shoes set with precious gems. When he went out in state his followers rode on thoroughbred horses, but the cardinal, pretending to be very humble, ambled along in the midst of them on a mule with red velvet saddle and bridle and stirrups of gold. The early part of Henry the Eighth’s reign was full of trouble with France. Finally, to bring about peace, the stately cardinal arranged that the two sovereigns, Henry VIII and Francis I, should have a personal meeting in France on English ground. The place selected for the meeting was Guisney, a barren plain which had been changed into a fairyland of beauty in honor of the great event which was to take place there. Three hundred white tents were stretched across the vast field, and in their midst arose a gorgeous, gilded palace. Its walls were hung with soft-colored tapestries, its ceilings were embossed with roses, and in the courtyards great fountains spouted red with sparkling wine. So lavishly was money spent that the spot has become known in history as The Field of the Cloth of Gold. Here Francis I and Henry VIII came with their vast retinues. The whole affair was planned with great state. At exactly the same time Henry and Francis issued forth from their camps on opposite hillslopes. In front of the English retinue rode the Marquis of Dorset, bearing aloft the sword of state before the king. Then followed Henry, robed in silver damask thickly ribbed with gold. He was mounted on a splendid charger, whose trappings, no less brilliant, shone and glistened in the sun. Behind followed the cardinal, the dukes and lords and nobles, gorgeously arrayed.

As a shot proclaimed that Henry VIII was about to advance, a responding shot heralded the approach of Francis from the opposite hill.

The French king wore a mantle of cloth of gold covered with jewels. Diamonds, red-hearted rubies, rich green emeralds, and pearls studded the front and sleeves. On his head was a velvet bonnet adorned with floating plumes and precious stones. Far in advance of him rode the provost marshal with his archers. Then came the marshals and the princes of the blood, followed by the Swiss guard on foot in new liveries, with their drums, flutes, trumpets, and clarions. Directly in front of the king was the grand constable, carrying a naked sword, and the grand ecuyer with the sword of France.

The two companies advanced slowly and in state toward the valley. Suddenly there was a moment’s pause on each side. A stir ran through both ranks. Then from out the maze of floating plumes and dazzling colors, while the trumpets blared and the drums beat, rode forth from the English and from the French company each a single horseman. They rode slowly down from the opposing hills, but the moment they reached the valley they put spurs to their chargers. The horses set out on a gallop across the field. They met beneath a richly hung pavilion, where the two horsemen embraced and dismounted. It was the King of England and the King of France.

For three days the two monarchs lingered on the Field of the Cloth of Gold, holding tournaments and feasts and pledging everlasting friendship. But no sooner had Henry VIII returned home than he was making the same promises with the Emperor of Germany, Francis’s bitterest enemy; and both sovereigns soon learned how little they could trust him.

There was another man, too, who was going to suffer from the faithlessness of the king. This was the great cardinal. The king was growing tired of his wife, Catherine, who was quiet and serious. He had fallen in love with a gay and pretty court lady, Anne Boleyn, and he wished to make her his queen. To

do this it was necessary to divorce Catherine. The king held council with Wolsey, and the cardinal advised him to appeal to the Pope. The Pope refused his request. Henry VIII spent his anger now in disgracing Wolsey. He forgot in a single moment of temper the years of work that Wolsey had given for the upbuilding of England’s power. He took from him the great seal, and banished him to his home at Esher. The great statesman was heartbroken. On his way to Esher the king sent him a present of a ring, and for an instant he hoped to win back the royal favor. He looked about him for a gift suitable to return to the king. At first he saw nothing; then his eye fell upon a jester among his servants whose merry wit, Wolsey said, was worth a thousand pounds. He ordered the jester to be sent to the king, but the “poor fool took on so, and fired up in such a rage when he saw that he needs must depart from my lord,” that Wolsey had to send six sturdy yeomen to bring him to the royal palace.

Besides his offices Wolsey lost all his friends. The jealous nobles were only too glad to see him banished. They persuaded Henry to disgrace him still more. Finally he was arrested for high treason, and summoned to England. The old man set out, broken in spirit and body. Only his servants and the poor country people remained loyal to him. They stood in crowds at the gate, weeping as he passed through, and crying, “God save your Grace!”

Wolsey never reached London. At Leicester Abbey he was obliged to stop, and he was so weak that they had to lift him from his mule.

“I am come hither to lay my bones among you,” he said, and in two days his words had become true. As he lay there dying, he turned to the monks and said, “If I had served God as diligently as I have done the king, he would not have given me over in my gray hairs.”

Queen Elizabeth

On the 10th of September, 1533, the bell on the Friars’ Church proclaimed that some great event was to take place within its walls. The gray front of the church was hung with colored banners and tapestries, and green rushes were strewn from the church doors to the palace of the king. Within waited the mayor in his magnificent gown of crimson, and all the aldermen dressed in scarlet with chains of gold about their necks. Forty of the chief citizens were there too, and the entire council of the city. They were gathered about a silver font set in the midst of the church under a gorgeous red canopy hung with golden fringe. When all was ready, a side door opened, and the old Duchess of Norfolk issued forth, bearing in her arms a wee baby, who was all but hidden in a purple mantle lined with ermine, so long that a court lady had to carry the train. No less a person than the Bishop of London stood waiting at the door, and all the great men of the realm followed behind this little child. Very solemnly was the service read, and the christening performed, and then the kingof-arms stepped forward and cried; “God of his infinite goodness send prosperous life and long life to the high and mighty princess of England, Elizabeth.” For this was the christening of the little daughter of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn. Then the great trumpet blew, and the godfathers and godmothers brought forward their presents of gold and silver cups, and then the wee princess was hurried home as fast as could be, and put back to sleep again in her royal cradle. It was twenty-five years later that the princess Elizabeth became queen of England. On that day every bell in England

was rung; great bonfires blazed high into the sky on every street corner; and tables were brought out on to the street where all might eat and drink and cry, “Long Live Good Queen Bess!”

The queen herself was at Hatfield, but she made ready at once to start for London to be crowned. The city, too, made all haste to receive her with the greatest pomp and ceremony. On the 14th of January, 1558, Elizabeth passed from the Tower to Westminster, surrounded by all the barons and noblemen of the realm. “And to all that wished her Grace well she gave hearty thanks, and to such as bade God save her Grace she said again God save them all, and thanked them with all her heart; so that on either side there was nothing but gladness, nothing but prayer, nothing but comfort.”

As the procession came to Fan Church, the queen saw that a huge scaffolding had been erected over the street, and that a little child in costly gown stood upon it. She bade her chariot stop, and all to be still while the little child bowed low before the queen and recited a long poem in her honor. It ended with this quaint verse:—

“Welcome, therefore, O Queen, as much as heart can think; Welcome again, O Queen, as much as tongue can tell; Welcome to joyous tongues and hearts that will not shrink; God thee preserve we pray, and wish thee ever well.”

As the child ended, the people gave a great shout, and the queen thanked the child and the city for their gentle welcoming.

Then the procession moved on once more, and all along the way there were crowds of people in holiday dress, and at every corner there were wonderful tableaux and pageants arranged for the queen’s pleasure, and at last the queen was presented with a purse of gold so heavy that it took both her hands to lift it. Then she stood up in her chariot, and great stillness fell upon the crowd, for they knew that the queen

was going to speak.

“I thank my Lord Mayor,” she said, “his brethren, and you all. And whereas your request is that I should continue your good lady and queen, be ye assured that I will be as good unto you as ever queen was to her people. No will in me can lack, neither do I trust shall there lack any power. And persuade yourselves, that for the safety and quietness of you all I will not spare, if need be, my blood. God thank you all.”

The next day the queen was crowned. While she was sitting at dinner in the great hall at Westminster, a knight, in full armor, riding a beautiful charger, rode into the hall, and casting down his gauntlet at her feet, offered to fight any knight or noble who should deny that she was England’s right and lawful queen. And Elizabeth took a cup of solid gold, and, filling it with costly wine, sent it to him as his fee. Thus the feast closed, and the queen went in state to the church.

Kneeling before the high altar, with a red silken mantle thrown about her, Elizabeth was anointed and crowned queen of England. A sword was hung at her side and the crown set upon her head while the trumpets sounded; a ring placed on her finger and the scepter in her hand. Then the lords came and knelt before her Grace, and kissed her, and all the bishops did the same.

And the next day great tournaments were held to honor the coronation.

Throughout her reign this same splendor was kept up at Elizabeth’s court. The noblemen dressed in the most gorgeous, bright-colored satins and velvets, and the queen is said to have left no less than three thousand beautiful gowns in her wardrobe when she died. The queen, too, was very fond of compliments and flattery, and always kept at her court some of the handsomest young lords of the kingdom to pay her homage. Among these favorites was the Earl of Leicester, whom the queen treated with such marked favor that many believed that she would some day marry him. She even went

in great state to his beautiful castle at Kenilworth, where the earl spent a large fortune in entertaining his royal guest. But Elizabeth never married. She was known as the virgin queen, and Sir Walter Raleigh, another young favorite, named the colony which he founded in the New World Virginia in her honor. Raleigh’s bold and brave deeds, his witty tongue, and handsome blue eyes won him favor at court, and for years Elizabeth held him as her trusted knight. When, however, he fell in love with one of her court ladies and married her, Elizabeth sent him away in disgrace, and even imprisoned him six months in the Tower.

But Elizabeth’s time was not all spent on her own pleasure. One reason why she never married was because she wanted to rule over her kingdom herself. England was poor when she came to the throne, and war with Europe was brewing. Elizabeth had the prosperity of the land at heart. She gave orders herself that manufactures and commerce should be encouraged. She kept repeating to the nobles, “No war, my lords, no war,” and she made them heed her. In the meantime while England was at peace, she built up her navy and drilled her armies so that if war had to come, England would be able to defend herself. A new era had begun in England, which has become famous as the age of Elizabeth.

The Spanish Armada

Besides her own noblemen there were princes of royal blood who came seeking Elizabeth’s hand. One of the first was Philip II of Spain, a most ambitious prince. When Elizabeth refused his offer of marriage, Philip became at once her rival, and afterwards her open enemy. Whenever the English and Spanish met, were it in trading in the Netherlands, sailing on the High Seas, or founding colonies in the New World, quarreling and often bloodshed followed.

Among English seamen, no one carried a deeper hatred for Spain in his heart than Sir Francis Drake, who was one of the bravest adventurers of Elizabeth’s reign. He was born on an old ship moored off Chatham Bay, and grew up with a love of the sea. He went to sea first on a small vessel that traded with Holland, and it was while he was in Holland that he saw with his own eyes how cruelly the Spanish king treated his Dutch subjects. Afterwards, he himself was treacherously dealt with by the Spaniards. He was driven by storm into the Gulf of Mexico, where the Spanish colonists invited them to land and refit their vessels. Then, suddenly, without any warning, the Spanish attacked them, and they lost half of their ships. Drake in righteous indignation swore that henceforth Spain should receive no mercy from his hand.

Drake had many adventures. He was one of the first English navigators to sail round the world, and as a reward for his brave spirit was knighted by the queen. But his greatest triumph was when he “singed the King of Spain’s beard.”

Philip II had long been gathering and equipping a great fleet, with which he hoped some day to conquer England. This was the dream of his heart. When Drake heard about it,

he sailed quietly out of Plymouth harbor, with twenty-eight vessels in his wake. With a boldness that made his officers mad, he sailed his fleet around the Spanish coast, straight for the Bay of Cadiz, where Philips largest ships lay at anchor. The sun was just sinking below the horizon when the English ships entered the harbor, Drake’s vessel, the Dragon, at their head. Before the Spanish realized what had happened, some of their finest ships had been sunk, others had been plundered, and Drake was setting sail for home. Philip’s fleet would not conquer England that year. Drake had singed his beard.

But twelve months later a small English vessel came running against the wind into Plymouth harbor, bringing the exciting news that the Invincible Spanish Armada, as Philip called his fleet, had been seen off the Cornish coast. Beacon fires of warning were lighted all along the English shore. The warning flew to London. Swift messengers galloped behind, bringing the latest news. The queen herself, mounted on a white horse, rode among her troops. Her ministers begged her not to expose herself to danger but her answer was made to her troops. “Let tyrants fear,” she said. “I have always so behaved myself that, under God, I have placed my chiefest strength and safeguard in the loyal hearts and good will of my subjects and therefore I am come amongst you, as you see, resolved in the midst and the heart of battle, to live or die amongst you all. I know that I have the body of a weak and feeble woman, but I have the heart of a king, and of a king of England too.”

England had only thirty-six ships in her navy to respond to the queen’s call, but every sea rover, every merchant, and many private gentlemen owning ships, hastened to England’s defense.

In the meantime the Armada was coming on. The English saw it approaching, one hundred and thirty-two vessels in all, sailing along in the form of a half moon, seven miles from horn

to horn. These huge galleons arose like white castles out of the blue sea. They came on slowly, although their sails were full, “the winds being as it were weary with wafting them, and the ocean groaning under their weight.”

The Spanish, knowing their strength, wished to meet the English, but the English got out of their way, and let the “Invincible Armada” pass unharmed up the Channel. At last the Spanish ships dropped anchor off Calais. For a day they rode there, undaunted in their strength. But at midnight eight huge English ships came sailing toward them through the darkness. The night was black, but the ships were blacker still. They were bound each to each, and every spar, mast, and hull was smeared with tar. At a given signal a line of fire ran across the bow of one. Before the Spanish could believe their eyes, the darkness had become as day, for eight blazing ships were drifting with wind and tide into their midst. Their flames seemed to leap into the heavens. In the uttermost confusion, the Spanish cut their cables and put out to sea, each vessel for itself.

In the morning the English were ready, and fell upon the disorderly Armada. For two days Drake and Howard chased the Spanish vessels. Then their powder gave out, and their shot failed. But a tempest arose that played even greater havoc with the fleet. It drove the vessels against the rock-bound coasts, wrecking thirty valiant ships. When Philip heard the news, he did not change the expression of his face. “I sent the Armada,” he said, “against man, not against the billows.”

England, too, realized that her strength had been in the storm, as well as in the loyal hearts of Drake, Howard, and Raleigh, who had defended her so bravely, for a great medal was struck in honor of the victory, and it bore these words: “God blew, and they were scattered.”

Spenser and the Faerie Queen

For many long years England had no singer. The singing spirit that had awakened in Cædmon, and later in Chaucer, seemed to have fallen into a deep sleep. It seemed as if poets and poetry belonged only to the past. But then, suddenly, in the reign of Elizabeth, Edmund Spenser was born. He grew up unnoticed, hardly knowing himself that he was a poet. It is in one of his own poems that he tells us how the world first came to know of his songs. He was born in England, but had gone over to Ireland as a young man, and there he was living in his castle Kilcolman, when Sir Walter Raleigh, sent on a commission by the queen, found him. There, beneath the shade of “Old Father Mole,” as he called the great, gray mountain, and close by the “Shiny Mulla River,” Spenser was living, piping on his reed like a poor shepherd. Sir Walter Raleigh was somewhat of a poet himself, and the two men soon felt that they were akin. Spenser forgot his shyness, and read to his guest three books of verses, which he called “The Faerie Queen,” and Raleigh in return recited some verses that he had written about the great and noble Queen Elizabeth. So each played a merry tune upon the shepherd’s pipe. Then Sir Walter took his newfound friend by the hand, and bade him come back with him to England. He told him that no songs like his had been heard in England for many a year, and how gladly the queen, who loved books and men who could write them, would welcome him.

So Spenser went forth from his lonely castle to the dazzling court of Elizabeth. Sir Walter Raleigh had spoken truly. The queen smiled upon him, and all England read with

delight his “Faerie Queen.”

In a letter to Sir Walter Raleigh, Spenser tells him what he planned to do in this great book of poetry. The hero of the poem is to be Prince Arthur, a knight perfect in every virtue. There are to be twelve books, one for each of the twelve virtues, and each virtue is pictured by its own knight. In the last book the knight perfect in all virtues is to come to the court of the Faerie Queen. Unfortunately Spenser never finished his great task, but the six books of the “Faerie Queen” are the most beautiful poetry that had been written in the English language since Chaucer’s “Canterbury Tales.” Every poet since then has loved Spenser’s verses, and every child should read them, for they are full of tales of wonderful adventures in strange and marvelous lands.

The first book is about the Knight of the Red Cross, who was riding across the plain, clad in mighty arms and a silver shield, and wearing a blood-red cross upon his breast. Beside him, on an ass more white than snow, rode a gentle lady, whose veil was drawn across her face, and who drooped as if her heart was heavy with some woe. By one fair hand she led a milk-white lamb, and the poet tells that the lady was as pure and innocent as this little creature. She had been born a royal princess, but a huge monster had come into her father’s kingdom and laid waste the land. And now this knight was come from afar to avenge her wrong. Together they rode through the woods, among cedars “proud and tall,” “the builder’s oak, sole king of the forests all,” the aspens that are good for staves, and the laurel that grows to crown the brows of poets and conquerors. A tempest was raging, but beneath the trees no harm from wind nor rain could come to the knight and his lady. But here in the “Wandering Wood” other dangers awaited them. Suddenly they found that they had lost their way. Paths led here and there, but none went forth from the forest. At last they chose the best worn trail, and followed it until it came to a hollow cave amid the thickest woods. The

knight quickly dismounted, but his “lady sought to hold him back.”

“Be well aware,” she said, “for I know this wood better than thou, and the dangers that are hid herein. This is the Wandering Wood, and yonder is the den of Errour, a monster hated by God and man.”

But the knight, full of fire, would not be stayed. Forth into the darksome hole he went, his glistening armor making a little light by which he saw the huge monster Errour, lying in its den. There she lay upon the ground, her long tail coiled and knotted behind her, each knot pointed with a mortal sting. Like a young lion, blade in hand, the knight sprang upon her, and she in rage let out a frightful roar, and, gathering her strength, leaped upon his shining shield. She seemed to bind his arms and hands and feet so that he could not move. Without, his lady saw his sad plight, but urged him on to combat.

“Now, now, Sir Knight, show what ye be,” she cried. “Add faith unto your force and be not faint.”

At her words new strength seemed to come to him, and with one mighty effort he drew his arm forth from the monster’s clutches, and strangled her.

Then rode his lady forth to meet him, and said:—

“Fair knight, born under a happy star, well worthy be you of your armor wherein ye have great glory now this day, and proved your strength on a strong enemy. This is your first adventure. May you have many more, and in each one succeed as you have done here.”

There were indeed many more adventures that befell this noble knight of the Red Cross before they arrived in the fair lady’s native land. And here the knight met the dire dragon, whose wings went round like windmills, and from whose mouth issued a cloud of smoke and sulphur. It was a terrible combat, lasting three days, but in the end the lady won back her kingdom, and the knight won the lady’s heart and hand.

Shakespeare

There were many pretty English villages at the time of Queen Elizabeth, and one of them was Stratford, not many miles away from Kenilworth Castle, which the queen made famous by her royal visit. It was a sleepy village in those days, lying on the winding banks of the Avon River, with the great oak forests round about it. There were crooked little streets of low wooden houses with heavy oaken doors shaded by penthouses, and in their midst stood an old stone church, whose pretty tower was often reflected in the Avon. In the spring and summer the village was gay with color. Soft green willows hung over the river, buttercups and daisies made the banks glisten like gold, red poppies blew among the wheatfields, and gardens of primroses, pansies, and “blue-veined” violets nestled at the side of every home.

In one of these houses there was born, in the spring of 1564, a little boy who was to make the pretty, quiet village famous throughout the wide world. He was christened in the quaint old church, and the name that was given him was William Shakespeare. Unfortunately, we do not know much about Shakespeare’s life. We can only imagine what he did from what we know of the way that people lived in those days; and from the many, many things which he wrote in his wonderful plays. Probably Shakespeare first learned his letters at home from a single printed sheet, set in a wooden frame and covered with a thin transparent horn, from which it got its name of a “horn book.” The alphabet was printed upon it in large and small letters, and below them the Lord’s Prayer. When he could read, and as soon as he was seven years old,

the Stratford boy was sent to the Grammar School.

The schoolroom was very plain and bare. There were no pictures on the walls, and no flowers in the window. The only furniture was the rows of desks and hard wooden benches. The only lessons Shakespeare probably learned were in Arithmetic, Latin, and a little Greek. It was not until years afterwards that schoolmasters first thought of teaching their pupils how to speak and write their own tongue.

It may have been just because his school lessons were so dry and uninteresting that the boy, William Shakespeare, put himself so eagerly to school in the world about him. He stood at the meeting of the two highways in the village square, where the great coaches that went from one city to another halted to water their horses. He listened to the tales of the drivers and the travelers, tales of the great sea heroes, perhaps Frobisher and Drake; tales of other lands and strange islands lying far across the sea in the New World; and tales of the queen and the great court festivals at London. He roamed about the fields and meadows, turning the slender willow leaves over to see their white undersides; learning the names of the wild moon daisies, the yellow rattle grass, and the white milkwort. With his ears always open, he listened to many a marvelous charm recited by the old women of the village, who told him what plants were used by the witches, why the topaz stone cured madness, and why the hyacinth protected one from lightning.

Once or twice a year great county fairs were held, to which the boys of those days looked forward as eagerly as modern boys do to the circus. Here were booths where all kinds of charms were sold, love charms and magical fun seed, which if put in your shoes made you invisible. We can imagine that the boy Shakespeare did not stay at home bending over his dull Latin when the fair was going on.

Not far from Stratford there was another town which was famous in those days for its religious plays. The plays were first

given by the Order of Grayfriars, but in Shakespeare’s time they were performed by the great guilds of the town. The guilds were the clubs in those days. The weavers had their guild, the merchants had theirs, and the builders had theirs. These guilds in the country performed, on the feast days of the year, plays telling the story in simple English of the birth, the life, and the death of Christ. They were not given in theaters, but on platforms, which were wheeled out into the village square, where great crowds of people could see the play. Probably Shakespeare as a boy saw these plays. It may be that later on he heard of different and greater plays given in London, and that the desire to see them took him away from his native village. He was twenty-one when he came down to London, poor and friendless. He found his first work in standing outside of the theaters, and holding the horses of the gentlemen who came to see the play. From then until he died he was connected with the theater. He acted some himself, he made little corrections in the lines of the plays, then he wrote a play with a friend, and finally he began on his great work of writing plays alone. These plays were so remarkable that Shakespeare performed them several times before the queen, and became known as one of the greatest writers of the day.

Shakespeare did not invent new plots for his plays, as writers seek so often to do nowadays. He took old stories, stories from Chaucer, from the Greek, and from the Latin, and turned them into wonderful dramas. He took great historical figures like Julius Cæsar and Mark Anthony, and made them more real in his dramas than any historian had done. He read the old English Chronicles, and in a long line of plays has given us the great scenes in English history, from the time of the weak King John through the fall of Cardinal Wolsey. Sometimes he wrote gay comedies of love in the spring-clad forests of Arden, and again he wrote the sternest of tragedies, laying the scene in some rock-bound castle in the dreary

North. He could portray any kind of a man or woman, king or jester, princess or country lass, and make them live before our eyes.

His plays and his theater brought him in a great deal of money. As he grew older, he went back again to his quaint Stratford, where he lived with his family until he died. He lies buried in the little church beside the river.

The Cousins from Scotland

When Elizabeth was dying, her courtiers besought her to tell them who should reign after her. The old queen opened her eyes, and gave this sharp reply: “Who indeed but our cousin from Scotland!”

This was a memorable day for England. Ever since the early days when Cæsar landed on the island, there had been fighting between the Britons of the South and the Picts of the North. Now the two countries were united under the name of Great Britain, with James Stuart as their king.

King James left the people of Edinburgh in tears. As he crossed the borderland, the English cannon thundered him a loud and hearty welcome. All along the route the people hung flags and garlands of flowers, and great crowds shouted hurrahs as he passed by. They little dreamed then that this monarch, to whom they were now bowing so low, was come to scatter the prosperity which Elizabeth had brought to England, and sow the seeds of a terrible war.

The English people are a loyal nation, and during the twenty-two years of James the First’s reign they remained faithful to him, in spite of his dishonest acts and unlawful deeds. They even let his son Charles be crowned after him; and as he was much more agreeable in his manner than his father had been, they believed that he would make a wiser and better king. But James I had filled his son’s mind with his own ideas. He had taught him that God had chosen him to be England’s king, and therefore whatever he did was right and lawful. Throughout his life Charles believed this to be true. He started out to rule exactly as he pleased.

But the English Parliament at last awoke. “A king,” they

said, “should rule not according to his own will, but according to the will of the nation.” When Charles refused to govern in this spirit, they refused to grant him money.

It was customary at this time for the House of Commons to vote to a new king at the beginning of his reign a tax for life on all goods which came in or went out of the country. To Charles, the House of Commons granted this tax for one year only. When the year had passed, it was not renewed. Then the king asserted what he thought was his right, and ordered the merchants to pay him the tax. Several who refused were straightway thrown into prison. Parliament, enraged, now passed a resolution that any man who paid this tax was an enemy to the country. Then the king took the last step, and dissolved Parliament. For eleven years he ruled without one, levying taxes at his own pleasure.

It was not until Charles saw that a war with Scotland would follow if a new Parliament was not summoned, that he issued the call. This meant merely a renewing of the quarrel between the king and the state. One of Parliament’s first acts was to draw up a lengthy document setting forth the bad conduct of the king ever since he came to the throne. But even now there were many members of Parliament who did not believe in the faithlessness of their king. A stormy debate arose over this document, which was called “The Great Remonstrance.” The session lasted far into the night. Finally it was passed. Feeling was so strong that swords were drawn. Oliver Cromwell, one of the leaders in carrying through the Great Remonstrance, said as he passed out of the hall at midnight, “If it had not passed, I would have sold all my land and goods tomorrow and left England forever.”

The king consented to having the document read. Then he turned around, and, accusing the five leaders of the movement of high treason, ordered their arrest. The House of Commons replied that they would consider the matter. Charles was in no mood to wait. Urged on by his queen, he

went down to the House of Commons with five hundred armed gentlemen, and demanded these five men to be handed over to him. But the five men whom he sought were not there. The king’s cheeks were flushed with anger. “Since I see that my birds are flown, I do expect from you,” he cried, “that you will send them to me as soon as they return hither; otherwise,” he added threateningly, “I must take my own course to find them.”

Charles’s own course was war. The queen fled to Holland to sell the royal jewels to raise money for him. Nobles and the gentlemen of the realm flocked to his standard. The West and the North remained loyal, but the East and the South, with London, stood firm for Parliament. The king’s forces wore their hair long and dressed in gay colors. They were called the Cavaliers. The army, which was back of Parliament, wore their hair cut short, the plainest of clothes, and queer-shaped hats which won them the name of Roundheads. At their front rode Oliver Cromwell. Cromwell was a Puritan, and his idea of duty was stern. He filled his ranks with men of spirit. He drilled them constantly. His discipline was very strict. If a man in his army swore, he was fined a shilling. If a man got drunk, he was put in the stocks. If he called one of his mates a Roundhead, he was dismissed from the army. It was this leader and these men that, in the end, gave Parliament the victory.

The war went on many years with shifting fortunes. The end of it was that the king was summoned before Parliament to be tried. This trial was not lawful. No subject had a right to call his king to account for his deeds. No action of the House of Commons could become a law unless it was passed upon by the House of Lords and the king. But Charles had proved himself faithless and a tyrant. He had thrown his country into a civil war. He was convinced that all that he had done was right, and no man on earth could make him confess that he was wrong or promise to rule otherwise in the

future. When he was brought before Parliament, he refused to plead his case. He was tried, not as the king, but as plain Charles Stuart. The fifth day of the trial, he was condemned to death.

Charles met nothing in life so nobly as he did his death. He asked only that he might first see two of his children, his little thirteen-year-old daughter Elizabeth, and his nine-yearold son. As they came into the room Charles drew his son to his knee and kissed him gently. “Sweetheart,” he said, “now they will cut off thy father’s head; mark, child, what I say: They will cut off my head and perhaps make thee a king; but mark what I say: You must not be king as long as your brothers Charles and James do live; for they will cut off your brothers’ heads when they can catch them, and cut off thy head too, at the last; and therefore I charge you not to be made king by them.”

And the little boy looked earnestly into his father’s face with great tears in his eyes and cried, “I will be torn to pieces first.”

Then the king turned to his little daughter Elizabeth and spoke very gently to her. “Do not grieve and mourn for me when I am gone,” he said; “for I am dying for England’s liberty. And you must forgive my enemies, even as I hope God will forgive them, my daughter.” Then he kissed her, and bade her say to her mother that his love had never strayed from her, but was the same to the very end.

So the little prince and princess bade their father a sad farewell, scarce understanding the words that he had spoken to them.

A few days later came the morning on which he was to die.

“Bring me a warmer shirt than usual,” Charles said to his servant, as he was dressing. “For the air is sharp and cold and I would not shiver on the way, lest my people should think that I was trembling with fear.”

Then he went quickly and calmly to the scaffold, and died like a true gentleman.

Oliver Cromwell

The king was dead, and through England went the proclamation that it was treason to give that title again to any man. England was declared a commonwealth. There was to be no longer a House of Lords; England should be ruled henceforth by Parliament. But it did not take long to see where the real power that was to govern England lay. When Ireland revolted against the Commonwealth, it was not Parliament that subdued her. When the men of Scotland arose and declared that they had no part in the execution of Charles I and were loyal to his son Prince Charles, it was not Parliament that drove the young prince from the land and forced Scotland to yield once more to the English. The commanding power, the strong right arm of the nation at this time, was in Cromwell’s army. Believing in the righteousness of his cause, Cromwell marched against town after town in Ireland, conquering without mercy. Scarcely had he Ireland under his hand than the word reached him that Scotland was offering Prince Charles the crown. On June 24, the young prince landed in Scotland. One month later Cromwell crossed the border with his army. He marched boldly against Edinburgh, but the Scottish forces were too strong for him to dare attack them. His outlook was most discouraging. He started to retreat; but the Scotch had seized the pass through which led the road down into England. On one side stretched the great blue summer sea. On the other rose the hills, which were alive with Scottish troops. Had the Scots had patience, Cromwell could never have defeated them at Dunbar. But they grew weary of waiting, and decided to make the attack themselves. On the

morning of September 3, Cromwell saw them descending the hillsides. He waited until they had reached the bottom, and then he charged with his whole army into the midst of them; driving them hopelessly back against the hillside. “Let God arise, let his enemies be scattered!” were the words which arose to the lips of the victor as he saw the ruins of the noble Scottish army at his feet. But the Scots would not call themselves beaten. A year later, with their young king in the midst of them, they met Cromwell again at Worcester. This was the last time that Cromwell drew sword for England. His victory was complete. The young king took refuge in flight. Cromwell’s soldiers were on the watch for him throughout the land, but Charles finally escaped, although those days were full of adventure for him. He hid first in a peasant’s house, where he cut off his hair and put on the coarse homespun clothes of a farmer. Hearing that there were spies about, the peasant led the king away at night into the forest, and hid with him there high in the leafy branches of a monstrous oak. Then he made his way farther disguised as a servant, and rode down to Bristol with a Miss Lane on the pillion behind him. Here he came near being discovered, but he finally bribed a fisherman to take him to France, where he waited until his people should again summon him back to be their king.

The hero of the hour now in England was Oliver Cromwell. He turned from the victories of war to the victories of peace. The tasks that confronted him now were harder than waging war. The courage needed to do them was greater than the bravery of battle. But when the hour of danger struck, Cromwell never faltered.

England was now a republic. She was to be governed henceforth by the people. Cromwell soon saw that the Long Parliament did not represent the people. He saw that it was not ready to bring about needed reforms. It did not have the public good at heart. One day, seated in the midst of Parliament, the spirit of anger blazed forth, and he cried out in a

voice that shook the roof: “Come, come! We have had enough of this. I will put an end to this. It is not fit that you should sit here any longer.” And he called in his soldiers and cleared the room. That was the end of the Long Parliament. Now England was completely in the power of Cromwell and his army. But it was not a time of rejoicing for the conqueror. He felt only too keenly the burden of the task that lay before him. As he watched the members of Parliament crowding through the doors, his anger turned to sadness. “It is you, you,” he sighed, “that forced this upon me. I have sought the Lord night and day that He would rather slay me than put upon me the doing of this work.”

With a heavy heart Cromwell looked over the land. The king, the lords, and now the commons had fallen because they had failed to fulfill the duties that had been made their trust. He decided to call together a body of godly men to govern England. Among those whom he selected was one man named Praise God Barebones. Afterwards, when it was found how unwisely these good men ruled, they were nicknamed Barebones’ Parliament. They finally were forced to resign because they did not know how to govern. Cromwell was chosen Lord Protector of the realm, and another Parliament was summoned. Later Parliament offered Cromwell the title of king, but he refused it; and yet he saw that his strength alone would save England in those clays. He brought the foreign wars to an end, and kept his own army well trained to put down any civil uprising. He determined that Parliament should govern by high ideals. When he saw them weakening, he dissolved the Parliament. He stood alone, one man, before them and spoke unflinchingly. “I can say in the presence of God, in comparison with whom we are but like poor creeping ants upon the earth, I would have been glad to have lived under any woodside, to have kept a flock of sheep, rather than undertaken such a government as this.” Then he bade the members of Parliament go out of the room and back to their

homes. “The Lord judge between me and you,” were his farewell words to them.

This was Cromwell’s last Parliament. That summer he lost his favorite daughter. His health had been broken by his long hard years of active service, and this shock was too great for him. On August 30 a great storm raged over England. The winds howled and the great trees were swept down as reeds. For three days life and death battled for Cromwell’s brave soul. On September 3, the anniversary of his great battle at Dunbar, he passed away. His dying words were a prayer for the English people for whom so many years he had fought and worked. “Lord,” he prayed, “however thou do dispose of me, continue and go on to do good to them. Give them consistency of judgment, one heart, and mutual love.” Even in death he never forgot the duty that had fallen to his hand to do.

The Pilot of the State

When Queen Elizabeth died without leaving an heir, England summoned one of the Stuarts to her throne. Now when the great Protector lay dead and England found herself once more without a ruler, she turned again to the Stuarts, calling Prince Charles to come back across the seas and wear the English crown. Two Stuarts reigned before the revolution, and the second died upon the scaffold. Two Stuarts reigned after the war, and the second, James II, was obliged after three years to flee for his life from the land which called him king. The crown was now offered to his daughter Mary, who had married a Dutch prince, William of Orange.

William and Mary ruled jointly for five years, and then the queen died. William looked about him in despair. “I was the happiest man on earth, and now I am the most miserable,” he said to one of the bishops at the funeral. It seemed to him perhaps as if the only person in England who loved him had suddenly been taken away. In Ireland, in Scotland, and in England the spirit of revolt was ripe. “We do not want to be ruled by a Dutchman,” was the common cry. Across the Channel the French king was doing his utmost to depose William.

But William faced his people calmly and bravely. With sure, firm hand he put down one rebellion after another. He was just winning the confidence of the nation when he was thrown from his horse and died. Anne, the sister of Mary, became queen. Like Elizabeth, Anne never married. At the close of her rule the throne again stood vacant. A third time England was obliged to call a Stuart to wear her crown. Prince

George of Hanover in Germany was the great-grandson of James I, “our cousin from Scotland.” He was a dull, rather stupid man, knowing no word of English and caring little for the English crown that was now offered him. It was almost with reluctance that he left his German friends to become England’s king. Moreover, after he was crowned, he took no pains to learn to speak English or to understand the interests of his people. When he met his ministers, he was distinctly bored by the business that they brought before him. He could not preside at these meetings because he could talk only through an interpreter. Gradually it was seen that one of the ministers must step forward and govern the realm; that there must be one minister who was first, or, as the Latin word is, prime. Ever since the days of George I, England has had a prime minister, a statesman who has been the pilot of the ship of state.

Walpole was the first minister to hold this important position. For twenty-one years he was the real ruler, for neither George I, nor his son George II, ever governed England. Walpole was not a great orator, but he had the welfare of the people at heart, and he made wise laws that helped to make England one of the great industrial and commercial nations. The man who succeeded Walpole was William Pitt, who won the name of the Great Commoner. His face was noble, and his voice musical and powerful. “When once I am upon my feet everything that is in my mind comes out,” he once said. And it came out with such a volley of fire and enthusiasm that every man in the hall was thrilled and stirred, to action. Pitt felt the spirit of discontent that still lay buried in the hearts of many. He saw war with France becoming more and more threatening. He knew that the old patriotism was dead or asleep. “England’s day has passed,” were the words written on the faces of many that he passed in the street. “We are no longer a nation,” were the words that came from the mouth of one of the great statesmen.

The moment that Pitt became prime minister he started to rouse the people out of their despondency. “Be one people!” he cried. “Forget everything but the public welfare! I set you an example.” All through the land rang this cry of courage. All eyes were turned to watch this new leader. It was said that no man ever went to talk with Pitt but he came away feeling braver and more full of hope.

Pitt knew that it was in the young men that the strength of the nation lay. It was he who selected Wolfe for the conquest of Canada. Pitt knew the spirit that was in this man, who has become one of the heroes of history. It was burning courage that led Wolfe and his men, dragging their heavy cannon behind them, up the steep and narrow path, leading to Quebec, under the cover of the night. The dawn broke. The battle began. As Wolfe was cheering his men, he fell, wounded. As they bore him off to the rear, he heard the shout, “They run.”

“Who run?” he asked eagerly, striving to rise.

“The French run,” came the answer.

The young man sank back with a smile upon his face. “I die content,” were his last words.

Quebec surrendered, and shortly afterwards the rest of Canada, which has ever since been one of England’s finest colonies.

In another way, Pitt showed how far-seeing and wise his vision was. He saw, what the king and Parliament could not or would not see, that the American colonies had justice on their side when they refused to be taxed without representation. He knew the spirit that was in these colonists, who had left all in England to go out and live in an unknown and uncivilized land. He knew the spirit that the sons had inherited from their fathers. Again and again he raised up his voice in their behalf. “You cannot conquer America!” he cried. “If I were an American, I would never lay down my arms, never, never, never.” But England would not listen to

his cry.

When Pitt died, his son took his place and carried forward nobly the work which his father had begun. By his statesmanship, Ireland became for the first time a real part of England; Irish members were to sit in the English Parliament, and the same laws were to govern both countries.

The English saw how wise it was to have a pilot of state, a prime minister. Some of her greatest patriots have held this position; some of her greatest patriots will hold it in the future. War among the nations is giving way to peace among the nations. The warrior is no longer the hero of the country. The statesman is the leader the pilot of the state.

Horatio Nelson

In the heart of London lies a great square, which all day long is crowded with people, and across which the London buses are continually passing. High in its midst stands a tall column of massive granite, with four couchant lions at its base. One hundred and forty-five feet into the air this column rises, and on its top stands the statue of Horatio Nelson. The people of all England gave the money to raise this monument, because their love for Nelson was so great that they wished every man, woman, and child who came to London to think at least for a moment of this British hero. And those who will pause at the foot of the statue and walk about it will see in bronze relief four scenes in Nelson’s life that tell why the English people dedicated this great square and raised this huge column to his memory. When Horatio Nelson was only twelve years old, he wrote and asked his uncle if he might not go to sea with him. His uncle hesitated a little, for he knew that the boy was not very strong; but perhaps he had heard Horatio’s answer to his grandmother.

Horatio when a very small child ran away one day with a stable boy hunting birds’ nests. His parents waited and waited; they called, but no answer came back. At length a search was made, and he was found sitting beside a brook which he could not cross. “I wonder, my child,” said his grandmother to him, when they brought him home, “that hunger and fear did not drive you home.”

“Fear, grandmama!” answered the little boy; “I never saw fear, what is it?”

Another time Horatio and his playmates discovered some fine pears growing in the schoolmaster’s garden. The boys

considered the pears were their lawful booty, but none of them dared to climb the rather slender tree to pick them. When Horatio saw that they all hesitated, he said at once that he would get the pears. That night he was lowered from his bedroom window in some sheets until he could reach the pears, and when he had gathered them all, he was drawn slowly up again. When he had crawled in the window, he passed the pears around among the boys, keeping none for himself. “I don’t want any,” he said scornfully; “I took them only because all you other boys were afraid.”

Perhaps some of the stories of boyhood pranks had reached his uncle’s ears, for he granted Horatio’s request and Nelson went to sea.

He was a very lonely, small boy during those first few weeks on the ship, and the work was very hard. Sometimes the voyage took him into the far North, where the ship lay caught among great cakes of floating ice. Sometimes he went far South, out to the East Indies, where he caught the fever and lay for weeks wasting away. “In those days,” he afterwards wrote, “I was so weak and homesick that I begged my companions to toss me overboard. Then suddenly a love of England sprang up within me. England, my own England! I longed to do something great for her. ‘I will be a hero, and brave every danger,’ I cried.”

The four great bronze reliefs on Nelson’s monument show how he made good his word.

With this resolve firmly in mind, Nelson gradually worked his way up until he became rear admiral in the British navy, ready to meet any enemy of his country. These were days when England had her foes and needed brave hearts to keep her courage high. On the western side of Nelson’s statue the relief shows how he met and conquered the Spanish fleet off St. Vincent.

Facing the north is a scene from the great battle of the Nile. It is a picture on the lower deck amid the wounded while

the battle is still raging above. Into this scene of suffering and death suddenly another man is brought and laid gently on the deck. A surgeon, binding the wounds of a poor midshipman, glances up and sees that the pale face is that of Admiral Nelson. He drops his bandage to rush forward and attend to Nelson. But the almost unconscious man raises his hand to stop him. “No,” he whispers, “I will take my turn with my brave fellows.” Nor would he let his own wounds be touched until every man who had been wounded before him had been attended. He thought as he lay there, that this was his last battle. But he was to live to see this victory and others. This was victory over the French. Napoleon, that great French general, was conquering, conquering, conquering everywhere he led his army. A vision of all Europe lying at his feet stretched ever before his eyes. This winter of 1798 he had gone to Egypt, thinking by subduing this land he could go on to India. He had gone by land with a great force. The French fleet was following, when Nelson met them and completely destroyed their forces.

He was now the great English hero of the day. When he sailed into Yarmouth harbor, every ship lying there hoisted her colors. In London he was feasted by the city, and a great golden sword, studded with sparkling diamonds, was presented to him. Odes and beautiful presents poured in upon him. If we walk around the monument now to the east, we find a relief of Nelson, seated upon a cannon, concluding a peace with the Danes. In that awful battle of Copenhagen, he taught the Scandinavians that England was supreme upon the seas. But the lesson cost England a terrible price. Hundreds of precious lives were lost in a day; her ships were badly damaged; her treasury was drained low and her debts were enormous. She needed peace with Europe. This peace was broken five years later by Napoleon. “The Channel is but a ditch,” he cried one day; “anyone can cross who has but the courage to try.” He could not longer keep his eyes off those

wonderful English isles that through the centuries had defied France. He longed once and for all to bring them under the French power.

Not since the days when the great Armada came sailing up the Channel in the form of a gigantic half moon, had England been threatened by so great a danger. But there was one man whom the French dreaded; one man whom the English trusted to save them. This man was Horatio Nelson. Napoleon’s plan was to lead Nelson’s squadron to the West Indies and engage him in battle there, with the hope of cutting him off from returning. Then he would be ready with his troops on the coast of France to sail over and attack England.

But Nelson was not so easily outwitted. He recrossed the Atlantic in advance of the French ships, and met them at Trafalgar. The two great fleets drew up for battle. All was ready, awaiting the signal. Nelson stood at his post; all eyes were turned upon him. He paused an instant. Through the stillness his voice came clear and confident, “England expects every man to do his duty.”

The bronze relief on the southern side of the monument in Trafalgar Square pictures for us the scene of the battle of Trafalgar. Through the awful firing of that battle came one ball that struck Nelson, and he fell on his face on the deck. It was in the heat of action. Which way victory would turn no man knew. “Cover my face,” murmured Nelson, as they bore him below, “so that my men need not know that I have fallen.” He felt that he was dying. “You can do nothing for me,” he said to the surgeon. In most intense pain, his lips parched with fever, he lay waiting, hoping, praying that he should not die until Captain Hardy came to tell him that England had won the day. Long moments passed into an hour and more before Hardy came. He took the commander’s hand, and, his voice trembling with emotion, told him that he had won a complete victory.

“Kiss me, Hardy,” said the dying hero.

Hardy knelt down on the deck, and kissed the bloodless cheek.

“Now I am satisfied,” he groaned, turning his face away. “Thank God, I have done my duty.”

Wellington, the Iron Duke

In the year 1769 there were born into the world two boys who were destined forty-five years later to meet on one of the greatest battlefields of history. One of these boys was Napoleon Bonaparte, who was to be the greatest general who ever led a French army. The other was Arthur Wellesley, who was to stand at the head of the forces who were at length to defeat Napoleon. The field where this great battle was to be fought was Waterloo.

Both boys were fighters even in their school days; both went to military schools, and both spent their lives in the army. Year by year Napoleon climbed the steps of his ambition, until he stood in the great cathedral of Notre Dame, crowned Emperor of France. But even now his dreams had not all been realized. He sat hour after hour with the great map of Europe unrolled upon his desk.

The country of France seemed small indeed for an empire. Cæsar had started from Rome, and had conquered all Gaul. Why should the river Rhine divide two countries, France and Germany?

Why should the Pyrenees stand as an insurmountable wall separating France and Spain? Why should the North Sea cut off the British Isles from the coast of France? He would cross the river, he would cross the mountains, he would cross the sea; and, with his army at his back, he too would conquer an empire that was worthy of the name. Once more Europe, all Gaul, should be ruled by one man.

This was the dream that burned in Napoleon’s heart. Men looked into his eyes and saw it there. They, too, caught fire.

Because he believed that he could make this dream real, they too believed. They came by hundreds and thousands, offering their lives to help him. Never was there an army which marched forward with such enthusiasm. Never was there an army which so adored its general. Country after country lay conquered at his feet. One country alone stood apart, unconquered and defiant. One navy still rode proudly upon the seas. Those British Isles, lying almost within sight of France, hung like a ripe fruit just beyond Napoleon’s reach. He was never quite able to take his eyes from them. Even when Nelson scattered his fleet off Trafalgar, he did not give up hope. If he could not conquer England upon the water, he would conquer her upon the land.

If Napoleon struck courage in the hearts of the men who marched beneath his banners, he struck fear in the hearts of those against whom his banners were unfurled. Even England quailed. But there were gallant men at England’s head: Nelson in the navy, and Arthur Wellesley, who had been made Duke of Wellington, leading the army.

Like Nelson, Wellington’s fighting was done outside of England. He first met the French, not on English or French soil, but in Spain. Spain and Portugal had both fallen into Napoleon’s power, but their old spirit of independence was not conquered. At the first opportunity they revolted against their overlord, and called in England to help them. Wellington landed in Spain, and with a force of two thousand men won three great battles. Napoleon’s dream was not to come true. Slowly the European states struggled to their feet, rallied, and with a great united effort forced the French army back, back, into Paris, and demanded that Napoleon should give up his throne. Disgraced and conquered, the great general was sent to the island of Elba in the Mediterranean, and Europe, worn and shattered, gathered her strength to build up again the boundary lines that should mark out the extent of the separate countries.

In the midst of the quarreling and disputing that took place among the different nations, suddenly a message was brought across the land that bound the states of Europe together as closely as if they had been yoked with iron chains. Napoleon has landed in Europe. This was the message. The congress of the nations was being held at Vienna. The Duke of Wellington was there, representing England. When he heard the message he showed no sign of astonishment or of fear. He calmly turned to his desk, and began drawing up a line of action. The other states soon saw that he was their natural leader. It was his plan to start at once for the Netherlands, where there were stationed some British troops, and to place himself at their head. The Prussian army, with Blücher in command, promised to stand with him. Napoleon at once saw the danger that awaited him. He decided to move forward rapidly, and, if possible, attack Blücher first and annihilate his forces before Wellington could send him aid. He would then meet the English general.

On the 15th of June, word was brought to Wellington in Brussels that the Prussians had been attacked. That night a ball had been arranged at the house of the Duchess of Richmond. Wellington called his officers, told them that the French were approaching, but bade them attend the ball just the same, keeping the news absolutely to themselves. In the midst of the dancing and feasting that night, no one was gayer or calmer than Wellington. One by one he saw his officers slip away, and outside in the street he heard the tread of marching feet. It was late before he bade the duchess good-night. Just before he went he turned to the Duke of Richmond, and said in a low voice: Have you a good map of the country in your house?

The duke nodded, and the two went up to a bedroom and unrolled it. Bonaparte has gained a day’s march on me, said Wellington in his calm, low voice. I have arranged to meet him at Quatre Bras. If I am not able to stop him there, I will

meet him here, and he made a mark on the map with his thumb nail, at Waterloo. The duke passed out of the brilliantly lighted house into the dark streets of the city. He was going to meet Napoleon for the first and the last time. The battlefield was to be at Waterloo.

It was a desperate struggle a terrible battle. Wellington never dismounted from his saddle all day. The tide of fortune ebbed and flowed. When it looked darkest for the English, suddenly the Prussian troops arrived, weary almost unto death with their long march. Their arrival decided the day. All is lost, cried Napoleon, as he fled back through the cover of night to Paris.

The duke entered his tent about ten o’clock. Before him was spread his dinner, and he sat down and ate it silently. In the midst of the glow of victory, his eyes were filled with visions of the brave men who had fallen on the field, and his heart ached with the sad news that must be sent to many English homes on the morrow.

This day, the 18th of June, 1815, was the crisis in the life of both these men, who had been born into the world in the same year. Napoleon gave himself up a prisoner to the English, and was taken to a solitary isle, St. Helena, far out at sea, where he spent the rest of his life in miserable solitude and idleness. Wellington returned to England, honored and esteemed by all, and ready to serve his country as nobly in peace as he had done in war.

George III

George III was the first of the kings who bore his name who was an Englishman. When he met Parliament, on coming to the throne, his opening words were, “Born and educated in this country, I glory in the name of Briton; and the peculiar happiness of my life will ever consist in promoting the welfare of a people, whose loyalty and warm affection to me I consider as the greatest and most permanent security of my throne.” When the people heard these words, they felt that England once more had an English king.

George III was rather shy and timid in public, but he knew how to make a speech, for he had been well trained as a boy. The famous London actor Quin used to come over to the royal palace, and teach Prince George and his brothers and sisters how to declaim, and sometimes he permitted them to give plays in the palace, before audiences of court ladies and lords. When the old actor heard how well George III delivered his speech from the throne, he cried out delightedly, “Aye, ‘twas I that taught the boy to speak.”

Not only were the English proud to have a Briton on the throne, but they were proud of George as a man. He was very kind and good, and seldom has a royal family been happier. George III selected a German princess, Charlotte of Strelitz, for his bride. The royal ambassador was sent over to bring the princess to England, and a whole squadron of ships lay waiting in the Channel to accompany her to her new home. The bride landed in England on a Sunday evening. Traveling was a slow process in those days, and the princess took two days to go up to London. She spent the night at Lord Abercorn’s, where she

was given a great banquet, and while she ate, the doors were left wide open, that all who could might catch a glimpse of their new queen. “Her Majesty,” so an old writer tells us, “ was dressed entirely in English taste; she wore a fly cap with laced lappets, a stomacher ornamented with diamonds, and a gold brocaded suit of clothes with a white ground.” The next morning she set out for London. Three royal coaches drove in advance of her, and as she neared the city, a body of horse grenadiers and life guards closed in about her to welcome and escort her to St. James. At the entrance to the garden her Majesty alighted and fell on her knees before the king. Very graciously George III raised her up, and embracing her affectionately, led her into the great palace, while London thundered its welcome with all the guns of the city. They were married in great state that same evening in the royal chapel. The new queen’s first task was to learn English, for she knew no word of her husband’s tongue when she first came to England. Every morning she worked hard with an instructor, learning to read, write, and spell the new language. Sometimes the king came in and laughed with her over her queer pronunciation, and helped her in writing her themes. When the English lessons were over, the queen spent an hour embroidering, then after lunch she and the king went out to drive or to walk in the gardens until it was time to dress for dinner. By and by many little princes and princesses were born into this happy home, Alfred, Octavius and many others, all of whom received a royal welcome from England. They were brought up very simply and plainly, much like ordinary English children. In fact, George III was a very sensible and kind-hearted father and king. There is a story about him that reminds one of the story told about the great Alfred. One day the king was out on a hunt near Windsor, and became separated from the rest of the party. A storm came up, and the king sought shelter in a cottage near at hand. He knocked, and asked the young girl who came to the door to put his

horse under the shed. The girl, not recognizing the royal guest, replied that she would do so if he in turn would mind the goose which was roasting before the fire. The king, much amused, consented, and sat down to dry his wet clothes and turn the spit. The fire was very hot, and the king was red in the face before the girl returned. He did not complain, however, but chatted pleasantly with her while the shower continued, telling her that in wealthy families it was no longer necessary to turn a goose by hand, because a jack had been invented which turned automatically. As soon as it cleared his majesty rode off with many thanks for the hospitality shown him. That evening the peasant girl discovered five guineas wrapped in a paper on the chimney piece. She unrolled the paper, and read these words, “To buy a jack.”

George III had two great faults. He was very narrowminded and very stubborn. For many years England had been involved in European wars, and it was necessary to tax the people very heavily in order to pay the national debt. Not only was England burdened with these taxes, but Parliament decided to impose them upon the American colonies which were under British rule. The American colonies were loyal to their “mother country.” They were willing to help pay the debt, but they said if they were to share these taxes they must be allowed to send some members to the English Parliament to represent their interests. Parliament and the king refused this demand, although the great statesman, Pitt, used all his eloquence to show the injustice in doing so. Suddenly George III found himself involved in a great war, the American Revolution, which, was to separate forever England and the American colonies. Out of this war was born the United States of America.

John Quincy Adams was the first United States minister sent to England. He was ushered into the presence of his Majesty and the Secretary of State alone. Adams made three deep bows, as was the custom, one at the door, one about

halfway, and the third directly before the king. He then lifted his head, and spoke very calmly, but with great dignity. He came, he said, as the representative of his people, to bring from the United States a pledge of friendship to his Majesty and his Majesty’s citizens, and to present the best wishes of the United States for the health and happiness of the royal family. He then added that he should esteem himself the happiest of all men if he could bring about the old spirit of “good nature and good humor” between these two peoples who, though separated by an ocean, were bound together by the same language, the same religion, and kindred blood.

The king listened very attentively to Adams’s noble words, and responded with much feeling. “I wish you, sir, to believe,” he said, “and that it may be understood in America, that I have done nothing in the late contest but what I thought myself indispensably bound to do, by the duty which I owed to my people. I will be very frank with you. I was the last to conform to the separation; but the separation having been made, and having become inevitable, I have always said, as I say now, that I would be the first to meet the friendship of the United States as an independent power.”

Adams then retired backward, as was customary, from his Majesty’s presence, and went his way.

Queen Victoria

There are many kingdoms in the world that will never allow a woman to sit upon their throne. But England is very proud of the queens who have ruled over her. Two queens have had such famous reigns that the age in which they lived is named after them the Age of Elizabeth and the Victorian Era.

Victoria was not born the daughter of a king, like Elizabeth, but it was known that she was in direct line to the throne. Her mother, the Duchess of Kent, took great pains that Victoria should not know this fact. She did not want her little daughter to be proud because she might some day be queen. Victoria’s father died when she was a baby, but her mother took every care that the little girl should be brought up in such a way as to make her a beautiful and wise woman, ready to wear the English crown if it should some day come to her. The little princess’s bed stood close beside her mother’s, and before she was old enough to sit at the family table at dinner, she had her own little table near her mother. She wore very simple dresses, and was allowed to spend only her weekly allowance, which was very small indeed. One day Victoria and her governess were visiting a toyshop, where the princess found a doll that she wanted very much. She took out her purse to buy it, but found that she lacked a few shillings. Victoria looked up at her governess very pleadingly, but the governess shook her head. “You will have to wait until you get your next week’s allowance,” she said. Victoria still held the dolly very longingly in her hands. When the shopkeeper saw how much she wanted it, he promised to save it

until the coming Saturday, when Victoria would have her allowance. All through the week Victoria thought of the pretty dolly lying in its box on the top shelf in the shop. Early Saturday morning she was up and dressed, and, mounted on her little gray donkey, she rode gayly down to the shop and brought the new treasure home in her arms.

Victoria’s lessons began when she was very young, and she was made to study much harder and longer lessons than most little girls. Among other studies was Latin, which the princess didn’t enjoy at all. Finally it was thought wise to tell her that she was the direct heir to the throne. Her English history was given her, and she was shown a table of the English kings and queens back from the time of Alfred. Slowly it came to her that if her uncle died, she would be queen. Victoria turned a very sober face up to her governess. “Now I know,” she said, “why you urged me so much to learn even Latin, which my aunts Augusta and Mary never did.” Then she came a little closer and put her hand in her governess’s. “I will be good,” she said softly.

From that day she studied and worked hard to fit herself to be queen. She spent hours reading the history of her own land, and her wise mother took her on long trips throughout the country, that she might know Scotland and England and the people over whom she was some day to rule.

It was not thought that this day would come so quickly. Victoria had just celebrated her eighteenth birthday when the king died, about two o’clock one June morning. The Archbishop of Canterbury and the Lord Chamberlain at once set out to announce the news to the young sovereign. They reached Kensington Palace about five o’clock in the early dawn. They knocked and thumped at the gate a long time before they could arouse the sleepy porter. When at last they were let in, they announced that they must see her Royal Highness at once on important business. The answer was brought back, “The princess is in such sweet slumber that we

do not venture to disturb her.”

Then the archbishop replied, “We are come to see the Queen on important business of state.”

There was no more delay. Victoria did not wait even to dress herself, but came into the room wrapped in a shawl, her beautiful, bright hair falling down her back, and tears shining in her eyes. She listened very quietly to the message, and then said, softly, “I beg your Grace to pray for me.” Then she asked that she might be left alone for two hours. Her first act was to write a letter to her aunt, telling her of her sympathy in her sorrow.

That same day at eleven Victoria held her first council. Lord Beaconsfield has written this description of the scene:

“There are assembled the prelates and captains and chief men of her realm. A hum of half-suppressed conversation fills that brilliant assemblage, a sea of plumes and glittering stars, and gorgeous dresses. Hush! The portal opens she comes. The silence is as deep as that of a noontide forest. Attended for a moment by her royal mother and the ladies of the court, who bow and then retire, Victoria ascends her throne alone and for the first time amid an assembly of men.”

She was crowned in Westminster Abbey. The great church was gorgeously decorated with gold and crimson. When the queen entered the abbey, with eight ladies all in white floating about her like a silvery cloud, she paused as if for breath and clasped her hands. As she knelt to have the crown placed upon her head, a ray of sunlight fell over her, lighting up her face and making the crown dazzle with brightness.

But when the festivities were over, the young queen found that long days of hard work stretched out before her. Victoria was never a figure queen. She worked with her minister as faithfully as any king, ever studying the many problems that were facing her country. Two years later she married her cousin, Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg, who was given the title

of prince consort. He was a man of noble character and great learning, and stood close beside the queen, aiding her in many ways. Nine children were born to them, and many grandchildren. Her first grandchild is now the German emperor. “Dear little William,” Victoria often called him.

Victoria reigned for sixty-four years. No other English monarch sat for so long a time upon the throne. Many wonderful events took place during these years. The first railroads were built. The telegraph was put into use. The first cable was laid between England and America, and the queen sent a long message of greeting to President Buchanan. When Victoria ascended the throne, it took four weeks for the news to reach America. When she died, the sad words were flashed around the world in less than half an hour.

The prince consort died many years before the queen. One of his greatest acts for England was the arranging of the first world’s fair. This exhibition was almost entirely the prince’s own idea. He had built the great glass building outside of London, called the Crystal Palace, and invited all the countries of Europe to send exhibits of their best and most characteristic industries and arts. This first world’s fair was so successful that many other countries since then have adopted the plan of holding such expositions.

After the prince consort died the queen lived very simply and quietly. But twice the nation gave her a great jubilee; once when she had reigned for half a century, and then, ten years later, when she had been queen sixty years. On this occasion gifts poured into England from all over Europe and Asia, most beautiful and costly gifts for the honored queen.

Such a long reign had, too, its sad events. There were long and cruel wars. No one regretted this shedding of blood more than Queen Victoria. No one longed more than she that the time should come when the nations of the world should be at peace, and all difficulties should be settled in courts instead of by arms.

Alfred Lord Tennyson

In the quiet little village of Somersby, which lies upon a hill-slope, stands a small sandstone church, and near it a low white rectory. In the days when George III was king of England, a family of twelve children lived in this rectory and played games of knights and tournaments in the gardens and woods about it. The leader in these games was Alfred, for he could always make up the most exciting adventures. He could tell the best stories, too, and he made his little brothers’ and sisters’ blood run cold by gathering them about him in the evening and telling them stories of gigantic mountains where great dragons lived who came forth at night to slay beautiful damsels. But he never told them cruel stories, for Alfred’s heart was very kind and gentle. He could not bear to see any one or anything suffer. It hurt him so to see a rabbit caught in a trap that he went around the neighborhood springing all the traps that the gamekeepers had set. “If we once catch that young gentleman, we will chuck him in the pond,” the gamekeepers muttered; but they never caught him.

Alfred had one strange pet of his own. One night, as he was sitting by the window of his own little attic room, a young owl called just outside. He answered the call, and the little bird flew in to him. He sat very still and called softly. The owl hopped nearer and nearer, and at last nestled close to him and ate out of his hand. He grew very tame, and forsook the other owls for the twelve Tennyson children. Everybody in the house was very fond of him, except the monkey that belonged to Alfred’s grandmother. He used to be very jealous because the owl liked to come and perch on the old lady’s head.

When Alfred was seven years old, he was asked, “Would you rather go to school or to sea?” To the boy school meant books, so he quickly chose the former. But school in those days in England was a very unhappy place for boys. The lessons were long and dry. The masters were very strict, and fond of using the rod if the boys made mistakes or did not learn their lessons. And the big boys bullied the little ones and the new ones. From the very beginning Alfred hated the little school at Louth where he and his brother Charles were sent. Still he had some happy times there. It was about this age that he began writing the verses that he was always making up in his head. Finally he and Charles took their verses to a little bookseller in the town. He read them through, and offered to buy them for one hundred dollars. Half of this sum had to be taken out in books from the store. We do not know what the two youthful writers did with the other half, except that they hired a carriage one afternoon and drove fourteen miles over the low hills and marshy flats to Mablethorpe, where they could see the ocean. Here on the seashore they “shared their triumph with the winds and waves.”

Tennyson finished his schooling at the University of Cambridge. Here, too, he found much that was dull and uninteresting. But it was here that he met Arthur Hallam, another student. Arthur Hallam’s fine mind and gentle ways charmed the young poet. They walked, studied, and read together. On vacations Tennyson brought his friend home to the old rectory at Somersby. His early death was Tennyson’s first and greatest sorrow. Hallam went to Europe for his health, and died on the way home. Tennyson’s grief was so intense that he thought for a while that he could never take up his pen again. But his very sadness of heart turned him to writing, and in a long and beautiful poem called “In Memoriam,” he has told the world of the wonderful meaning of a true and noble friendship.

This great sorrow made Tennyson’s heart very tender to

others who were sad. None of his verses are more beautiful than the lines which he wrote to Queen Victoria when the Prince Consort died. He was the Poet Laureate then, the great national poet. All England was longing to speak some word of comfort to their beloved queen. This great flood of sympathy was taken up by the poet and put into most tender, beautiful words. Tennyson was just ready to publish his poems about King Arthur and his Knights of the Table Round. He put them all together, and, calling them “Idylls of the King,” dedicated them to the Prince Consort, who, as he writes:

“seems to me

Scarce other than my own ideal knight, ‘who reverenced his conscience as his king.’”

Then he bids the queen’s heart not to break, but live on, and closes with the words:

“May all love, His love unseen, but felt, o’ershadow thee, The love of all thy sons encompass thee, The love of all thy daughters cherish thee, Till God’s love set thee at his side again.”

So these old legends of Lancelot and the fair Elaine, and Sir Galahad, the knight in white armor, of whom King Arthur said as he dubbed him knight, “God make thee good as thou art beautiful,” were brought out of the dim past of ancient Britain, and given to the world in such beautiful poetry that they will live forever.

The last years of Tennyson’s life were all spent in writing more and more poetry. He had many friends, the great statesman, Gladstone, Browning, Carlyle, and a host of others, yet he loved to live a little apart from the world. When he found that his last hour was come, he asked his son to bring him his Shakespeare, and he held the treasured volume close to his heart until he died. The full moon came in through the open

windows and fell across the beautiful face and hands of the dead poet. To his son, standing beside the bed, it seemed like the passing of Arthur. It was his wish that he be buried simply. So he was borne away from the beautiful home on a little wagonette which was covered with moss and bright with scarlet cardinal flowers. Around him was wrapped the pall which the working men and women of the North had woven and the cottagers of Keswick had embroidered. And over all were banked the wreaths and crosses of flowers that came from all parts of Great Britain. The old coachman, who had been for thirty years Lord Tennyson’s faithful servant, led the horse across the moor just at sunset. In the rear followed quietly the villagers and school children. The queen wished her great man to lie in Westminster Abbey in the Poets’ Corner, so he was brought thither, and placed beside Robert Browning and close to the monument erected to the first English poet, Geoffrey Chaucer.

Edward VII

On the afternoon of January 23, 1901, the Mall, the great street in London, was thronged with people. It was a quiet crowd, for there was sadness in every heart, and yet here and there a smile broke over the faces of the bystanders, as a gayly clad officer hurried down the street and entered the Palace of St. James. At about five minutes to two the heavy gates of Marlborough House swung open. There was the sound of horses’ hoofs on the hard road, and the crowd pressed eagerly forward. In advance rode the King’s Guard in full dress, and following them the escort. For a moment the sun broke through the low, gray clouds, lighting up their shining helmets and flashing on their drawn swords. But the people heeded them little. Their eyes were fixed on the coach just behind, and the grave face of the man who was looking out through the windows at them with kindly eyes. A great cheer went up as the coach rolled out into the highway, a cheer of sympathy and of loyalty from the people for their new king. The coach drove at a trot down the Mall to St. James Palace, and then, as the clock struck two, the king first met his Council.

He stood before them, a man of sixty, and spoke to them briefly, but with great sincerity and dignity. He told them that it was his first duty to announce to them the death of his beloved mother, the queen, in which loss he believed he had not only their sympathy, but that of the entire world. Then he told them that he should endeavor to follow in her footsteps, and, as long as there was breath in his body, to work for the good of his people.

His name was Albert Edward, but he now announced that

he would be known by the name which six of his ancestors had borne. The name of Albert, which he had inherited from his father, should remain sacred to his memory. He wanted England to remember only one Albert, “Albert the Good.” He then took the oath of king as Edward VII, and under this title he was crowned with great pomp and ceremony in Westminster Abbey.

Edward VII had been born direct heir to the English throne, and all his life he had been trained to be a king. He had studied much from books, but he had learned more from traveling and visiting all parts of the world. His wise father sent him first, as a small boy, through England and Scotland. Then followed a trip to Ireland, and later many visits to all parts of Europe. When he was a boy his father made him send back home long descriptions of the land through which he was traveling, and give his ideas about the people and their different ways of living. After he became of age the Prince of Wales even crossed the Atlantic to visit Canada and the United States, and later he went far to the East, to the Holy Land, even as some of his noble ancestors had done.

The Prince of Wales chose a beautiful and lovely princess for his bride, Alexandra the Princess Royal of Denmark. She was deeply beloved at home, and when she left her native land to become the Princess of Wales, all along her route she was showered with flowers, and crowds of people gathered all along the way to wave farewell to her. But as royal a welcome awaited her in England. Every ship and boat, even the smallest fishing vessel, along the English coast flew its colors when the barge bearing the princess arrived. The stations, the streets, and the houses were hung with banners and great wreaths of flowers. And cheer followed cheer as if the shouting would never cease. The English people, as they looked into her beautiful face, were charmed by her loveliness and noble air. They were afterwards to learn that she was as kind and as simple as she was beautiful. There is a little story told

of her on one of her visits home in Denmark that shows how little pride ever entered her heart.

Alexandra was once passing along the streets of Copenhagen with the Czar of Russia and her brother, Crown Prince of Denmark. A peasant happened to pass by driving a load of hay, and the Crown Prince called out jokingly, “Give us a ride.”

The peasant, little guessing who they were, drew up his oxen and told them to climb on. It happened that the route ran by the Palace, so as they were passing, the Czar told the peasant to drive into the courtyard. But the peasant shook his head, “That’s the King’s Palace, and no one is allowed in there but royalty.”

“Never mind,” thundered the Czar, “you do as I say. Don’t you see I am the Czar of Russia!”

“And I am the Crown Prince of Denmark,” added the other. “And this lady is Her Royal Highness, the Princess of Wales.”

The peasant looked at them a moment carefully through his little squinting eyes, then he drawled out, “And I am the Emperor of China,” and drove on by the gate.

While in London the Prince and Princess of Wales lived in state at the great Marlborough House, but they liked to call Sandringham Hall, a beautiful country seat in Norfolk, their real home.

There were many gardeners and gamekeepers needed on the estate, and King Edward was very generous to them He built pretty cottage homes for them; schools for their children; a clubhouse where they could meet when not at work; and a hospital to care for them when they were sick. The hospital was the special care of Queen Alexandra, and was visited by her every day when she was at Sandringham. Over the door she placed this motto:

Ask God for all you want,

EDWARD VII

Thank Him for all you have, And never grumble.

On one part of the grounds, hidden among the trees, is a tiny dairy. Just as the French queen Marie Antoinette, liked to slip away from the great palace at Versailles and play dairy maid, Queen Alexandra and her court ladies liked to wander through the trees to the little dairy and make themselves a cup of tea.

King Edward VII did not have a long reign. Before he had celebrated his tenth anniversary he died leaving his throne to his sailor son George. The new king was crowned in June, 1911, George V of England. His wife, formerly Princess Mary of Teck is now England’s queen, and already there are six little princes and princesses about whom some day perhaps we shall have to write more Little Stories of England.

Stories from English History

From BC 55 to AD 1901

Edited and Adapted by Henry P. Warren

Preface

In writing this book an endeavor has been made to interest boys and girls in English history by stories of some of its great events and of some of the great men who adorn its pages. This aim being kept steadily in view throughout, it seemed right to select certain important incidents and characters, and to deal with them in some detail and in as interesting a way as possible, rather than to load the pages with a multitude of names and dates, in the vain effort to crowd into a few pages a continuous history which should be at once full and interesting. Yet it is believed that no important events or personages have been entirely neglected, while particular attention has been directed toward those of chief significance to American boys and girls.

Upon the pictorial illustrations much care has been expended. Some are derived from great historical paintings and old prints; others are from drawings by some of the best artists of the day; all, it is hoped, will succeed in imparting additional interest to the historical facts, scenes, and characters which they portray.

The book is based upon the Warwick history readers, long and favorably known to the English public. Certain abridgments and additions have been made in order to adapt the scope and contents to the present needs of American boys and girls.

Section 1: The Story of Ancient Britain

I. The Landing of Cæsar.

One day in August, fifty-five years before Christ, some unknown ships were seen crossing the sea toward the southeast corner of the island of Britain. The men on the beach watched them closely. As they drew nearer, the rays of the sun flashed on the helmets and swords of armed men. The ships were full of soldiers.

“See, yonder comes the enemy!” the watchers may have cried. “It is the great chief of whom we have heard. He is coming with his mighty men to conquer our country, and to make our sons and daughters slaves. We must fight for our lives and homes!”

The news of the coming of the enemy soon spread along the coast. Crowds of warriors flocked together to defend their island home. When the ships had nearly reached the land, the soldiers on board them saw, stretching along the shore, a great throng of wild, half-naked men.

It was not easy for the strangers to land. Their ships were large, and could not come very close to the beach. The soldiers were not used to the sea, and were not eager to fight the waves before they could reach land and fight the men.

But at length a brave standard-bearer in one of the ships raised his standard aloft. Pointing to the figure of an eagle which crowned it, he cried: “Soldiers, follow me, unless you wish to give up your eagle to the enemy! I at any rate will do my duty to my general and my country.”

So saying, he leaped boldly into the sea, with the standard in his hand. Ashamed of their fear, all the soldiers sprang after him, and dashed through the water toward the land.

The brave men on shore rushed out to meet them, hurling stones and darts. Many a hard blow was struck, many a man was wounded and slain. But the strangers were the better soldiers, and after a hard struggle they stood on dry land, and drove the enemy in flight before them.

II. Britain and the Britons.

The strangers who had thus gained a footing upon the island were Romans. They were the finest soldiers in the world, and conquered wherever they went. Their general was Julius Caesar, one of the greatest soldiers that ever lived.

Caesar had for many years been fighting in Gaul, the country which we now call France. The men of Gaul fought bravely, and Caesar found out that they were sometimes helped by friendly warriors from Britain.

So, when he had conquered Gaul, Caesar made up his mind to cross the sea and conquer the men of the island also. He wanted to prevent them helping the Gauls any more. He also wanted to see what the island was like. He had heard strange tales of its beauty and wealth, and he wished to see for himself if they were true.

What he saw he has told us himself, in a book which he wrote about his wars. The island, he tells us, was called Britain, and the people Britons. They were much like the people of Gaul tall, strong, with blue eyes and long light hair. Those who lived near the sea grew grain, and carried on trade with Gaul. Those who lived inland were more savage, fed on milk and flesh, and had only the skins of beasts for their dress.

They were brave in battle, and in war time painted their

bodies blue in order to frighten their enemies. They used warchariots, which they drove with furious speed into the enemy ’ s ranks. They had no towns with streets of well-built houses, but lived in mud huts scattered here and there. The dress even of the richest of them was poor and rough, though their chiefs sometimes wore ornaments of gold.

Such were the people who lived in Britain two thousand years ago, and who faced the Romans so bravely at the coast.

III. Cæsar’s Second Coming.

When the Britons found that they were helpless against the Romans, they begged Caesar to make peace. This he was willing to do.

But a great storm arose, and the Roman ships, which had been left on the beach, were lifted by the waves and dashed upon the rocks. Many of them were hopelessly ruined, and some other ships which were bringing Caesar’s horse-soldiers from Gaul, were forced by the storm to put back.

The Britons saw what damage the storm had done, and they were glad of it. Caesar’s army was not very large, and he had lost some of his ships. If only his soldiers could be kept on the island, and be prevented from getting food during the winter months, the Britons thought that they might destroy their enemy after all.

But Caesar was too great a general to let his army be destroyed in this way. He ordered the ships that were most damaged to be broken up, and with their wood the holes in other ships were mended.

Grain for food was got from the harvest-fields of the Britons, and the Romans made, around their camp, a rampart and a ditch, behind which they were safe from attack.

But when the storms had ceased, Caesar thought it best to return to Gaul, for he could not hope to crush the Britons

with his little army. After one more terrible battle, in which the Romans were victors, Caesar burned down many of the dwellings of the Britons, and then left the island.

The next year he returned with a larger army, which landed without having to fight. For the Britons, remembering their first defeat, had fled into one of the dark forests which covered the country. There they built a stronghold, from which they made, from time to time, sudden attacks on the enemy.

Caesar then marched inland, and crossed the Thames with his troops, fighting hard all the way. The Romans soon captured the stronghold of the British chief Caswallon, who then gave up the struggle, and promised to pay tribute to the victors.

Caesar had now shown the Britons how helpless they were against the power of Rome; this was all that he had meant to do. There was no longer any fear that they would help the Gauls, and the great Roman general left Britain forever.

IV.Caradoc.

For nearly a hundred years after Caesar went away from Britain, the Romans left the island alone. Then the Roman Emperor Claudius, wishing to make Britain a real part of his empire, sent a general to conquer it.

The Britons, as before, stoutly defended themselves, but they were no match for the well-trained Roman soldiers. Some of their tribes even went over to the side of the enemy, and helped to defeat their own brethren.

In a fierce battle, one of the British chiefs was killed. Caradoc, the bravest of them all, was forced to flee into the country that is now called Wales, and the Roman general seized upon his lands.

Caradoc was not only brave: he was also skilled in the art

of war. He withdrew with a vast horde of Britons into the hills of Wales, where he knew every step of the ground.

When the Roman general led his army after him, Caradoc chose a position upon a steep hill. He threw up a wall of huge stones for a defence, and was also protected by a deep river which ran between him and the Romans.

At the approach of the enemy, Caradoc and other chiefs rushed from rank to rank, cheering their men with brave words. On came the Romans, to be met with thick showers of darts and stones.

Still they pressed on. They were armed with helmet, breastplate, and shield, which saved them many a wound, and their spears and swords were of the finest make.

The Britons had no armor, and their weapons were not equal to those of the Romans. They were not so well trained, and though they fought with desperate courage, they suffered a terrible defeat.

Caradoc escaped, and fled to his step-mother in the north; while his wife and daughter were taken prisoners. But he was not long free, for his step-mother, wishing to win favor with the Romans, gave the brave chief up to them.

When the Roman general returned to his own country, he took Caradoc and his family with him among his prisoners. All Rome flocked to see the general ride in triumph through the streets.

First in the long line of prisoners came slaves whom Caradoc had conquered in war. Then came men bearing chains of gold and rich treasures which he had taken from other British tribes. His wife and daughter, and his brothers followed next; and last of all came Caradoc himself with a bold fearless look.

“I had men and horses, arms and wealth,” he said, when he stood before the Roman emperor; “I might have been your friend instead of your captive. My fall and your triumph will ever be famous; so now, if you save my life, the fame of your mercy will never die.”

Struck by the courage of the chief, the emperor pardoned him and all his family. Their chains were struck off, and it is said that Caradoc remained in Rome, and received many favors at the emperor’s hands.

V.Boadicea.

For more than ten years after the capture of Caradoc, the Romans could do no more than hold their own in Britain. Then dreadful things happened which ended sadly for the Britons.

One of the British kings had arranged that, at his death, his kingdom should be divided equally between his two daughters and the Roman emperor. In this way he thought to keep his family and his kingdom safe.

But when he died, Roman soldiers came and plundered his country. They whipped his wife Boadicea with cruel rods, and ill-treated his two daughters. They took for themselves all that had belonged to him and to his chief men, and carried away his kinsfolk as slaves.

The people were shocked and maddened by this conduct, and feared for their own lives and goods. Getting other tribes to join them, they raised a great army to fight against the Romans.

One day they fell upon the Romans when they were little expected, and took a terrible revenge, slaying old and young without mercy, and setting fire to houses and temples. The Romans fled to London, which was even then a thriving business town.

The Britons followed, and the Roman general was forced to leave the town, for the greater part of his army was elsewhere, and the force he had was too small to fight the enemy. Then the Britons burned London, and slew thousands of the people of the city.

But the Roman general soon collected all his forces, and made ready for a great battle. He placed his army where there was an open plain in front and a forest at their backs. Horse and foot stood firm in close array.

Opposite them stood the army of the Britons, a great throng of wild, fierce men, eager for vengeance on their foe. Then Boadicea appeared with her daughters in a war-chariot, and rode up and down the ranks from tribe to tribe.

“Britons,” she cried, “in this battle I myself will lead you on! The Romans have robbed you of your freedom; look, my body smarts with these wounds they have inflicted; my daughters weep for the injuries they have suffered.

“One of the Roman legions has perished, and the rest are afraid. They will run away if you only shout, and wall not wait for your blows. Let us fight, then, for in this battle we must conquer or die. This is the mind of a woman; men, if they like, may live and be slaves!”

Then the battle began, and with javelin and lance the Roman met the foe. The Britons fought with fury, but they had no chance against their well-trained enemy. The Romans slew even women and beasts of burden, as well as many thousands of the warriors.

Boadicea fled, and fearing lest, if she were taken, she should suffer again, she put an end to her life by poison.

VI. Britain Under the Romans.

The Romans were not soldiers only; they could do a great deal more than fight. They were a great people in many ways, and when they had conquered Britain by force of arms, they turned their attention to the arts of peace. For nearly four hundred years the Romans held Britain as a part of the Roman empire, and during that time the country was greatly changed for the better.

Many of the dense forests which grew in various parts of it were cut down. Marshes were drained, and well-built towns were founded where at one time there was nothing but wild underwood or swamp. Fine temples, baths, and public buildings adorned the streets of the towns, in which trade flourished and wealth grew.

Great roads were made, running from London into all parts of the country, and passing through forests and over rivers. Mines of tin, lead, and copper were worked, and the metal got from them was sent across the sea to Gaul and Italy. The Romans encouraged the fisheries of the island, and taught the Britons better ways of tilling their fields and growing crops.

The rich Romans built themselves splendid villas in the country, paving the floors with colored tiles, and adorning the rooms with graceful pillars and fine carvings. Remains of Roman houses and pottery are to this day sometimes dug up in some parts of England.

The Romans taught the Britons how to make better clothes than those they had been accustomed to wear. Some of the Britons learned to speak Latin, the language of the Romans, and British soldiers served in the army of the empire.

It was during this time that the story of Christ first became known in Britain. What the religion of the Britons was before this we do not know; but their priests were called Druids, and offered human sacrifices in dim groves of oak. Though the religion of Christ began to be known, there were many savage Britons still in the land who hated the Christian religion, and who would not learn anything at all from the Romans.

Section 2: The Beginning of Christian England

I. Britain Becomes England.

There came a time when the Romans left Britain. Wild tribes were attacking their splendid city Rome, and all the Roman soldiers were needed for its defence.

It was a bad day for the Britons when the last Roman soldier went away. For many years the Romans had defended the country from the fierce warriors who attacked it, some of whom came from the part of the island now called Scotland, some from over the sea.

When the Britons were left to themselves, they found that they were too weak to keep off their bold enemies. They sent to Rome most pitiful letters asking for help.

In one of them they said: “The savages drive us into the sea, the sea drives us back on to the savages. Our only choice is whether we shall die by the sword, or drown; for we have none to save us. ”

But Rome could not spare soldiers for the defence of Britain. At length, less than a hundred years after the Romans had gone, wild heathen Angles and Saxons from Denmark and North Germany overcame the Britons, and took for themselves some land in the southeast part of the island.

Step by step they drove the Britons inland; every year new bands poured across the sea to assist them, and by and by they became masters of the country. They made their home on the land which they had won, and called it England. Those of the

Britons who escaped death or slavery had to seek refuge in the wild country in the west, and their descendants live in Wales and Cornwall to this day.

II. The English.

These heathen people from over the sea, and not the Britons, were the forefathers of the English people of to-day. Let us try to see what they were like, and how they lived.

Like the Britons, they were tall and strong, with bright blue eyes, and light hair which was allowed to grow long both by men and women, but they were farmers and fishermen, and lived together in villages or little townships. They made it a boast that they were free; indeed, the men of different villages kept so much apart that they were like enemies.

The greater part of the men were called churls, and were freemen, each holding his own portion of land. The chief men, who had earned fame themselves, or whose fathers had been noble, were called earls. From these earls were chosen leaders in war and rulers in peace, and these leaders were known as aldermen. But no man enjoyed more rights than any of his fellows.

Disputes between the villagers were settled at the “tunmoot,” that is, a town meeting at which all the men would attend to give their votes. Matters of more importance were decided at the “shire-moot” or county meeting. Here again every freeman had the right to attend.

Laws were made, and the great questions of peace and war were talked about, by the “Witan” or wise men of the people: that is, the earls and other great men; but the people came to their meetings, and showed by their shouts what they thought of their wise men’s speeches. These meetings were not held in a hall, but beneath some spreading tree, or upon some grassy hill-top.

The people had at first not one king, but many. There were at one time at least seven great kingdoms in England, though at last one of the kings, Egbert of Wessex, was looked upon as chief or master-king by the rest.

The love of freedom which these Old English felt is still felt by their descendants, and in England and America it has helped to make them the great nations that they are.

III. The Coming of Augustine.

There is a pretty story which connects Britain, now called England, again with Rome, which was at that time the chief Christian city of Europe.

One day a young Roman priest named Gregory was passing through the market-place of Rome. Among the slaves who were huddled together there, waiting to be bought, were some pretty boys whose fair hair and ruddy faces were strange to the dark Roman.

“Who are they?” he asked of one who was standing by.

“They are Angles,” was the answer; “Angles from England over the sea. ”

“Not Angles, but angels,” he said, touching their fair locks kindly. “And do they come from England?”

“Yes; from heathen Deira, the kingdom of King Ella, there.”

“Then shall they be saved from the wrath of God,” 1 said Gregory, “and Alleluia shall be sung in the land of Ella.”

Many years after, when the young priest had become Pope Gregory the Great, he remembered the boys in the marketplace, and what he had said about them, and how he had longed to go and teach them. He wished to change the English from heathens to Christians, but he could not now go

1 De ira means in Latin “from the wrath.”

THE BEGINNING OF CHRISTIAN ENGLAND

to England himself, as he had meant to do.

At the head of one of the convents in Rome was a monk named Augustine, and he was chosen by Gregory to go to England. With him he took forty monks, and they landed in the Isle of Thanet, in Kent.

Now the English were pagans, and worshipped many gods, chief of whom was Woden, 2 the god of war, the father of slaughter, the giver of victory. They believed that heroes, when they died, went to a heaven where the days were spent in fighting and the nights in feasting.

They offered up animals as sacrifices to their gods. Sometimes they killed their slaves and even their children upon their altars. Their religion was one of cruelty, not of love.

But Ethelbert, the king of Kent, had married a Christian lady, Bertha, daughter of the king of Paris. He had also met and talked with wise men of other lands, who were not so rough as the English in their ways of life. He had learnt from them and from his wife many things he would not otherwise have known, and he was a good and wise king.

When Augustine reached England and sent word to the king that he had come to speak of Christ, Ethelbert received him kindly. With his wife he sat among his people in the open air to receive the teachers.

The rough English must have wondered as the monks came slowly along, chanting solemn hymns, and bearing aloft a great silver cross, and a banner painted with the figure of Jesus.

Ethelbert listened with attention to what Augustine had to say. “Fair are your words,” he said, when the monks had finished, “but also new and strange. I may not forsake the gods of my father, but as for my people, they may believe whatsoever they will, and no man shall hinder them.”

He allowed Augustine to make his home in Canterbury,

2 His name forms part of Wednesday, day of Woden

where he held services in Bertha’s church. There the monks lived a simple life, preaching to all who would hear, caring nothing for riches, and depending for their daily food upon the kindness of those they taught.

In course of time, their good example led many to believe what they taught, and by and by King Ethelbert was baptized, and thousands of his people with him.

IV. Cædmon, the Old English Singer.

It was long before all England became Christian. The country was ruled, not by one king, but by many, and all were not so good and wise as Ethelbert. But at length the old gods were given up throughout the country.

One of the pagan kings who became Christians was Edwin, who ruled over the north part of the country. He was kind to Christian teachers, and, after his death, a grand-niece of his, named Hilda, founded a home for monks and nuns at Whitby. It stood on a high cliff, the broad sea below it on one side, the woody valley of the river Esk on the other. Here men and women lived pure and earnest lives. They read and studied, they shared all their goods in common; they called Hilda “mother,” and looked up to her as one far higher and holier than themselves. She taught and cared for the poor, ignorant people round about, and they learnt the stories of the Bible in song and poem.

How the first of these poems was made is told us in an old story. Among the men who came to the monastery to work and to be taught was one of middle age named Caedmon. At night the servants and others would meet in the hall, and pass the time pleasantly in singing songs of brave deeds of old, to the music of the harp.

But Caedmon knew no songs. When, as he sat with the rest, his turn came to sing, and he saw the harp coming

towards him, he would rise from the table in shame, and go home sad and lonely. Yet he felt in his heart that he would like to sing, not of battles and heroes, but of the wonderful things that he had learnt from the Lady Hilda.

One night he had gone out from the feast to the stables. Some of the guests had come from far, and their beasts must be guarded against robbers. It was Caedmon’s turn to watch them, and as he sat among them, sad because he had no gift of song, he fell asleep.

In his sleep he had a wondrous dream. One stood by him and called him by name. “Caedmon,” he said, “sing me something.”

“I cannot sing,” the poor man replied; “indeed, I have come out hither from the feast because I could not sing.”

“But you shall sing to me,” said the stranger.

“What,” asked Caedmon, “ought I to sing?”

“Sing of the beginning of all things,” was the answer; “sing of the Creation of the World.”

Then Caedmon began to sing words which came to his lips he knew not how. In the morning, remembering part of what he had sung in his dream, he went to one of the servants of the house, and told him about it.

He was taken to Hilda, who said, when she had heard his poem, that his new power was the gift of God. She told him a Bible story, and when he came next day with the story turned into verse, she asked him to become a monk, and to give up the rest of his life to making poems.

So he went to live in the monastery, where he was taught the sacred stories, and turned them into song. There he lived to a great age, and died at last peacefully in his sleep. He was a good and humble man, of whom all were fond.

Section 3: The Story of Alfred the Great I. Alfred the Boy.

The greatest of the kings who ruled over England in early times was Alfred, and about him many stories are told.

Alfred was the youngest and favorite son of King Ethelwolf, who was in many ways a good king. He had been brought up in a monastery, and all his life thought much of learning and religion. His mother died when he was four years old.

When Alfred was seven Ethelwolf went on a visit to Rome, taking the boy with him. Along with the king went many of his chief men, and the people of the countries through which they passed wondered at the splendor and wealth of the English king.

When they came to Rome, Ethelwolf gave rich presents to the Pope. One was a golden crown, another was a sword, the hilt of which was made of gold. Other presents were vessels of gold and silver, and dresses beautifully made and richly adorned. The king also gave away much money in Rome, and the people of Rome were loud in his praises.

Little Alfred must have enjoyed his visit. As he saw the splendid buildings in Rome, the temples, the theatres, the circus, the statues; as he walked where Caesar had walked, and stood where Caradoc had bowed before the Emperor Claudius, his mind must have been filled with new thoughts and wishes.

Perhaps he said to himself: “Oh! if I were a king, I would do my best to make my country as great and as beautiful as

this beautiful Rome.”

They stayed in Rome a year, and then they set out for home. On the way back through France, Ethel wolf married Judith, the young daughter of the French king, whose beauty he had admired when he saw her on his former journey. She was only seven years older than Alfred.

Judith was very kind to her young stepson. When they were back in England, she read to him the stories and poems of which he grew so fond. The boy was bright and thoughtful, and he used to look with delight and longing at the books from which Judith read.

They were not printed, but were written by hand. Monks spent long days in forming shapely letters, and in making the books beautiful with pictures and ornaments, wonderful in form and splendid in color.

One day, when Judith had been reading to Alfred and his elder brothers, she promised to give the book to the boy who first learned to read. The bigger boys thought little of this, but Alfred set to work, and very soon won the book for his own.

In those days few people could read, and hardly any one could write. Only the monks and their pupils learnt to read: The greatest men in the land could not write their names, but made a cross upon papers which they wished to sign. So Alfred’s brothers were not to be blamed because they loved games better than reading.

Alfred loved games too. He grew up a strong, handsome youth, fond of sports and hunting, as well as of reading and study. He became also a brave and skilful soldier, and a favorite with all people, high and low.

II. Alfred the Warrior.

After Ethelwolfs death, three of his sons became king in turn. The third of these was Ethelred, and it was in his reign

that Alfred showed what he could do in war.

For many years England had been troubled, as Britain had been, by the attacks of fierce warriors from over the sea. These were the Danes or Northmen who were very much like what the English had once been. They were bold and daring in fight on sea and land, and believed in the same gods that the heathen English had once worshipped.

At first they would cross the water in the summer, rob the English of whatever they could, and return to their own countries for the winter. But becoming bolder, they at last began to remain in the island to enjoy what, they had won by their fighting. They settled in Kent, and in the eastern counties, and from their settlements they used to attack and plunder the English.

The English kings tried to drive them out, and won many battles against them. But as fast as one band was defeated, another would land and come to its help. It was just as impossible to keep them out, as it had been for the Britons to keep the English out years before.

In Ethelred’s time the Danes had won a great part of the country, and had formed a strong camp where the town of Reading now is. It was near this camp that a great battle was fought, in which Alfred showed his bravery and skill.

The English army came in sight of the Danes at the close of a spring day. All things were got ready for the battle, and then the two armies went to their tents for the night.

Early in the morning Alfred, who had charge of one part of the English army, went out to set his men in order. But Ethelred refused to leave his tent until the priests had performed the service of the church.

The Danes made the first attack, and Alfred was hard pressed on a little hill where he had placed his men. Long and fierce was the fight around a thorn tree that stood alone at the top of the hill. At last Ethelred came to help his brother. His men fought well and bravely, and the Danes were

overpowered, and put to flight.

Not long after this victory, another battle was fought at Merton, in Surrey. This time the Danes were the victors, and Ethelred was wounded. After lying ill for some months he died, and Alfred, who was now twenty-two years old, became king.

He was king, not of all England, but of Wessex, the country of the West Saxons, which took in the southern part of the country from Bristol Channel to the border of Sussex. But the king of Wessex was looked up to as their head by the other kings.

Alfred was crowned king at Winchester, then and long after the capital, and at once had to fight hard for his kingdom against the Danes.

III. Alfred in Misfortune.

A great battle was fought between the English and the Danes at Wilton. Neither side could claim the victory, but the slaughter was so great that even the Danes were glad to make peace. Very soon the peace was broken.

The Danes came suddenly upon the castle of Wareham and the city of Exeter, and captured them. Other Danes crossed the sea to help their friends.

Alfred built a fleet of ships to fight them on the sea, and his ships were sometimes able to drive the enemy back. In spite of this, the Danes were so strong, and overran Wessex in such swarms, that the English lost all hope of ever getting rid of them.

Many Englishmen fled to France, and Alfred himself at last had to go into hiding at Athelney, a spot among the swamps of Somerset. Stories say that he lived for some time in the hut of a cowherd, where he spent his time in making

plans for freeing his country from the hated Danes.

One day he was sitting by the fire, thinking deeply, and mending his bow. The cowherd’s wife had put some loaves to bake, and then attended to other things. By and by there arose a smell of burning, and the woman came quickly to the fire, and found that the loaves were burning black.

She took them up and turned angrily to the man who sat there, not knowing that he was the king. “You man!” she cried, “ you will not turn the bread you see burning, but you will be very glad to eat it when it is done.”

The king bore her scolding with patience, and afterwards took care to tend her bread as she wished.

By and by some of Alfred’s noblemen found out where their king was, and came to him. With their aid he turned the swampy place into a strong camp, and with them he talked over his plans.

IV. Alfred in Retirement.

One winter day, when food had run short, and Alfred’s companions had gone out with their bows and arrows to hunt for more, a poor beggar came to the door. He asked the cowherd’s wife for bread, but there was only a small loaf in the hut.

Alfred looked up from the book he was reading, thought for a moment, and then bade the woman give half the loaf to the beggar. He said that the same Power which once fed five thousand men with five loaves and two small fishes, would also provide food for him and his men.

Then he returned to his reading, and, being weary, he fell asleep. He dreamed that an angel appeared to him and told him that God was pleased with his kindness, and would soon bring him back to his kingdom, and give him greater power than before. In token of this, his companions would return

that night from hunting with a plentiful supply of food.

Alfred awoke full of hope and courage. By and by his men returned laden with game and fish. He told them of his dream, and they were all full of joy at the thought that things were changing for the better.

An event now happened which raised their hopes still higher. The Danes, after fighting in Wales, crossed the Bristol Channel and laid siege to the castle of Kenwith, in Devonshire. The commander of the castle, one of Alfred’s noblemen, planned a night attack upon the enemy, so as to take them by surprise.

One dark night he got his men together, and just before the dawn they rushed out of the castle, and came upon the Danes sleeping in their tents. In the darkness, the Danes were thrown into confusion, and did not know their friends from their foes.

They were outmatched, and when they learned that their leader had been killed, and their banner taken, they fled in despair to their ships. Twelve hundred dead bodies were left upon the ground.

When Alfred heard of this victory, he made up his mind that now was the time to go out against the Danes. So he sent messengers into all parts of the country, asking for soldiers to join him.

The people were delighted to hear of their king again, for they had begun to think that he must be dead. Soldiers from all parts flocked to his standard, and very soon he was at the head of a large army.

V. Alfred Conquers the Danes.

The main body of the Danes had made their camp on a hill at Edington, in Wiltshire. Alfred wished to know exactly how large their army was, and what was their position on the

hill.

He might have sent one of his own men to the Danish camp as a spy. Instead of doing so, he dressed himself like one of the strolling harpers who used to follow an army from place to place, singing songs for the amusement of the soldiers, and in this disguise he went to the Danes.

Alfred’s memory was stored with old songs, and he was a skilful player on the harp, so that he was well received by the Danish soldiers when he offered to sing to them. While they sat in groups, drinking their mead and listening to his music, Alfred carefully noticed how their camp was placed on the hill, and formed an idea of their number.

His playing was so good that Guthrum, the Danish general, heard of it, and ordered the harper to be brought to his tent. Alfred was in great danger of being found out, but he was careful of his actions, and, after playing for some time to Guthrum, he left the camp in safety. He had learnt all that he wished to know, and returned to Athelney with a plan of attack in his mind.

He arranged that his men were to meet on the border of Selwood Forest. They came together as secretly as possible, but as they grew in numbers they became bold, and the forest was soon filled with the blare of trumpets, the clash of arms, and the shouts of the soldiers.

The Danes heard the din, and Guthrum drew up his army in readiness for battle. Alfred’s troops marched boldly to meet them. They began the fight at a distance with arrows, then at closer quarters they used their lances, and very soon it became a desperate fight with swords and axes, hand to hand, and man to man.

Terrible was the slaughter, and for long no man could tell which side would win. At last the Danes gave way, and began to retreat. Hundreds had been killed, many were taken prisoners, and those who escaped took refuge in a castle.

For fourteen days they were shut up there, not daring to

come out and fight. Food and water got less and less, and at last, fearing that they would starve, Guthrum opened the gates to King Alfred.

Then Alfred showed the nobleness and the wisdom of a great king. He saw that it was impossible to keep the Danes out of England, so he agreed to allow Guthrum to rule over the eastern part of the island if he would promise to leave Alfred’s kingdom of Wessex, and never return, and if he would become a Christian.

Guthrum was glad to agree to these very merciful terms. He came to see Alfred, and became his guest for some weeks, and was baptized as a Christian under the name of Ethelstane. Then English and Danes joined together in feasts and rejoicings, and by and by, when Guthrum went to his new kingdom, he took with him many presents from Alfred.

VI. Alfred the King.

Great as King Alfred was in war, he was still greater in peace. No king before him, and few kings after him, did more for the real happiness and welfare of the people.

He drew up a book of laws for the protection of life and property. Men who did wrong were severely punished, but no man was put to death for his crime. Alfred took care that the judges should be fair and upright men, for any who acted unjustly were heavily punished.

Respect for Alfred’s law was so great, that people said if apples of gold grew beside the public highway, a man might walk the country from end to end and not dare to steal them.

Alfred showed great favor to religious men and men of learning. He wished all his people to learn to read. He was himself anxious to learn all that he could, and invited a learned bishop named Asser to leave his home in Wales, and come to live with him and be his teacher.

Asser taught Alfred many things, and among them, the Latin language. When Alfred had learned Latin, he set about translating Latin books into English for the use of his people. He made a translation of a History of the World, and of a History of the English Church written by a good and learned monk named Bede. To the first of these he added two stories of travel, which were told him by the travellers themselves. Thus he tried to give his people knowledge and fresh ideas.

In his reign, too, there was begun the Saxon Chronicle. This was the story of England from Caesar’s invasion to Alfred’s own day. Monks wrote in it, year by year, the principal events in the history of the country.

After Alfred’s death, the Chronicle continued to be written for nearly three hundred years, and from it we get nearly all our knowledge of the early history of the country.

VII. Alfred’s Last Years.

Alfred is said to have invented a clever way of telling the time, for there were no clocks or watches then. He noticed how evenly the candles, used in his palace and in the churches, burnt down, and he found out by careful trial the size of a candle which would burn exactly three inches in an hour.

Then he ordered a large number of these candles to be made, each of them one foot long. They were marked off in inches, so that each inch of candle lasted twenty minutes, and each candle lasted four hours.

By taking care that such candles were always kept burning, he made it possible to know exactly how the time was going. This was a great help for those who had work to do.

In those days the windows, even in castles and palaces, were often mere holes in the walls, for glass was then not used in England. On a rough day, the wind, sweeping in through

these holes, blew the candle flames about, and made the candles burn faster than they were meant to do.

Alfred set his wits to work to prevent this. He knew that horn, when softened with hot water, could be cut into very thin plates, through which light would easily pass. So he set some thin strips of horn into the sides of a wooden box, and thus made a rough lantern, in which his candle-clocks would burn steadily.

Now that he could exactly measure time, Alfred is said to have divided his day into three parts of eight hours each. One he gave to sleep and food and exercise, another to the business of the country, and the third to religion and study and the care of Church matters.

This great king is sometimes called the Founder of the British Navy. For he spent great pains in building ships which, as we have seen, were able to drive away the ships of the Danes.

Alfred’s last years were disturbed by more troubles with the Danes. Under a fierce leader, named Hasting, fresh bands of the Northmen poured into the country. For several years Alfred fought them on sea and land, and at length was able to drive them out.

Only four years afterwards, the great king’s useful life came to a peaceful end. As he lay on his deathbed, he called to him his son Edward, a young man who had many of his father’s fine qualities.

“Thou, my dear son,” said the dying king, “set thee now beside me, and I will deliver to thee true counsel. I feel that my last hour is nigh. My strength is gone from me; my countenance is wasted and wan. My days are almost come to an end, and it is time for us to part.

“I go to another world, and thou art to be left alone to hold all that which I have held to this time. I pray thee, my dear child, to be a father to thy people. Be the children’s father and the widow’s friend.

“Comfort the poor, protect and shelter the weak, and, with all thy might, right that which is wrong. Then shall the Lord love thee, and God himself shall be thy great reward.”

So King Alfred passed away. He was fifty-two years old. His body was buried in the cathedral at Winchester, and his kingdom passed peacefully to his son.

Alfred’s people loved and admired him: he was so calm and patient, so earnest and sincere, so eager to please them and to do them good, and so careless of his own pleasure. Alfred the Truth-teller they called him: afterwards he was known as Alfred the Great.

Section 4: The Danes in England I.The Danish Conquest.

For more than a hundred years after the death of Alfred the Great, the English kings had to fight hard against fresh bands of Danes. First Alfred’s son Edward, then his grandson Athelstan, led their armies against the invaders, and showed themselves to be able warriors, as they were also good kings.

Athelstan won a splendid victory over a large force of Danes and Scots, in which five Danish kings and seven earls were among the slain. But, in course of time, there came to the throne kings who were neither so brave nor so wise as King Alfred and his family. The most foolish of these was Ethelred, who became known as the King of Ill-counsel.

It was in a very shameful way that he became king. His half-brother Edward was king, but his mother wished Ethelred, her other son, to reign. One day Edward was out riding in the country, and, becoming very thirsty, he called at the house of his stepmother, and asked for something to drink. She came to the door herself, bringing a cup of wine which Edward took from her hand, still sitting on his horse. While he was drinking, one of his stepmother’s servants came behind him, and stabbed him in the back. Edward put his horse to the gallop, but soon became faint from the loss of blood, and fell from the saddle. His foot stuck in the stirrup, and he was dragged along the ground by his startled horse until he died.

Ethelred then became king, and the reign thus badly

begun went on badly. Danes came in large numbers over the sea; they sailed up the Humber, slaying and robbing; they even sailed up the Thames and threatened London.

The foolish king paid them a large sum of money to leave England, but they soon returned, and laid waste the country worse than before. Ethelred again gave them money, which he got together by putting a tax upon the people. This tax was known as Danegeld, that is, Dane-money.

Then there came into Ethelred’s mind the terrible thought of killing the Danes who were settled in his kingdom. On St. Brice’s day his plan was carried out. The English slew all the Danes upon whom they could lay hands men, women, and children. Among those who were killed was the sister of the Danish King Sweyn, who, when he heard the news, swore to take England from Ethelred.

For several years the Danes kept up their attacks on England, destroying churches, burning towns and villages, and slaying without mercy. Then, with one mighty effort, they overcame the last feeble defence of the English, captured Oxford, Winchester, and London, and drove Ethelred in flight over sea to Normandy.

II. The Danish Kings.

Sweyn, the king of Denmark, died only a few weeks after the flight of Ethelred, who then returned to his kingdom. The English king died two years later, and his son, Edmund Ironside, became king.

Edmund at once had to fight against Canute, the son of Sweyn. Five great battles were fought, in some of which Edmund was the victor. But at the battle of Ashdown, in Essex, the English were beaten by the Danes, and then the kingdom was divided between Edmund and Canute.

Only a few months afterwards Edmund died, and then

Canute became sole king of England. Canute was a little man, but as bold and fierce as a lion, and a most able warrior.

As a king he showed himself both wise and merciful. He kept the country at peace, and took care that justice was done, in this way earning the love of his people. He paid great respect to the Church, and once went as a pilgrim to Rome. He gave splendid gifts to churches and religious houses, and was a good friend to the monks.

An old story tells how he was going one day by boat to Ely to keep a church festival, and heard the sweet song of the monks as he came near. Then he bade the rowers sing with him, and composed a little song for them to sing —

Merrily sang the monks in Ely, As Canute the king rowed by. Row, boatmen, near the land, And let us hear the monks sing.

There is another story, which shows what good sense Canute had. Some of his courtiers used to flatter him, and say that so great was he that even the sea would obey him.

One day, when the king was by the seashore with his courtiers, the waves came rolling up the sand nearer and nearer to Canute’s feet. He sternly bade them go back, and when they still came on, he turned to the lords, saying, “One only is there who can say to the sea, thus far shalt thou come and no farther.” And the lords sank their heads in shame, knowing that the king meant God, and that he intended by these words to rebuke them for their senseless flattery.

When Canute died the nation grieved, for he had ruled wisely. His two sons, who reigned after him in turn, were savage, foolish men, in no way fit for their high place.

After a reign of two years, the second of them died in a drunken revel at the house of one of his lords. Then the crown passed away from the Danes, and went to Edward, son of Ethelred, a quiet, saintly man, forty-one years of age.

Section

5: The Norman Conquest I. Harold’s Oath.

In the hall of a Norman castle, one day, there were met together many noble warriors and proud churchmen. Among the company were two men who seemed to be of more importance than the rest, for all eyes were bent on them.

One was a tall, dark man, whose strong frame and stern look marked him out as a leader of men. The other also was tall and big, but his hair was fair and his eyes were blue; and, while his look was proud, there was something of discontent in it.

The dark man was William, Duke of Normandy the fair man was Harold, Earl of Wessex. The former was head of a race of men descended from fierce Northmen who had made a home for themselves in the north of France. The latter was the most powerful man in England.

At this time Harold was William’s guest, or rather his prisoner. For, sailing down the English Channel, his vessel had been wrecked on the Norman shore, and William had taken him from the nobleman upon whose land he had been cast.

William was glad to get Harold into his power. Both these strong men were aiming at the crown of England, and William had made up his mind to gain Harold’s support for himself, by fair means or foul.

So he had gathered his chief men together to hear Harold take an oath to him. In the middle of the hall was what

appeared to be a table covered with a velvet cloth. By this Harold stood, and there, lifting up his right hand, he swore a solemn oath that he would be William’s man, and help him to become king of England.

Instantly the cloth was removed, and Harold saw, not a table, but a chest with a glass top, within which lay holy relics of the Saints. In the belief of the men of that time, Harold’s oath was made more solemn by being spoken above these relics.

Thus English Harold, though wishing to be king of England himself, was tricked into promising to help a Norman to be king. How was it possible for either of these men to entertain such a wish?

The king of England at that time was Edward, the son of Ethelred, known from his pious life as Edward the Confessor. He was a good man, with a fine face and kingly manners, and was beloved by his people for his wise rule and his love of peace.

Edward had no children. The heir to the throne was a child, Edgar the Atheling, a grandson of Edmund Ironside. In those stirring times kingdoms needed at their head strong men, and not boys.

Earl Harold was a strong man a brave soldier who had showed some signs of having the qualities of a king. Thus, though he was not of royal blood, he was looked upon by many of the English as the fittest man to succeed Edward.

Duke William was also a strong man. From his youth up he had had to fight hard for his dukedom; he had never lost a battle, and was famed as the greatest warrior in Europe.

King Edward had passed his childhood in Normandy, and loved the Norman people and their ways. He gathered Normans about him at his English court, and once, when William went to visit him in England, Edward is said to have made a sort of promise that William should be king after him. Now it will be seen why Duke William was so glad to get Earl Harold

into his power, and why he made him swear so solemn an oath.

II. The Battle of Hastings.

Edward died, and the Council of Wise Men, the great national council of England, chose Harold to be their king. When the news reached Duke William, he was speechless with rage.

At once he resolved to win the crown of England by force of arms. First he sent messengers to Harold, demanding that he should keep his oath. But Harold replied that a forced oath was not binding, and that he had been chosen king by the votes of the Wise Men of England.

William then set about gathering together a huge army for the conquest of England. He sent word to the Pope how Harold had broken the oath taken so solemnly over holy relics, and asked his leave to punish so wicked a man. The Pope gave his consent, and sent him a banner which he had blessed.

William, having got together his army, with much labor built a fleet of ships to carry it to England. Meanwhile Harold was preparing to defend his kingdom.

Suddenly the English received news that an army had invaded them on the north. Tostig, one of Harold’s brothers, had been banished from his English earldom because he illused his people. He had now returned to take revenge, and with him was Harold Hardrada, the fierce king of Norway, to help him in battle.

Harold of England hurried northward with a small army, met the invaders at Stamford Bridge in Yorkshire, and defeated them in a great battle. Tostig and the king of Norway were both slain.

While resting at York, Harold heard that William the

Norman had landed on the south coast. Hurrying with all speed southward, collecting forces as he went, Harold came within reach of his enemy a fortnight after the landing. Against the advice of his friends, he decided at once to risk a battle. He drew up his army on the hill of Senlac, a few miles from Hastings, and there awaited the Norman attack.

Most of the English were foot-soldiers, armed with huge axes. The Normans were strong in horse-soldiers, and had also some archers. Again and again the Normans fell back before the terrible English battle-axes. William himself was struck from his horse, and a cry arose that he was slain. “I live!” he shouted, tearing off his helmet so that his men might see his face; “and by God’s help will conquer yet!”

Presently he drew off part of his troops as if he meant to flee. Harold’s eager men, forgetting his order not to stir from their posts, poured down the hill in pursuit. Then the Normans turned round, and, pressing firmly in good order up the hill, smote down the broken ranks of the English.

Still a fierce fight was kept up at the top of the hill, where Harold and his faithful body-guard wielded their deadly axes around their banner. William ordered his archers to shoot their arrows in the air, so that they might fall on the bare heads of the English. An arrow pierced Harold’s right eye, and, as he tore it out, he was struck to the ground by a Norman knight.

Over his dead body the fight raged on until not a man of his guards was left alive. Then darkness put an end to the battle. William had won his title of “the Conqueror,” and sat down to eat and drink among the dead.

III.Completion of the Conquest.

The Normans won the battle of Hastings because they were better armed and better trained than the English, and

because William was a more skilful general than Harold. But the winning of this one battle did not give William the whole of England.

At first the English, having no great and trusted leader, made little resistance to the Conqueror, who was crowned king at Westminster on Christmas Day. But when he returned to Normandy to look after affairs there, his English subjects rose in rebellion in many parts of the country.

If they had joined together under one strong leader, they might perhaps have driven out the Normans. But their chief men were jealous of one another, and the men of the north would not help the men of the south.

The men of Kent took arms against the cruel Odo, William’s brother, who had been left to guard the kingdom. The men of Yorkshire sought help from the Danes against the Normans. In the southwest, Harold’s mother raised a rebellion against William, and the city of Exeter refused to own him as king.

When William had settled his business in Normandy, he returned to England and set about finishing his conquest. He put down the men of Kent, then marched to the west, and took Exeter after a siege of nearly three weeks. He showed mercy to the brave defenders, but built a castle to keep them down in future, and made them pay him large sums of money.

Then he marched northwards, and Edwin and Morcar, the northern earls, gave in to him. But a year afterwards, help came from Denmark, and the north broke out again in rebellion.

William bribed the Danish leaders to desert the English. Then, in order to punish the rebels so fearfully that they would never dare to rise up again, he laid waste the north of England.

Crops and cattle were destroyed, farms and all that belonged to them were burned. Hundreds of men, women, and children lost their homes and died of hunger. Some people

kept themselves alive by eating horse flesh, some even ate the dead bodies of their fellow-men. Others sold themselves as slaves to the Normans.

Thus a district which once had been fertile became a dreary waste. For many years afterwards, the unploughed fields and the blackened remains of ruined homesteads told the tale of the Conqueror’s cruelty.

IV. Hereward.

When William had put down the rebels in the north, almost all England was his. Only in one part of the country was a firm stand still made against him.

In the eastern counties there was a swampy district called the Isle of Ely, where a small spot of dry land rose above the rivers and fens which shut it in. On this spot a bold Englishman named Hereward formed his camp.

Here for nearly a year a fierce band of Englishmen held out against the Normans. To the Camp of Refuge, as it was called, came many bold and desperate men who would not have the Normans for their masters. They made their home within a monastery, where they kept their weapons hanging from the roof in constant readiness for use.

William went up with an army, but at first he could not get within reach of the rebels, because of the water. So he began to build a great causeway of wood and stone, by which he might lead his men over the swamps.

Many stories are told of Hereward’s deeds — how he went to the Norman camp, once dressed as a potter, another time as a fisherman, to find out all he could about his enemy.

At last, some of the monks, wishing to find favor with William, showed him a secret way into the Camp of Refuge. The Normans entered and slew many of the rebels; they also took many prisoners.

Even then Hereward was not beaten, for he escaped to a ship which was kept ready for him close by. He sailed away, but came back at times and made himself a terror to the Normans.

At last he was either defeated or he gave himself up to William. Some stories say that he was taken into favor by William, who gave him lands, and took him to Normandy to help him in his French wars.

V. Results of the Conquest. (1)

William had shown himself strong enough to master the country; he now showed himself wise enough to govern it. In the first place, to prevent all disputes, he said that all the land of England was his, and he gave much of it to his Norman followers.

To keep down the people, he built many strong castles, such as the Tower of London. In these, soldiers were kept in readiness to put down any attempt at rebellion. In order to make his hold on the country still more strong and firm, William bound the nation to himself by means of the feudal system, which had already existed in France and Germany for two hundred years. This was as follows:

Every man who received land from the king had to do homage to him, that is, to swear to be his man and serve him in war with a certain number of soldiers. Such a man was called a tenant-in-chief, and the land he held was called his fee or feud.

He might let out his land in portions to tenants of his own, who had to make to him the same promise that he had made to the king. Thus in time of war the king would summon his tenants-in-chief; they would summon their tenants, and in this way a large army was brought together. Most of William’s tenants-in-chief were Normans, upon whom he could depend

to obey his call.

It was important for William to know all about the land which he had thus got. He therefore sent men into all parts of the country, to find out who the owners had been in the days of King Edward, who the present owners were, how much their holdings were worth, and what number of cattle and sheep they owned.

The answers to these and other questions were written in a book called Domesday Book, or book of judgment, which is still to be seen in the British Museum.

This inquiry offended the people, who said it was a shame for the king to set down in the book every yard of land and every cow or pig they owned. But the book was of real value in helping William to govern in an orderly way.

Another act of William’s caused great anger and had terrible results. This was the clearing of the New Forest. William was fond of hunting, and marked off several wide districts where stags were kept for his sole pleasure.

One of these districts was in Hampshire, and was called the New Forest. There people were turned out of their homes, and villages were destroyed, in order that the land might be made into a hunting-ground.

Severe laws were made, punishing very heavily any man who hunted in the king’s grounds. Thus the king, in seeking his pleasure, caused misery to many people. In the course of time he brought misery on himself too. For, before he died, a son and a grandson of his both met their deaths in the New Forest, most likely by the hands of angry men who had lost their homes and lands when the forest was enclosed.

The Conqueror’s son, William the Red (Rufus), who became king after him, was also murdered in the Forest. People said that these deaths in the Conqueror’s family were God’s punishment for his cruelty.

VI. Results of the Conquest. ( 2)

The Norman Conquest brought much distress on Englishmen. The Norman landowners harshly treated those who were under them, and men who had once been free, with land of their own, now became bond-servants on the land of others.

But in the end the Conquest was of the greatest benefit to England. Before, the country had not been really united. Parts of it had been ruled by great earls who were almost as powerful as the king, and this was not good for the people.

With William, however, the power of the king greatly increased, and his rule, while hard and stern, was firm and rested on law. This was bound to have good results in time.

The invasion of England by the Normans had other good results. England had not had much to do with the rest of Europe; and Englishmen, living in their snug little island, thought of nothing but their own concerns.

They did not learn the new things that were being learned by the rest of Europe. They were slow-going, backward in trade, in art, in knowledge; their manners were rough, and their buildings clumsy.

The Normans brought with them improvements in all these things. They knew how to build; they were lively and dashing in manner; they loved art, and were more polite and “gentlemanly” than the English. In short, they woke up old England, and gave new life to the nation.

Although at first they treated the English as a conquered race, the two peoples soon became one. The Norman brightness and charm joined with the English solid strength to form the mighty race which now peoples and governs so great a part of the globe.

The Normans spoke a kind of French, and at first the Norman nobles and their English dependents could not

understand one another. But by and by French words and forms were taken into the English language. The rough old English speech was much improved by this mixture with the smoother French. The English language thus formed is now the finest language in the world, and is spoken by far more people than speak any other.

Section 6: The Story of Henry the Second

I. Henry’s Title and Character.

Two sons of William the Conqueror were in turn kings of England. The first of them, William the Red, was an able but wicked man, and no one grieved when he was found dead in New Forest, with an arrow through his heart.

The second of them, Henry I., was also an able man, and he pleased the English far more than his father and brother had done. He tried to deal justly and kindly with the English, and to make all men obey the law, great nobles as well as poor people.

When he died, leaving no son, there broke out a terrible war between his daughter Maud and his nephew Stephen, who both wished to be sovereign. At length, it was agreed that Stephen should be king until his death, and that then Maud’s son Henry should rule the country.

Henry became King Stephen’s adopted son, and when Stephen died in 1154, the nation gladly accepted the young man, only twenty-one years old, as their king.

During Stephen’s reign, the country had been in great misery. Stephen himself was a good-humored and generous man, but, during the long civil war, he had been unable to defend the people from the cruelty of the great lords. Knowing that Henry II. was a strong and able man, the nation looked to him for relief. They were not disappointed.

Henry’s father had been the lord of a large domain in France. Henry’s wife Eleanor was the duchess of another

French province, and he was himself the Duke of Normandy. Thus the English king was lord of a greater part of France than was the French king himself.

Henry was a strongly built man, with square broad shouldders and thick neck. His face was ruddy and freckled, and his hair was red, and cropped short. He had long powerful arms, and hands as rough as any ploughman’s. He rode on horseback so much that his legs were somewhat bandy. His voice was harsh and cracked, and when he was angry, his flashing gray eyes made him look terrible.

He was a restless and busy man. Indeed, so hard a worker was he that his servants prayed God to make their master a little more quiet. He dressed plainly, and lived on simple food, and would patiently spend whole days and nights in trying to think out plans by which to govern his people.

Though he was a fine soldier and a great general, he was a lover of peace, and showed himself full of pity for the wounded. While he could not speak English, he knew several other languages, and was fond of reading, and of talking with learned men.

He had a very hot and fiery temper, and would sometimes roll about on the ground in his rage. Things he had once read, the faces of people he had once seen, rarely slipped from his memory, and he was faithful to his friends and unforgiving to his enemies. He paid great attention to his religious duties; indeed, he was a strange mixture of good and bad.

II.Henry’s Work f or England (1)

Henry proved himself to be one of the greatest kings that England has ever had. Early in his reign, he set to work to put down all those lords who brought misery on the people and who were a trouble to himself.

These lords had built castles in different parts of the

country, where they acted like little kings. The people around were entirely subject to them; they could be imprisoned and put to death at their lord’s pleasure, and suffered much in many ways. Many of the lords waged war against one another, so that it became impossible for people to till the ground, and their flocks and herds were always in danger.

Henry destroyed many of these castles; he made the lords understand that he would have the laws obeyed. The king himself travelled rapidly through the land, to find out exactly how the people lived, and how his officers treated them. He went from place to place so quickly, and took so little notice of difficulties, that he disgusted his servants and courtiers. Sometimes they would journey to a town where there were not enough houses for them to lodge in, and they had to put up with miserable huts, or even to sleep on the ground. They sometimes had no food but stale fish, and the coarsest black bread.

One of the king’s servants wrote: “If the king has proclaimed that he intends to stop late in any place, you may be sure that he will start very early in the morning, and with his sudden haste destroy every one ’ s plans. You will see men running about like mad, urging forward their pack-horses, driving their wagons into one another, everything in the utmost disorder.

“Whereas, if the king has given out that he will start early in the morning, he will certainly change his mind, and you may be sure he will snore till noon. You will see the packhorses drooping under their loads, wagons waiting, drivers nodding, tradesmen fretting, all grumbling at one another.”

Ashe passed through the country, Henry heard lawsuits, settled cases which people thought the judges had not tried properly, and drew up charters granting rights and favors to towns and traders. He was thoroughly honest and just, and made himself a terror to all false judges and cruel and unruly lords.

III.Henry’s Work for England (2)

Henry’s great work was the drawing up of a new plan of carrying out the law, which did much for the welfare and freedom of Englishmen. Up to his reign, most of the law business of the country had been done at the shire-courts. These were meetings held at certain times, in each county, and were attended by the lords of the county, the sheriff, the clergy, and people from the towns.

Here, if a man brought a charge against another man, he had to bring witnesses to support it. The accused man had to bring persons who could speak well of him, and very often the question whether he was guilty or not was settled by the votes of the whole meeting.

Sometimes he was tried by the method called Ordeal. He had to plunge his hand into boiling water, or to walk a certain number of paces holding a red-hot iron. If he received no hurt, he was believed to be innocent.

This way of settling disputes was very rough and ready, and often led to further quarrels. So Henry resolved to make some great changes. There was a King’s Court in London, where the work was done by trained lawyers and judges. But few people went to it, for in those days travelling was difficult and cost much money.

So Henry sent judges to hold Assizes in all parts of the country. The judges went on circuit, as it is called, visiting one place after another. They thus took the law to the people, instead of making people come to the law. In this way right was done, and the people knew that they could now have some protection against their lords.

The result of this was that the nation began to grow prosperous. The land was tilled, and gave good crops; farms were safely stocked with sheep and cattle; trade grew in the towns.

Monasteries sprang up all over the country, and became

centres of trade. Round the houses of the monks clustered barns and storehouses. The monks employed men to drain swamps, to turn stagnant water into running streams, to make roads and build mills.

In Henry’s reign, taxes were first paid to the king in money. In former reigns they had been paid in goods, such as corn, game, fish, eggs, cattle, honey, and beer.

Knowledge and learning spread. Teachers gathered pupils about them at Oxford and other places, and English scholars went abroad, to France and Italy, to learn law, art, and science.

IV. Thomas Becket.

One of the greatest figures of Henry’s reign, the first Englishman since the Conquest who rose to be head of the English Church, was Thomas of London. In those days family surnames were not known, but Thomas is generally called Thomas Becket, after his father Gilbert Becket.

He was born in 1118, in the London street called Cheapside. His father was a well-to-do merchant, and rose to be port-reeve, or, as he would now be called, Lord Mayor of London. Thomas was well brought up. He was taught in London and in Paris, and after serving for a time in a London office, he was taken into the household of Theobald, Archbishop of Canterbury.

He soon became a great favorite with the archbishop. Slight and pale, with dark hair, long nose and straight features, he had a merry face and a keen mind. He stuttered slightly, but pleased every one by his frank and winning conversation.

He was soon employed in important business, and received many favors towards the end of Stephen’s reign. He became a deacon in the Church, and when Henry came to

the throne, the archbishop advised the king to make his favorite Thomas chancellor of the kingdom.

Thomas was very learned and industrious, and gave the king much help in his great and difficult work. Henry, like everybody else, became fond of his chancellor. They were always together. They sat together in hall and Church, rode out hunting together, fought side by side in battle, and together played many a pleasant game of chess.

Thomas lived in splendid style. He dressed in scarlet and furs, and in robes costly with cloth of gold. His household was of enormous size, and he had young nobles of the highest order to wait on him. His tables groaned under the weight of his gold and silver plate, and in the great London shops where cooked foods were sold, it was always Thomas’s servants who bought the choicest dishes for their master, and paid the highest prices.

Henry delighted to honor his excellent servant. He gave him rich gifts, and treated him as his dearest friend. Sometimes he would go to the great hall where Thomas was dining, and spring over the table and sit down by his side.

V. Becket Quarrels with Henry.

For several years the king and the chancellor were the best of friends. Then the Archbishop of Canterbury died, and Henry chose Becket to fill his place.

Instantly there was coolness between the old friends, for a great change took place in Becket’s way of life. He put off his fine clothes and wore sackcloth: the black frock of the monk took the place of the chancellor’s fur-lined cloak. His table was still loaded with dainty food, but the poor and not the noble were now his guests.

His gay servants were sent away, and his household was formed of forty solemn monks, with whom he spent hours in

prayer and study. He visited the sick: every day he washed the feet of thirteen beggars.

This change of life offended Henry, who saw that he could no longer depend on Becket doing what he wished. The archbishop put his duty to the Church higher than his duty to the king.

The first quarrel was about a land-tax, by which the king wished to obtain a large sum of money. Becket said that the manner in which this money was to be got was unjust, and Henry, being in the wrong, had to give way.

But a greater quarrel was about the Church courts. Clergymen who wronged their fellow-men were not tried by the king’s judges, but by courts of clergymen. Henry thought that the punishments put upon the clergy by these courts were not severe enough, and wished that all men, whether holding offices in the Church or not, should be tried by the common law of the land.

Becket declared that the Church would not give up its rights, and at first the bishops supported him. But when Henry threatened to take away their offices and their lands, they gave way, and Becket was left alone.

The bishops and the Pope begged him to let the king have his way, and at length he agreed to do so. Then Henry called a great council at Clarendon in Wiltshire. Here Becket changed his mind, and the king gave way to a furious burst of anger against his old friend.

The king’s servants broke into the hall where the bishops were sitting, and brandished their axes above their heads. With tears and cries the bishops fell on their knees and besought Becket to give way.

At last he said, “I am ready to keep the customs of the kingdom.” Henry at once ordered these customs to be written down, and the famous Constitutions of Clarendon were put together.

When Becket was asked to sign and seal this writing, he

cried, “While I live I will never set my seal to it.” But he appears to have given way at last, though unwillingly.

VI.The Council of Northampton.

The Constitutions of Clarendon settled that the clergy should be tried by the common law, but Becket refused to obey them. “I will humble thee,” cried the king, “and will restore thee to the place from whence I took thee.”

A certain John the Marshal made a charge against Becket in the king’s court. Becket refused to appear there, and appealed to the Pope, but the king’s council sentenced him to pay a fine.

Then Henry held a council at Northampton, at which he called on Becket to give an account of certain moneys he had received as chancellor. Becket agreed to pay the king part of the money, but this was refused, and he was allowed a few days in which to submit entirely.

The last days of the council came, and the bishops begged of Becket to obey the king. But the archbishop ordered them to be silent; he put on his robes and said mass, and then set out for the castle where the council was held, only two of his servants riding with him.

In his right hand he held his archbishop’s cross, and crowds of people thronged about him, weeping, and asking for his blessing, for they believed that that day he should be slain. When the king heard of his coming, he retired with his chief officers to the upper room where he held private council. A messenger was sent to Becket demanding that he should withdraw his appeal to the Pope. He refused, and the barons cried out in anger when the messenger returned with the news.

Then the lords passed sentence against Becket, declaring him a traitor, and the Earl of Leicester was sent to pronounce

judgment. As the earl entered the hall where the bishops sat, the archbishop sprang up and raised his cross aloft. “By the right of my office I forbid you to pronounce the sentence,” he cried.

The nobles drew back, and, still holding his cross, Becket said, “I also withdraw, for the hour is past.” As he passed proudly down the hall, cries of “traitor!” were raised, and knights and barons followed him almost mad with rage.

That night, helped by the darkness and a terrible storm, Becket fled from Northampton, and in a few days escaped to France. When Henry heard the news, for a moment he could scarcely speak for wrath. Then he thundered out, “We have not done with him yet!”

VII. The End of Becket.

For six years Becket remained abroad, and the Pope in vain tried to make peace between him and Henry. At length the archbishop found another cause of complaint.

Henry wished the kingdom to pass at his death to his eldest son, and in order to insure that there should be no trouble he decided to have the boy crowned during his father’s lifetime. This was a plan adopted with success by the kings of France.

He therefore had his young son, Henry, crowned in Becket’s absence by the Archbishop of York. But the right of crowning belonged to the Archbishop of Canterbury, and the Pope declared that all who had taken part in the ceremony were cast out of the Church.

Henry thought now that it would be wise to make friends with Becket, so he met him in France, and promised that he should return in safety to England, and that the crowning should be performed over again by himself.

But the friendship was not sincere. As soon as Becket

returned to England, he again declared that he would punish the bishops, who thereupon fled across the sea to Henry in France. “What a pack of fools and cowards I have nourished in my house,” cried the angry king, “that not one of them will avenge me of this one upstart clerk!”

Four knights who heard this hasty speech secretly left the court, and crossed with all speed to England. They hurried to Canterbury, and, seeking Becket, they demanded that he should at once submit to the king.

When Becket refused with bitter words, the knights withdrew to arm themselves. It was time for evening service, and, putting on his mitre and robes, against the advice of his friends, the archbishop went into the cathedral.

A noise was heard at the doors; they were burst in; and as the knights rushed forward, the monks fled, leaving Becket alone at the head of a flight of steps.

One of the knights cried, “Where is the traitor Becket?”

“Here!” cried the archbishop, “no traitor, but priest of God!”

Another tried to drag him down. “Come,” he said, “thou art our prisoner.” Becket thrust him headlong down the steps.

“Away! Thou art my vassal!” he cried.

One faithful monk was wounded in defence of his master. Then the knights fell upon Becket, struck off his mitre, and pierced him with many wounds. Becket fell dead, and as the murderers left the cathedral, a terrible thunder-storm broke over the place.

The murder of Becket caused great distress to Henry. For three days he ate nothing; for five weeks he refused to see any visitors. Some years later he visited Canterbury, passed a whole night in prayer before Becket’s tomb, and in the morning asked the monks to whip his bare back, in token of his sorrow for the wicked deed.

Becket was looked upon as a martyr, and the people loved and honored his memory, and went as pilgrims to his tomb.

VIII. Henry’s Last Years.

Henry II. was the first English king who tried to conquer Ireland. The people of that country, who were of a different race from the English, were ruled by many kings, each at the head of a small kingdom of his own, and the kings were almost constantly at war one with another.

Several of these kings joined together, and drove away a king who had offended them. He fled to Henry, did homage to him, and got leave to obtain the help of some English lords and knights, so that he might get back his Irish throne again.

By the aid of Richard de Clare, commonly known as Strongbow, and of other knights, the Irish king was restored. Then the English knights fought against the Irish, and also against the Danes who had settled in Ireland, and took much of the land for themselves.

Henry at last crossed to Ireland himself, in order to prevent his knights from getting beyond his rule and government. He restored order and received homage, but he soon had to leave the country, and then disorder and bloodshed broke out again.

Henry was recalled from Ireland by a revolt of his barons. The power of the barons had been much reduced by Henry’s wise measures, and they smarted under his iron rule. Numbers of lords, both in England and Normandy, joined together to fight against him.

He acted with wonderful energy. The king of France was amazed at the speed with which Henry went about his work.

“The king of England,” he said, “is now in Ireland, now in England, now in Normandy; he may rather be said to fly than to go by horse or boat.”

Henry crushed the rebellion everywhere, but he never again enjoyed rest. His own sons, of whom he was fond, and to whom he had given many lands, rebelled against him.

Henry loved his sons too well to fight against them in deadly earnest. He was forgiving, and wished to be at peace with them. Two of them were removed by death, but the two who were left, Richard and John, still troubled their father.

At length Richard joined with the king of France in making war on Henry. The English king seemed to have lost his former power; he was old, and weary, and ill, and hardly escaped defeat.

Then he had to give way to the demands of the French king. He had to do homage to him for his lands in France, to pay him a large sum of money, and to give up some castles to him.

After agreeing with bitter sorrow to all this, he was carried in a litter to his castle at Chinon. There a list was brought to him of those who had rebelled. He ordered his chancellor to read it, and the very first name that he heard was that of John, his youngest and favorite son.

“Is it true,” the poor king cried, “that John, my very heart, whom I have loved beyond all my sons, has forsaken me?”

Then he lay down and turned his face to the wall. “Now you have said enough,” he murmured; “let all the rest go as it will, I care no more for myself and the world.”

“Shame on a conquered king!” were the words constantly on his lips. Then in a few days he died.

Section 7: The Crusades and Richard the First

I. What the Crusades Were.

In the year 1094 a small, thin, haggard man might have been seen travelling through France on an ass, and stopping here and there to speak to the people who came about him.

His head and feet were bare; his cheeks were hollow and worn with suffering. In his hand he carried a crucifix, which, as he addressed the people, he raised high above his head. Rich and poor came in crowds to hear what he had to say, and as they listened to his stories of dreadful cruelty, they groaned and shed tears.

This man was Peter the Hermit, who had gone as a pilgrim to the tomb of Christ in Palestine. He had been cruelly treated, like many other Christian pilgrims, by the Turks, who then were masters of the holy place.

In those days people thought that God would be pleased with them, and would forgive them their sins, if they went to Jerusalem to pray at the tomb of Christ. But the Turks were followers of the prophet Mahomet, and did not believe in Christ, and they did horrible deeds of cruelty to the Christian pilgrims.

Now Peter had come to urge Christian people to raise a great army, and fight against these Turks, and rescue the sacred city from them. He preached so powerfully that hundreds and thousands of people were eager to do what he wished.

THE CRUSADES AND RICHARD THE FIRST

In the next year a great council was held at Clermont, in the south of France. Thousands of people gathered to hear a speech from Pope Urban. The Pope told them that, if they went to fight against the Turks in Palestine, sufferings and torments might be their lot; but though their bodies might suffer, their souls would be saved.

“It is the will of God!” shouted the people. “Yes, it is His will,” replied the Pope. “You are soldiers of the Cross; wear then on your breasts or on your shoulders the blood-red sign of Him who died for you.

This was the beginning of the Crusades, or Wars of the Cross. At different times in the course of two hundred years, nine of these wars were undertaken.

Many thousands of people “took the Cross,” that is, engaged to go and fight against the Turks. Large numbers of the Crusaders were sincerely anxious to do this, since they believed it to be a solemn duty. Others joined them simply because they liked fighting, and were eager to make great names for themselves.

Serfs were set free by their lords; criminals were let out of prison; debtors escaped from those to whom they owed money, in order to take part in the holy wars.

Men who had lived wicked lives took the Cross, believing that by fighting the infidels they would earn pardon for their worst sins. Lords sold their lands and ladies gave their jewels, in order to buy arms and horses for the knights and men-atarms who left their homes for the East.

Not one of the Crusades was really successful. Sometimes they failed because of the folly of those who took part in them. Great armies set out for the Holy Land without having taken the least care to provide food for the journey. Thousands of men and women died of starvation.

Sometimes they failed through quarrels among their leaders. They all failed in the end. Nevertheless, the Crusaders did take Jerusalem, and it was for a number of years the capital

of a Christian kingdom.

II. The Third Crusade.

Richard I. was the first English king who went on a crusade. Richard was a tall, handsome man, thirty-two years old when he became king; very strong and brave, and therefore called Lion-heart; fond of showy dress, and wasteful of money. He was a fine soldier, a good speaker, and a warm-hearted though not a good man.

Having raised great sums of money in all kinds of ways, Richard left England only six months after he became king. He was joined by the king of France and other great princes.

On arriving in Palestine, Richard, by his wonderful bravery and strength, struck terror into the hearts of his enemies. He took part in the siege of Acre, where Saladin, the great leader of the Turks, was forced to surrender. The king of France then returned home, leaving Richard to advance alone to Jerusalem. The English king came within sight of the sacred city, but had to retire without capturing it.

Soon afterwards, hearing of troubles in England, Richard resolved to return to his kingdom. His brother John, whom he had left behind, though not as ruler, was trying to take the kingdom from him, with the aid of the French king. So Richard made a truce with Saladin, and started on his homeward journey.

III. Richard’s Adventures and Death.

Sailing along the coast of Italy, Richard’s ship was wrecked, and he resolved to finish his journey overland. He had made enemies on the continent, and knew that the journey would be dangerous; but he thought that in his pilgrim’s

dress he would be safe.

He sent a servant of his, named Baldwin, to the lord of that part of the country, to ask leave for himself and “Hugh the Merchant” to pass through on their way home from pilgrimage. Baldwin took with him a costly ring as a present to the lord.

The lord looked at the ring, and said: “This jewel can only come from a king; that king must be Richard of England. Tell him he may come to me in peace.”

But “Hugh the Merchant” (as Richard called himself) did not trust the promise, and fled, leaving some of his companions in prison. He went on with one knight and a boy. The boy was sent to buy food at a market near Vienna, and, as he had plenty of money, the merchants were curious to know the name of his master.

He was forced to tell it, and then Richard’s house was surrounded by a troop of soldiers, who called on the king to come out as their prisoner. Richard refused to give himself up except to their lord, who happened to be Leopold, Duke of Austria.

Now Leopold had been with Richard in the Holy Land, and had become his bitter enemy. He was therefore glad to get Richard into his power. He put him in prison, but soon sold him to the German emperor for £60,000. Richard was then kept a prisoner in a strong castle.

For a time none of his subjects knew where their king was. At last, as the story says, his prison was discovered by his minstrel Blondel, who wandered all over Europe seeking his master.

Singing one day a song of Richard’s beneath a small window in a castle wall, the minstrel heard the voice of his master faintly echoing the song from within. Overjoyed at hearing once more the well-known voice, Blondel hastened to England with the good news that he had found the king’s prison. A large sum of money was at once raised to buy the

king’s freedom.

Richard returned to England after four years ’ absence, having spent one year in prison. He now remained in his kingdom only two months, during which, however, he put an end to the disorder caused by the rebellion of his brother John.

Richard spent his last years in war with the king of France. In the tenth year of his reign, he heard that a great treasure of gold had been found buried in the earth on an estate in the south of France. As the lord of this estate was a vassal of his, Richard demanded the larger share of the treasure. When this was refused, he besieged a castle belonging to the lord, The castle was strong, and held out stubbornly, though the king threatened to hang every man, woman, and child in it unless it were given up. One day, as he rode round it, an arrow shot from the wall struck him. His doctors were clumsy, and made his wound worse, and he knew that he must die.

When the castle was taken, the man who had wounded him was made prisoner, and brought before the dying king. “What have I done to you that you should kill me?” Richard asked. “You have slain my father and my brothers, and taken all that belonged to them,” was the reply.

Then the generous king forgave the man, and bade his servants let him go in peace. Thus Richard died, and he was buried with his father in a Norman abbey.

Section 8: King John & the Great Charter I.Signing of the Charter.

On a summer day, in the year 1215, a meadow near Windsor was the scene of an event which Englishmen look back upon as one of the most important events in their history.

The chief figure in the scene was a king — a king so bad that no other king of England has borne his name. It was John, whose rebellion had broken the heart of his father, Henry II.

John had been a bad son and a bad brother before he became a bad king. He had done his best to get the kingdom away from his brother Richard, who had in his noble way forgiven him. He was a mean, false, cruel man. When a lad, he had gone to Ireland on behalf of his father to receive the homage of the Irish chiefs, and amused himself there by pulling hairs out of their beards.

He was at heart a coward, but played the bully when he had nothing to fear. He was greedy and wasteful, slothful and stubborn, bad-tempered, and guilty of all kinds of wickedness. He actually put to death his own nephew, Arthur, a boy of sixteen, because some of his French subjects wished to have Arthur as their king.

And now, on this meadow of Runnymede, after sixteen years of misrule, King John was compelled to set his seal to a charter which made Englishmen forever free.

About him were grouped some of England’s greatest men.

There was Cardinal Stephen Langton, Archbishop of Canterbury, a wise and learned man, who loved England well. There were Robert Fitzwalter and William Marshal, great barons, who were ready to use their swords against the tyrant king. These men stood there while John unwillingly put his seal to the Charter drawn up by Langton.

How did this Great Charter make Englishmen free? Firstly, it settled what the rights of the people were, and showed that there were certain things which King John must not do. Secondly, it remained for future ages to refer to: whenever a king was inclined to act like a tyrant, there was the Great Charter for the people to appeal to. It was confirmed many times by succeeding kings; upon it other charters of liberty were based.

It laid down the rule that the king could not demand money from his people without the consent of the Council of the Realm. It declared that no freeman should be put in prison, or banished, or deprived of his goods until he had been judged by his equals according to the law of the land. The laborer’s tools, the merchant’s goods, were as carefully guarded as the wealth of the barons.

“To none will we sell or deny or delay right or justice” are the famous words of the Charter. In short, it secured liberty and justice for all high and low, rich and poor. Let us now see what events led up to the signing of the Great Charter.

II. Stephen Langton.

John brought upon himself much trouble, and upon England much disgrace, by his wilful folly.

The Archbishop of Canterbury having died, a new one had to be chosen. The right of choice lay with the monks of Canterbury. Some of the monks chose one man; others, acting under orders from John, elected one of John’s own

favorites. An appeal was made to the Pope, who set aside both these men, and caused an English cardinal, named Stephen Langton, to be made archbishop instead.

Langton was a great and good man. He was a hard worker and a learned writer; it was he who first divided the books of the Bible into chapters as they are at the present time. Above all, he tried to persuade John to rule well.

John was furious when he heard of what the Pope had done. For six years the new archbishop dared not come to England, so terrible were John’s threats. The monks of Canterbury were driven out of their monastery, and the church lands were seized.

In order to force John to admit the archbishop and restore the monks, the Pope laid the country under an Interdict, that is, he ordered churches to be shut up, forbade services to be held, and would not even allow the burial service to be used.

John did not care for this; the trouble fell only on the people. Then the Pope declared that the king was no longer a member of the Church, and that he must be shunned as an outcast. The Pope also ordered Philip, king of France, to take John’s kingdom from him. When John found that Philip -was preparing to do so, and that his own lords were deserting him, he gave way.

He allowed Langton to go to England; he promised to give back to the Church the lands he had taken from it. He even gave his kingdom to the Pope, and did homage to him for it; he agreed to pay him a large yearly tribute. These were disgraceful things for any English king to do.

Meanwhile the barons were growing more and more weary of John’s rule. Heavy taxes were laid upon them, and in many ways they were shamefully treated. The common people fared no better.

At length, at a council held in London, Stephen Langton brought out and read to the clergy and barons the Charter of Henry I., in which that king had promised to rule England

according to English law. The barons solemnly swore to compel John to rule according to this Charter.

Some time after, when John sent to ask what the barons wanted, Langton, as their spokesman, went to him, and read out the articles which afterwards became the Great Charter. Then John flew into a rage, and declared that he would never agree to them. “Why do they not demand my kingdom also?” he cried.

The barons at once took up arms under Robert Fitzwalter, and were gladly welcomed by the citizens of London. Finding that his party was growing less and less, and the party of the barons stronger and stronger, the king at last gave way. At Runnymede, as we have seen, he signed the Great Charter of English freedom.

III. Last Days of King John.

After John had signed the Great Charter, some of the foreign captains whom he had hired to fight for him taunted him with being only a puppet king. John flew into a terrible rage. He flung himself on the ground, gnashing with his teeth.

Then, to show how little he cared for the Charter, he set about revenging himself on the barons. He got together an army of foreign soldiers, and the barons, fearing that they might be overcome, sought help from France.

Louis, the son of the French king, went over at once with an army. He landed in Kent, and, with the aid of the English barons, made himself master of several towns and castles.

The king, meanwhile, went about the country with his foreign army, destroying houses and castles, burning crops, plundering and slaying. At length, he was one day fording the river Welland with his troops. The tide came up before the whole army had crossed, and washed away all the king’s baggage, while many of his soldiers were drowned.

This caused such vexation to John that it made him ill. The same night at supper he ate heartily of some peaches, and drank a quantity of new beer. The result was a fever, of which he died. His death saved England from great troubles. The barons no longer needed the help of the French, and Louis had to return, though unwillingly, to his own country. The new king was John’s son Henry, a boy nine years of age, and the people hoped that the great barons would teach the young king to rule wisely and justly.

Section 9: Earl Simon of Montfort I. Governor of Gascony.

In the reign of John, a great churchman was the leader of those who stood up boldly against misrule. In the reign of John’s son, Henry III., the lead was taken by a great baron.

Simon of Montfort was not by birth an Englishman. He was the son of a great French warrior lord, and was born about the year 1208. Brought up in the north of France, at the castle of Montfort from which he took his name, he went as a young man to England, and was kindly received by King Henry.

He was handsome, brave, and skilful in war; indeed, he was reckoned the finest soldier of his day. When he married Henry’s sister Eleanor, and by and by succeeded to the earldom of Leicester, he became the most striking and important figure at the English court.

It was not very long before a quarrel arose between Simon and the king. Henry was a weak, foolish king: a far better man than his father, but of feeble will and fretful temper.

The exact cause of his quarrel with Simon is not known, but he made such charges against the earl that Simon felt himself obliged to leave England. He went on a crusade, but when he returned he overlooked Henry’s unkindness, and fought well for him in some battles in France.

A few years later, Simon thought of going on another crusade, but other work was given him to do. Gascony, a province in the south of France, was the only one of all Henry II.’s French lands which now belonged to the English king.

There were constant troubles in the province. Many of the lords wished to have the king of France for their king instead of Henry. There was no peace in the country, and the state of the poorer people was very wretched.

Henry made Simon governor of Gascony, knowing that he was wise and brave and a skilful leader. Simon proved a stern and terrible governor. He destroyed castles belonging to the rebel lords, and put down the bands of robber knights who roamed over the country burning and plundering; he took the part of the poor and weak against the rich and strong.

Several times he put down revolts, and spent immense sums of his own money in the service of the king. Henry showed himself very ungrateful. He listened to mean and spiteful stories about Simon, which said that the troubles in Gascony were caused by the governor’s cruelty.

Simon demanded to be tried before his fellow-lords, and at the trial he made a strong defence against the charges brought against him. He finished with the scornful cry, “Your testimony against me is worthless, for you are all liars and traitors!”

Simon’s defence was so good that the company of lords with one voice declared him innocent. But the very next day the king picked a quarrel with the earl. Simon asked Henry to keep a promise he had made when appointing him governor of Gascony. Henry replied that he would keep no promise made to a traitor.

“That word is a lie!” Simon cried angrily; “and were you not my sovereign, an ill hour would it be for you in which you dared to utter it.”

A few days later Henry said to him, “Go back to Gascony, thou lover and maker of strife!” Simon quietly answered, “Gladly will I go; nor do I think to return till I have made thine enemies thy footstool, ungrateful though thou be.”

II. The Provisions of Oxford.

One of Henry’s worst faults was his fondness for foreigners. His court was filled with Frenchmen and Italians, who treated the English barons with pride and scorn. Henry spent large sums of money upon them, and most of’ this had to be supplied by the English barons. They had to get the money from their tenants, and the whole nation suffered.

Another thing in which Henry displeased his people was his support of the Pope. Up to the reign of John, the Pope had been looked up to only as the head of the Church; but when John actually gave up his kingdom to him, he began to claim much more power in England than he had ever had before.

The clergy and the barons were obliged to give him much money. He made foreigners the ministers of English churches, and some of them never went to England at all, but enjoyed the wealth of their English offices at their foreign homes. This was unfair to the English clergy.

These and other things were so galling to the barons that they made up their minds to put a stop to them. A meeting of the Great Council, or Parliament as it now began to be called, took place at Oxford.

Here Henry was obliged to consent to the Provisions of Oxford, a plan of reform drawn up by Simon and his friends. The foreign favorites were to be sent away, and the king was only to act by the advice of a special council of fifteen. Thus the barons became masters of the country.

About this time, Henry was one day going in his barge up the Thames, when he was overtaken by a sudden thunderstorm. Fearing its violence, he ordered the boat to be run ashore, and took refuge in the house in which Simon then lived.

Simon welcomed the king, and told him not to fear, as the storm was well-nigh over. “I fear beyond measure the thunder

and lightning,” replied the king; “but I fear you more than all the thunder and lightning in the world.”

“Fear your enemies, my lord king,” was Simon’s answer; “fear those who flatter you to your ruin, not me, your constant and faithful friend.”

III.Simon Against the King.

King Henry soon began to show that he would not tamely put up with being ruled by his barons. He was helped by quarrels among them. Simon was not trusted by them all; he was a foreigner himself, and had an overbearing temper, and for these reasons he was disliked by some of the barons.

Henry soon broke his promise to observe the Provisions of Oxford. He brought back to England some of the foreigners who had been sent away, and showed that things would soon be as bad as they had been before.

There was nothing left for the barons to do but to take up arms. Simon was marked out as their natural leader. He was trusted by the people, who believed he was thinking more of the good of the nation than of any gain for himself.

Earl Simon acted promptly and with vigor. Foreigners were again sent out of the country, and Dover was captured; then Simon sent a letter to the citizens of London, asking for their support. They gave it gladly, and kept Henry almost a prisoner in the Tower of London.

The people were delighted at the thought of getting a better government, and loved Earl Simon more than ever. A verse of a song of the time says: —

“Montfort is he rightly called, He is the mount and he is bold, 1

1 In French, Montfort means “bold mount,” mont = mount, fort = bold.

And has great chivalry; The truth I tell, my troth I plight, He hates the wrong, he loves the right, So shall have mastery.”

The earl marched to London, and the king once more agreed to the Provisions of Oxford, sent away his ministers, and gave their places to men chosen by the barons.

In order to have matters settled once for all, and peaceably, both the king and the barons agreed to ask the king of France to decide the dispute between them. His judgment was entirely in Henry’s favor, but nothing else could have been expected, for one king would not be likely to say that the power of any other king, in his own country, should be lessened.

The question now before the barons was: Is England to be a free nation, or is she to be bound down by foreign favorites and foreign priests? It must be remembered that the best of the English clergy were on the side of the barons. They did not reject outright the French king’s award; they took up one part of it, which said that England was to enjoy what rights she had before the Provisions of Oxford. They said that Henry had not observed the Great Charter, which secured these rights to the nation, and they were resolved to make him observe it.

Earl Simon himself said, “Though all should leave me, I and my four sons will uphold the cause of justice, as I have sworn to do, for the honor of the Church and the good of the realm.”

IV. The End of Simon.

Civil war broke out. Everywhere there was killing, burning, and robbing. Peaceful villages were filled with the horrid

sounds of battle. Women and children trembled for the safety of their loved ones, and wept for those who were slain.

After several sieges and lesser fights, a great battle was fought near Lewes. It was won by Earl Simon after a hard fight, and King Henry and his son Edward were taken prisoner.

Simon was now ruler of the country. He at once set about putting the government in order. Power was to be in the hands of nine councillors, who were to consult a parliament formed of barons, the chief clergy, four knights from each county, and also, for the first time in English history, two citizens from each of certain towns.

This parliament met on January 30, 1265. The fact that the town sent members to it has led to Simon being called the founder of the House of Commons. The parliament was not to make the laws as it does now; it was to see that the king and his ministers ruled in accordance with the law which meant simply the old customs of the country.

Earl Simon’s power did not last long. He was still distrusted by some of the nobles, and one of his strongest supporters left him. The king still had many friends who were working hard for him.

At length Prince Edward escaped, by a daring trick, from the captivity in which he had been kept since the battle of Lewes. A new horse had just been given to him, and he said that he wished to try its paces. One day he went out with his attendants, and rode races with them till their horses were tired. Then he sprang upon a fresh horse, and galloped off. “Good day, my lords,” he cried, “ go tell my father I shall soon see him out of ward.”

At once the king’s supporters gathered round the prince, and Earl Simon saw that a hard fight was before him. His own army was small, and he sent to his son Simon, bidding him come to his help at Hereford.

The young man did not’ hurry, and when he reached his

father’s castle at Kenilworth, he foolishly allowed his troops to sleep in the village, instead of in the castle. They were surprised by Edward at early morning, many were captured, and all their arms and baggage fell into the hands of the king’s soldiers.

Earl Simon, knowing nothing of his son ’ s mishap, went toward Evesham to meet him. He soon learned to his sorrow that the forces seen advancing were those of Edward, and, watching them from a hill, he admired the way they came on. “It is from me that they have learned that order,” he said. As he saw how much larger Edward’s army was than his own, the brave earl knew that defeat and death were near. “Now let us commend our souls to God, for our bodies belong to our enemies.”

Simon was urged to flee, but he refused. There was a desperate fight; the earl had a horse killed under him, but fought on foot, dealing hard blows with the sword which he wielded with both hands. At length a blow from behind struck him down, and he died murmuring “It is God’s grace. ”

Simon of Montfort was a good and a great man. He was sober and simple in his life; his closest friends, bishop Robert Grosseteste and friar Adam Marsh, were the holiest men of their time; he was a lover of books, and of good conversation. Simon the Righteous, he was called by the people. His faults were his pride, his fierce temper, and his love of gain; but there is no doubt that he had a real love for his adopted country, and worked hard to secure freedom for Englishmen.

After his death his cause triumphed, for King Henry left the government in the hands of his son Edward, who ruled very much in the way that Earl Simon would have wished.

Section 10: The Story of Edward the First I.Edward’s Early Years.

All the kings who ruled England from the time of William the Conqueror to Henry III. were far more Norman than English. Their names were French; they spoke French; their lands in France took up a great deal of their attention.

Edward I. was the first king of England since the Conquest who bore an old English name. He was also the first who showed a real desire to understand Englishmen, and to make England, by the aid of the English, a great power in Europe. The work he did, and the wisdom he showed, made him one of the greatest of English sovereigns.

In character he was altogether unlike his grandfather, John, and his father, Henry. His will was strong, but he was not obstinate. He was a good son, a good husband, and a good father. He lived purely and simply, and did not care for show or fine dress. “I should not be a better king,” he said once, “however splendidly I was dressed.” He loved truth and justice; his actions were upright; his motto was, “Keep troth,” and he was faithful to it.

His one great fault was a passionate temper, which sometimes blazed forth with terrible fury. On one occasion when Edward was thundering at a meeting of the clergy, the Dean of St. Paul’s fell dead from fright. But Edward’s wrath sank away as quickly as it rose.

Towards the end of Henry’s reign, Edward went on a crusade. He won one great victory over the Saracens at Nazareth, but did little else in Palestine.

One hot June evening, as Edward was sitting lightly clad upon his bed in his tent at Acre, a messenger came to him with an urgent message from one of the Saracen chiefs. This chief had said that he wished to become a Christian, and Edward willingly received his messenger.

The man entered the tent, and from his belt took a letter, which he gave to Edward. As the prince was opening it, the man struck at his heart with a dagger. Edward warded off the blow with his arm; then, springing up, he felled the man to the earth, and killed him.

Edward’s wound was dressed, but after a time the flesh around it showed signs of poisoning. The prince’s attendants looked sad, and the doctors whispered together.

“What are you whispering about?” cried the prince; “can I not be cured? Speak out, and fear not.” His English doctor replied, “You may be cured, Sire, but only at the price of great suffering.”

Edward then bade the doctor do with him whatever he pleased. Edward’s wife, Eleanor, whom he dearly loved, wished to stay with him, but the doctor ordered her away, and she was led out weeping. “It is better, lady,” said the attendants, “that you should weep than the whole of England.”

Then the doctor cut away the poisoned flesh, and in a few days Edward had quite recovered. At a later time a pretty story was told, that Eleanor herself sucked the poison from her husband’s wound.

Edward was recalled to England by news of his father’s serious illness. Before he reached home Henry was dead, and the prince became, at the age of thirty-three, King Edward I.

II. Edward Conquers Wales.

For many years there had been troubles between the English and their neighbors in Wales. The people of Wales

were descendants of the ancient Britons. They would not submit either to the rule of the Saxons or the Normans. They loved their freedom; and under their own princes they were constantly at war with the English kings.

The chief of the Welsh princes, Llewelyn, had helped Simon of Montfort; but on the defeat of Simon he had done homage to Henry III. But when Edward became king, Llewelyn refused to do homage to him. An old prophecy of a British wizard, Merlin, had said that some day a Welsh prince should be crowned in London. Llewelyn fancied that he was that prince, and that he would become a great British king.

Edward, who already in his youth had fought in Wales, led an army against the Welsh prince. He went with great caution, taking care that, as his army advanced, a fleet should sail along the coast, carrying food for the soldiers. Llewelyn took refuge in the wild mountains of North Wales, but, in the winter, want of food compelled him to surrender.

Edward then made an attempt to rule the Welsh. But he did not understand them, and though he himself wished to be just, the officers he appointed to act for him were harsh and cruel. A new rising of the Welsh was the result. Edward led another army against them, and Llewelyn again took refuge in the Snowdon mountains.

But Llewelyn was soon killed, and his brother David, who had helped him, was captured and hanged. Edward then took Wales as a part of his kingdom. He ruled it by English law, but he put several Welshmen in places of honor as his officers, and tried to keep some of the old Welsh customs. To make all secure, Edward set up a strong line of castles and fortified towns.

Sixteen years later, Edward created his eldest son the first Prince of Wales, and gave him the government of that country. The young prince was born in Wales, and had a Welsh nurse, so the Welsh people were fond of him. In later years, when the prince became King Edward II., and suffered cruel

misfortunes, the Welsh people did their best to help him.

III. Edward Invades Scotland.

Edward, having conquered Wales, wished to bring Scotland also under English rule. That country had up to this time been separate from England, and was ruled by kings of its own.

In Edward’s time, it happened that the sovereign of Scotland was a little girl, daughter of the king of Norway, who had married a Scottish princess.

The little queen was not yet four years old, and was known as the Maid of Norway.

Edward thought that it would be well if the two kingdoms were ruled by one sovereign; so he proposed that the Maid, when old enough, should become the wife of his son Edward. The Scots agreed to this, and King Edward sent to fetch the little girl from her home in Norway.

He sent with the ship plenty of the things that he thought the Maid might like, such as walnuts, figs, and gingerbread. But she was a delicate little thing, and the voyage across the rough North Sea was too much for her. She became ill, and the ship put into the Orkney Islands. There the poor little queen died.

Her death was the cause of much trouble to Scotland. There was no near heir to the throne, which was claimed by several nobles. Two of these, John Baliol and Robert Bruce, had a stronger claim than the others. The Scots, fearing that civil war might break out, asked King Edward to decide which of these two had the better right to the crown.

Edward accepted the task and decided for John Baliol, who promised to rule as his vassal, and at once did homage to him. Afterwards, when Edward demanded that Baliol should appear at his court to answer for some action of his, the Scottish lords would not allow their king to obey. Edward at

once sent an army to Scotland to punish Baliol for not obeying.

Edward captured Berwick, then the chief seaport of Scotland. One of his generals won a great victory at Dunbar, and in four months Baliol submitted and resigned the crown to Edward.

To show that he meant Scotland to be no longer a separate kingdom, Edward carried the Scottish crown and the royal jewels away to England. With them he took the stone upon which for ages past the kings of Scotland had been crowned, a stone which people said was the one on which Jacob had rested his head at Bethel. That stone may now be seen in Westminster Abbey, beneath the seat of the chair in which all English sovereigns since that time have sat at their coronation.

IV.Sir William Wallace.

Edward was not to rule Scotland in peace. He had promised, as in the case of Wales, to rule justly, after the old Scottish customs, but his ministers were severe and unjust, and the Scots rose up against them. Their leader was Sir William Wallace, whose life was one of strange adventure and daring deeds. He was a bitter enemy to the English, and his enmity arose, it is said, in the following way.

One day he was stopped in the streets of Lanark by some of the English soldiers. He was wearing a sword, which they said he had no right to do.

Words led to blows, and Wallace, who was a very tall and strong man, slew one of the soldiers after a brief struggle, and put the rest to flight. But he then had to flee, or the governor of the town would have put him to death for what he had done.

He escaped; but the governor, a man of cruel nature,

broke into his house and killed his wife. This roused Wallace’s heart to a deep and lasting hatred of the English. He gathered round him a host of devoted followers, and resolved to turn the English out of Scotland if he could.

After several small successes, he at last gained a great victory at Stirling, which forced the English to leave the country. The Scottish people then made Wallace governor of Scotland, and he tried by wise and just rule to bring back prosperity to the land.

During all this time Edward was in Flanders. When he returned, he resolved to regain Scotland at any cost. He gathered together an army of 80,000 men, and marched towards the north. He took Edinburgh, but then serious troubles began. Wallace, who had only been able to get together a force of 20,000 men, was unwilling to meet Edward in the open field. So he retreated before him, laying waste the land as he went.

Edward’s army soon began to suffer, as Wallace had destroyed all the crops and food supplies. Moreover, the ships that Edward expected from England with provisions did not arrive. When he was in this plight, and had given orders to retreat, the news came that Wallace was encamped at Falkirk, and was going to follow close upon the retreating English and make a night attack upon them.

Edward rejoiced when he heard this. “As the Lord lives,” he cried, “there will be no need for them to follow me, for on this very day I will march forward and meet them face to face.” He advanced, and although, on the very morning of the battle, two of his ribs were broken by a kick from a horse, he led his army to the fight.

The battle was fierce and long. Again and again the mailclad horsemen of England charged the Scottish spearmen. Again and again they were driven back. At times the whole Scottish army, quite surrounded by the masses of the attacking party, seemed lost.

But again the attack would grow less, and the Scottish spearmen, the front ranks kneeling, those behind standing, would be seen unbroken as before. At last Edward withdrew the cavalry and threw forward the archers — those English archers who have decided so many a hard-fought fight.

Arrows fell like hail upon the Scottish ranks, and where never a horseman had been able to break through, the arrows cut wide gaps. A charge of cavalry completed the defeat, and Scotland seemed once more to be in Edward’s power.

In the end Wallace was betrayed into the hands of Edward, who had him tortured without mercy, and put to death. This conduct is a great blot on the name of one of the greatest of the English kings.

V.Edward Loses Scotland.

The Scots mourned the death of their hero, but they were not long left without a leader. Another great man arose to carry on the work of winning back Scottish freedom. This was Robert Bruce, grandson of the Bruce who had been the rival of Baliol. Bruce, as a noble, had the help of the other nobles as well as of the people. Of Wallace the nobles had always been jealous, and they had given him very little support.

Edward was now old and infirm, but his mind was still set on mastering the Scots. Again he marched northwards, though so feeble that he had to be carried on a litter. At Carlisle he mounted his horse and led his army in person, but so weak was he that in four days he only managed to ride six miles. At the village of Burgh-on-Sands he became very ill, and could go no farther.

As he lay dying, he left a message for his son Edward, who was in London. He begged him to go on with the war, and to carry his bones at the head of the army, so that, though dead, the great warrior might seem to lead his soldiers against the

enemy.

Then he died, at the age of sixty-eight, an age which few men reached in those days. The great king was buried in Westminster Abbey, where we can read on his plain gray marble monument Latin words which mean, “This is Edward the First, the hammer of the Scots keep troth.”

Although the Scottish war did not come to an end during Edward’s reign, this is a good place to tell how Scotland at last won back her freedom.

Robert Bruce, having been crowned king, gradually took fort after fort and castle after castle, till Stirling was the only strong place in Scotland remaining in English hands.

Edward II., a weak-willed and foolish man, gave himself up to pleasure, and for a time paid no heed to his great father’s last words. At last he set off to the relief of Stirling. The largest and most splendid army that ever entered Scotland was got together, and at the little stream, the Bannockburn, near Stirling, it met the army of Bruce.

Bruce, like Wallace, was a great general. But he was more fortunate than Wallace in having only an unskilled warrior to fight against, instead of the able and warlike Edward II. Moreover he had a good body of cavalry in his army, and did not depend entirely on his foot-soldiers. When the English archers came into action, Bruce charged them with his horse, and scattered them. He thus avoided the fate that befell Wallace’s army at Falkirk.

By skilful generalship he completely overthrew the English host. From that time until his death Bruce ruled Scotland wisely and well, and kept his country free from the power of England.

VI. Edward’s Work for England.

The lessons which Edward I. had learned during the last

years of his father’s reign helped him to rule wisely when he himself became king. Great as he was as a warrior, he was just as great as a lawgiver. He made many changes for the better in the way of carrying out the law, and so made it easier for people to have justice done to them.

Edward started the tax known as the Customs. Needing much money to pay the expenses of his government, he laid a tax on every sack of wool sent out of England. This he did with the consent of Parliament. The troubles of his father’s reign had shown him that the king would be most truly powerful if he trusted the people, and took them into his confidence.

It is to Edward that England owes her present form of government. He called together many parliaments during the first twenty years of his reign, and at length, in 1295, he summoned a parliament in which all the different classes of the people the clergy, the nobility, and the commons had some one to speak for them. This is sometimes known as the Model Parliament.

The barons came in person; the clergy sent their bishops and other chief men; the people sent two knights from each county, two citizens from each city, and two men from each borough. Thus Edward took care that every one who had to obey the laws should have a voice in making them, and so he did much to help Englishmen to be free.

Section 11: The Hundred Years’ War

I. The Beginning of the War.

After the death of Robert Bruce, when Edward III. was king of England, war again broke out between Scotland and England, and the Scots sought help from France to keep the English out of their country.

It was partly this help given by France to Scotland which led to that war between France and England which lasted for more than one hundred years. Fighting did not go on all that time, but it was a hundred years before England at last gave up the attempt to conquer France.

Other causes of the war were the attempts made by the French king to take from Edward III. a French province which belonged to the English king, and the damage which French sailors did to English ships. The port of Southampton was burned by the French, and much injury was done to English trade.

So Edward declared war against France. He obtained the help of the Flemings, the people of Flanders, a country on the northeast border of France. But in order to get their help Edward had to make a claim to the throne of France. For the Flemings said that they were the vassals of whoever was king of France, and they wanted an excuse for fighting against Philip, their true king.

Edward’s mother was a French princess, and Edward himself was the nearest male relative of the late French king; but he had no real right to the throne.

The war began with a sea-fight. Edward, learning that a

large French fleet lay in the harbor of Sluys, on the coast of Flanders, made up his mind to attack it, though he was warned how dangerous such an undertaking was. When his advisers begged him not to go, he grew angry, and cried, “I shall go; those who are afraid where there is no cause for fear, may stay at home!” He got together a fleet of two hundred ships, and set sail.

In those days there were no cannon, and the ships did not fight at a distance with powder and shot. First the archers let fly a volley of arrows; then the ships were driven one against another, and the English men-at-arms leaped on board the ships of the enemy, and fought with pike and sword.

At the battle of Sluys the English were completely victorious. They lost only two ships, while nearly all the French ships were destroyed or injured, and thousands upon thousands of French and Norman sailors and soldiers were slain or drowned.

No one dared at first tell the French king of the disaster. At length the court jester called out, “What cowards those English are!” Philip asked why. “Because,” said the jester, “they did not dare to leap into the sea as our brave Frenchmen did!” Then Philip guessed, from the jester’s mockery, what had really happened.

II.The Battle of Crecy.

For several years after the battle of Sluys, the war went on slowly and with no success. Then Edward crossed to France with a large army, determined to punish the men of Normandy and of Calais for their raids on the English coast. With him he took his eldest son, also named Edward, who was at this time a lad of sixteen years of age. He grew up to be so mighty and terrible a warrior that the French called him the Black Prince.

STORIES OF THE BRITISH ISLES

The French were very backward to defend their country, and for some months Edward went through Normandy ravaging and burning. At length he reached Rouen, where he wished to cross the river Seine on his way to Calais. There he found the bridges broken down, so that his position was very dangerous. The French king was at hand with an army twice the size of his own; to retreat was impossible, to advance was full of danger.

At length Edward repaired one of the bridges, and crossed, only to find before him another river, the Somme. Over this, too, the bridges were destroyed, all but one, which was in the hands of the enemy. He learned at last of a spot where the river could be crossed at low tide. Hastily he led his army over, and had only just got across when the French army arrived at the bank the English had left. By this time the tide had risen, and the baffled French could not cross to pursue their enemy.

Edward now determined to risk a battle. He drew up his army on a slope near the village of Crecy, where he waited while the French crossed by the bridge many miles farther up the river.

He arranged his army in three portions, remaining himself in the rear with one part as a reserve. One of the other divisions was commanded by the Black Prince, who was aided by Sir John of Chandos, one of the finest soldiers of the time.

Two days passed before the French army arrived. The battle began on the evening of August 26, 1 346. The French soldiers, weary and hungry after a long march, were impatient and disorderly, for they expected to win an easy victory over the small English army. The English had had good food and a long rest, and were seated on the ground, rank by rank, awaiting the enemy.

When King Philip saw them his blood boiled, so much he hated them. He ordered his crossbowmen to advance, and the English sprang up to meet them. Just at that moment a

terrible thunderstorm broke over the field. The rain fell in torrents, and so drenched the strings of the Frenchmen’s bows that they became useless. But the English archers kept their bows in canvas cases, so that they were dry and in good trim. Then the storm ceased as suddenly as it arose, and the sun shone out, right in the faces of the dazzled French. With a shout the French bowmen advanced, but when they were met by a shower of English arrows they threw down their bows and took to their heels.

In vain the men-at-arms tried to drive them back to the fight. They could not face again those terrible arrows, which still flew thick and fast. But the French knights behind kept pressing on, trusting to their greater numbers to break through the ranks of English archers and footmen.

Then it was that a knight went in haste to King Edward, who was watching the fight from a windmill on the hill, and begged him to come to the aid of his gallant son.

“Is my son dead?” asked the king. “No, Sire,” replied the knight. “Is he unhorsed, or so desperately wounded that he cannot support himself?” “No, Sire,” replied the knight, “but he is in so hot a strife that he has great need of your help.” Then said the king, “Let the boy win his spurs, for I am resolved that all the glory of this day shall be his.”

The boy won his spurs indeed. So well did he and his men fight that the French fled, after many of their bravest knights were slain. The battle ended in a complete victory for the English. They lost few men, while the French loss was enormous.

The battle of Crecy is very important in one respect. It showed that the bravest and boldest knights of France were powerless against the sturdy English yeomen, with their bows and arrows. The men who had left their ploughs and their spades at Edward’s call put to rout the finest nobility of France. The people won the day, and not the nobles.

III. The Citizens of Calais.

After the battle of Crecy, Edward hastened northward and began the siege of Calais. In those days towns were strongly defended with thick walls, above which rose castles and turrets at various points. Cannon were not yet in use, and it was almost impossible to capture a town by assault.

The plan of a siege was to surround the town, and keep the people shut up without any chance of getting food. This was done at Calais. For a whole year the English remained before the walls, living in huts which their carpenters had built, and which made a little town of themselves.

The sufferings of the people of Calais were terrible. They made their food last as long as possible, and when it was gone they began to eat their horses, dogs, and cats, and even began to speak of eating one another.

They hoped to hold out till an army came to relieve them, but though a French army came quite near, the soldiers so feared the English that they went away again without righting.

At last the governor of the town offered to surrender, if Edward would allow the people to depart unharmed. A brave English knight, Sir Walter Manny, asked Edward to agree to this, but the king refused. However, he consented to spare the citizens, if they gave up to him six of the chief men among them. These were to come to him bare-headed and barefooted, with ropes about their necks, bringing the keys of the city. “On them,” said the king in his anger, “I will work my will!”

The poor starving people were sad when they heard these hard terms. They met in the marketplace at the ringing of a bell. There the richest man in the town stepped forward and spoke. “My friends,” he said, “it would be a pity for all our people to die of famine. Whoever dies for his people will find

grace and pardon in the sight of God. I will be the first, and willingly will I yield myself, in nothing but my shirt, with my head bare and a halter round my neck, to the mercy of the king of England.”

Women threw themselves at his feet with tears, blessing him. Five other noble-minded men joined themselves with him, and all six went out of the city, and came to meet Edward.

The English king sat in state to receive them, his queen by his side, and many nobles around him. The six men fell humbly at his feet, and, offering him the keys, begged him to have mercy upon them, and spare their lives.

Barons and knights wept as they beheld the pitiful sight. Sir Walter Manny pleaded for the captives: “Let not the world have cause to speak ill of your cruelty,” he said to the king. But Edward looked at them with angry eyes. He could not forget what injuries the men of Calais had done to English seamen. Then Queen Philippa fell on her knees before the king, and said with tears: “My gentle sir, since I crossed the seas with great danger to see you, not one favor have I asked of you; now I humbly beg that for love of Christ and of me you will have mercy on these men. ”

For a time Edward looked at her in silence. Then, raising her tenderly, he said: “My lady, I could wish that you had not been here, but I cannot refuse you; I give them to you to do with as you please.” Then the queen took the men of Calais to her tent, where she had them fed and clothed, and sent them away with a present of money.

IV. Poictiers and Agincourt.

The war lingered on for several years. Ten years after the battle of Crecy, the Black Prince won a splendid victory at Poictiers, where he captured the king of France, who was

carried a prisoner to London. After the battle of Poictiers, the English won no great successes in France for many years.

The Black Prince wore himself out with constant warfare, and died before his father. He proved himself to be a great, though a merciless, soldier, and Englishmen were proud of him; but they liked him still better in his last years, when, though ill and weak, he did his best to improve the government of his country.

About sixty years after the battle of Poictiers, another wonderful victory was won by the English in France. The English king, Henry V., was a young man twenty-eight years old. He was warlike in character, and longed to conquer France. So he raised again the claim to the French crown which Edward III. had made.

In his younger days, when Prince of Wales, Henry is said to have behaved in ways unworthy of a prince. Stories are told of him robbing travellers and playing other pranks with a crew of idle rogues.

One of these stories is somewhat to his credit. A comrade of his was brought one day before the chief justice, charged with an offence against the law. The prince, hearing of this, came to the court in a rage, and ordered the prisoner to be released. The judge refused to release him, whereupon the prince came angrily up to the judge’s seat, and the onlookers in terror expected to see him kill the judge. But the judge, looking calmly at the hot-headed youth, rebuked him for setting a bad example to his father’s subjects, and ordered him to prison. The prince’s attendants would have fought the officers of the law; but the prince, seeing how wrong he had been, forbade them to lift a hand for him, and went humbly to his punishment. His father, when he heard the story, said how glad he was to find he had so just a judge and so obedient a son.

Henry proved to be a splendid soldier. At Agincourt, a village a few miles north of Crecy, he defeated, with ten

thousand men, a French army five times as large.

The English were hungry and tired, but eager for the fight. The French hesitated to make an attack, whereupon Henry ordered his archers to advance. They obeyed with a shout, and planting in the ground before them a row of thick stakes sharpened at both ends, they shot their arrows into the ranks of the French horsemen.

The French charged, but their horses’ legs stuck fast in the mud, the ground being a ploughed field soaked with rain. Those who got free could not pass the close hedge of stakes, and hundreds were slain. Many of the greatest nobles of France perished; eleven thousand French lay dead on the field, but on the English side only a few men fell.

After the battle, it was arranged that Henry should become king of France on the death of the king then reigning, but only seven years later Henry died, without having been able to call France his own kingdom, as he had wished to do.

V.Joan of Arc (1)

At Henry’s death, the chief part in the French war was taken by his brother, the Duke of Bedford. Bedford was a skilful warrior, and a wise statesman, who, within fifteen years of the battle of Agincourt, had made himself master of almost the whole of the north of France. One great town alone, the town of Orleans, remained to the French. If that were captured, Bedford believed that he would be able to conquer the kingdom of France.

So he laid siege to Orleans for many months. The French made a stout defence against his attacks, but could not drive him away. All the attempts of the French to relieve Orleans having failed, it seemed as though the town must give in. At this serious moment a savior appeared for Orleans, almost as by a miracle. It was a young girl of seventeen, whose memory

is to this day loved by the French as that of a saint and martyr.

Her name was Joan of Arc, and she is sometimes called the Maid of Orleans. Her father was a poor peasant, and the little girl grew up in a quiet country village, far away from the scenes of war. She was very ignorant; she could neither read nor write; all her skill lay in sewing and spinning; but now and then she went to the field to tend her father’s sheep.

She was gentle and good. Her mother had taught her to pray; she loved to sit and dream, and think over the stories of angels which she had been told.

As she grew older, stories of the horrors and miseries caused by war filled Joan’s simple mind with sorrow. By and by her own village began to suffer, and she became more and more sad. She felt great pity for the realm of France.

Suddenly she began to hear, as she thought, voices in the air calling her as the Voice called the boy Samuel of old. She paid little heed to them at first, but one day a voice said, “Joan, you are called to live another life, and to do marvellous things; for it is you whom God has chosen to bring happiness to France, and to render aid to King Charles.”

VI. Joan of Arc (2)

Distrusting the voice no longer, Joan went to a great captain and she told her story. He laughed at her,’ called her a foolish girl, and bade her go home to her parents. Joan sadly returned, but she still heard the voices. By and by her village was burned and its church destroyed. Joan could wait no longer; again she went to the captain, who this time paid more attention to what she said, and at last agreed to send her to Charles.

Armed like a soldier and riding on a black horse, the young girl set out. She was tall and strongly built, with a pleasant face, beautiful black hair, and a sweet voice. When she

came to Charles she begged him to give her an army, and allow her to go to Orleans. At first Charles thought her requests fit only to be laughed at. But by and by his doubts were overcome by the maid’s earnestness and purity of heart, and he gave her a suit of white armor and bade her go.

Clad in her armor, mounted on a white horse, and bearing a white banner embroidered with lilies, Joan set out with an army for Orleans. The rough soldiers adored her, and for her sake they gave up some of their bad habits and lived more decent lives.

The English had heard of her, and were so overcome with terror when she appeared, that they allowed her to pass into Orleans with food for the starving people. They could not believe that any woman but a witch would dare to engage in such dangerous work, and they were not there to fight against witches.

In a few days the French captured several of the English forts. The presence of the Maid gave them courage. A few days more, and Orleans was saved. The English had so lost heart that they withdrew from the place. Then Joan went to Rheims, where the kings of France were crowned, and stood by the side of Charles at the altar, unfolding her lily-white banner as the crown was placed on his head.

Unhappily Joan did not return to her country home; she remained with the soldiers, still leading and cheering them, until by and by she was taken prisoner by the troops of one of Charles’s enemies, and handed over to the English. Those were cruel times, when terrible deeds were sometimes done in the name of religion. The English had Joan brought to trial, and accused of being a witch, and of acting as no Christian woman would act.

Such charges were monstrous and cruel, but her enemies were resolved to put out of the world the brave and good girl who had saved France. She was condemned, and on May 30th, 1431, in the market-place of Rouen, Joan was burned

to death. Some even of her cruel English enemies shed tears as they watched her sufferings; and as she bent forward and murmured the name of Jesus ere she died, an Englishman standing by hung his head in shame. “We are lost!” he said, “ we have burnt a saint!”

The English cause was indeed lost. The Duke of Bedford soon died, and there was no able man to replace him. Twenty years after the death of Joan, England had lost all that she had won in France except Calais: that remained an English town for two hundred years.

Section 12: The Black Death and the State of England

I.The Black Death.

During the early part of the Hundred Years’ War, England was fairly prosperous. Edward III. had encouraged trade; for his wars cost much money, and as the money had to be provided in part by taxes on the people, it could not be got unless trade was good.

He brought Flemish weavers to England, and tried to improve the English manufacture of wool. The trading classes during his reign grew much in wealth and importance. The plunder gained in the war also helped to make England rich. The nobles, indeed, became wasteful, and spent large sums on their pleasures and their dress.

In the midst of all this, a dreadful plague fell upon the country. It was a strange disease, which came from the east of Europe, and spread with awful speed. No one could check it. It was helped by the dirty habits of the people and the filthy state of their houses and towns; for in those days people did not know, as we now know, how important it is to be clean if we wish to be healthy.

This disease, known as the Black Death, carried off thousands upon thousands of the people, for the most part from among the poor. But though it was so terrible at the time, it brought great good to English workmen in after years. So many poor laborers died, that it was not easy to find men to till the fields. Those who were left demanded higher wages

than the landlords could well afford to pay, so that some landlords left their crops to perish rather than pay men to reap them.

Two years after the plague, Parliament passed a famous law on behalf of the landlords, by which an attempt was made to fix wages at a low rate, and in other ways to keep the laborers down.

At that time the country laborers were little better than slaves. They were not allowed to go from place to place in search of higher wages; they had to put up with what they could get, and to serve the masters on whose land they were born. If they tried to escape, and were captured, they were branded with a red-hot iron.

When wages rose after the Black Death, the laborers who were not contented wished more than ever for freedom to go about in search of masters who would pay them better. But the masters would not allow them to do so, and began to treat them more harshly than ever. Things got worse and worse, until, in the reign of Richard II., grandson of Edward III., a rebellion broke out.

II. Wat Tyler’s Rebellion.

The laborers had many reasons for their discontent. Some of the wilder spirits among them now began to stir up their fury by asking why they were laborers at all. A poor priest of Kent, named John Ball, went about the country telling the people that no man ought to be richer than any other man, and that all men were born equal.

A rough rhyme was made up

“When Adam delved and Eve span, Who was then the gentleman?”

THE BLACK DEATH AND THE STATE OF ENGLAND

This was sung all over the country, and the rougher spirits among the poor began to grow eager to get hold of the property of the rich and divide it among themselves. They were ready to break out in open violence at any moment.

Just at this dangerous time a new tax was put on the people. Every person over fifteen years of age was ordered to pay a certain sum toward the expenses of the French war. The poor raised loud and bitter complaints, but they did not at first refuse to pay, or rise in rebellion.

One day, one of the men sent to inquire whether the tax had been paid behaved with shameful rudeness in the house of a workman at Dartford, in Kent. The man was so enraged that he struck the tax-collector dead.

His neighbors took his part, and soon a great mob of rough men from Essex and Kent were on the march to London. On the way they broke into the houses of the gentry, and robbed and slew without mercy.

The king and his council were too much taken by surprise to put down the rising at once. They shut the gates of London, then a walled city, and asked what the rebels wanted. The rebels answered that, first of all, they desired that no man should be held as a serf upon the land of his lord.

King Richard, then only a boy of fourteen, said that he would go out to the rebels, and try to quiet them. He met them at Smithfield, and began to talk to them; but their leader, a man named Wat Tyler, behaved so roughly that the Lord Mayor, thinking that the king would be hurt, struck Tyler down with a dagger, and he was killed as he lay on the ground.

The men of Kent, seeing their leader dead, bent their bows, and shouted that they would have revenge. But the young king galloped boldly up to them, promised to grant them what they asked for, and cried, “I myself will be your leader!”

Trusting in his promise, the people went away to their

homes. The king’s council afterward would not allow the promise to be kept, and the rebels were punished with much cruelty.

But from that time the laborers had more freedom, for the lords saw that it was impossible to keep down the poor people as they had done before. It was not long before every serf had become a free man.

III. The State of England.

The life of Englishmen in the fourteenth century was very different from the life of the people to-day. There were, roughly, five classes in the country the clergy, the nobles, the traders, the yeomen, and the villains.

The traders grew in importance during this period. The eastern counties were the seat of a great trade in wool and fish. Fairs were held in towns in various parts of the country, at which merchants of all nations sold their wares.

The yeomen were tenant-farmers, who in time of war served as bowmen and men-at-arms.

The villains could not leave the lands on which they were born, but had to work there for their masters, and lived in miserable huts without windows or chimneys. Their food was good on the whole, though they suffered for want of vegetables, the only one commonly eaten being cabbage. Meat, bread, butter, and cheese were cheap.

The laborers wore rough clothes of wool or leather; the traders wore cloth of good material, but plain. The nobles decked themselves out in splendid clothing. Their dress consisted of a long-sleeved vest, with a large and costly mantle, and feathered hat. Their shoes were very long, bent upward at the toes, and fastened to the knees with chains of gold and silver.

Though the houses of the poor were so bad, men were

THE BLACK DEATH AND THE STATE OF ENGLAND

skilful in building grand churches, and fine houses for the wealthy. Splendid castles and manor houses were built. A manor house consisted of a large hall, where the family and servants had their meals, where the ladies worked at their sewing and spinning, and where the servants slept at night, either on benches or on rushes placed on the floor.

At one end of the hall were sleeping rooms for the family; at the other end were stables. Some houses had large kitchens, and an upper chamber, or “solar,” built over the hall.

There was as a rule no chimney; the smoke found its way out through holes and gratings in the roof. Glass windows were seen nowhere but in palaces and churches. There was scarcely any furniture; a table and a few seats, with a dresser for holding the plate, were almost the only things in use.

People rose in the morning with the sun. They had dinner as early as nine o’clock, and were called to it by a blast of the horn. There were no forks or plates. People used their fingers, and cut their meat or fish on chunks of bread. After dinner, water was brought for washing, and minstrels played or sang while the company drank their wine or beer. Tea and coffee were as yet unknown.

Supper was eaten at five o’clock, and everybody went to bed at sunset, for candles were dear. Books were few, and were written by hand. Few people could read, but they used to listen to the stories told or sung by wandering story-tellers, who went about the country calling at the houses of the rich, where they were sure of a welcome, and of food and a lodging in return for their stories.

Life in England was hard for the poor, as it is everywhere, but they had a good deal of pleasure, too. Every saint’s day was a holiday, and on these days, as well as on Sundays, people danced and made merry on the village green.

In the towns, the tradesmen joined together in guilds, each trade having one of its own. Every man who followed a trade had to belong to the trade guild, otherwise he perhaps

would not have been allowed to work, or would have found it hard to make a living. These guilds were abolished in the reign of Henry VIII., except in the city of London, where they remain to this day, though they have no longer the power they once had.

We have seen that the Norman Conquest carried the French language into England. For many years the upper classes in England spoke French and understood no English, while the lower class kept their English and understood no French. But by the time of Edward III., English had overcome French, though many French words had crept into the language. From this time English was the language used in the courts of law and in the schools, and great books began to be written in English.

Section 13: The Wars of the Roses

I.The Cause of the War.

At Edward III.’s death the crown passed to his grandson, Richard II. Richard proved a weak, unwise, and unworthy king, and after a reign of twenty-two years, his cousin, Henry Bolingbroke, took the crown from him, and became King Henry IV. It was during the reign of Bolingbroke’s grandson, Henry VI., that the Wars of the Roses broke out.

The sixth Henry was a gentle, weak-minded man, who was quite unfit to rule, and who never had any real power. He was completely in the hands of favorite lords, who were really the rulers of the country.

Henry VI. was king when Joan of Arc drove the English from Orleans, and when England began to lose her hold on France. The loss of the lands in France, won in so long and fierce a contest, caused great anger among the English people, and the misrule of the king’s favorite, the Duke of Suffolk, added to their wrath and discontent.

At length the men of Kent rose in rebellion under a soldier named Jack Cade, demanding that the kingdom should be governed by the Duke of York. The duke was an able soldier and he bore a good character. He was also heir to the throne, for as yet Henry had no son.

Cade’s rebellion was put down, but Henry was forced to give the Duke of York a greater share in governing the country. When Henry soon afterward suddenly went out of his mind, York was named by the lords protector of the kingdom.

The king recovered his senses as suddenly as he had lost them, and York had to give up his position at the head of the kingdom. Henry at once brought back to power a former favorite, the Duke of Somerset; and York, knowing that Somerset was his enemy, and would put him to death if he could, took up arms.

A battle was fought at St. Albans, in which Somerset was killed. This brought York again into power, and the king tried to make peace between the followers of York and those of Somerset. But war broke out again, and now York made a claim to the throne. He was the descendant of the third son of Edward III., while Henry was descended from the fourth son, the Earl of Lancaster. If Henry had died childless, York would have become king; but the birth of a prince, who was named Edward, had destroyed York’s chance of becoming king in peace.

The lords would not allow his claim, but they arranged that at Henry’s death the crown should pass to York and not to Prince Edward. This decision led to the great struggle between the houses of Lancaster and York, known as the Wars of the Roses.

It is said that one day the leaders of the two parties in the struggle were walking in a garden. As they spoke hard words to one another, one of them plucked a white rose, and the other a red one, and these roses became the badges of their parties. The red rose was the badge of Lancaster, the white rose that of York.

II. The Earl of Warwick.

King Henry’s wife was Margaret of Anjou, a French princess of great bravery and ability, but of a hard and cruel temper. Englishmen hated her, for she was no true friend to England. When the lords decided that York should succeed

Henry, Margaret was furious, for she wished, as was quite natural, that her son Edward should be king after his father.

She resolved to stand up for the rights of her son. She gathered together a great army from Scotland and the north of England, and a battle was fought at Wakefield, in Yorkshire, where the Duke of York was slain. Margaret had his head cut off, and set up on the walls of York, and upon the head was placed, in mockery, a crown of paper.

But the death of the Duke of York did not end the war, for his son Edward, a handsome young man of nineteen, stepped at once into his father’s place as head of the Yorkists. He was aided by a great nobleman, the Earl of Warwick, who was afterward known as the king-maker, for a reason that will be seen presently.

Warwick was much beloved by Englishmen, being kindly in manner, a good master to his servants, and a man who sought not so much his own greatness as the good of the realm.

Edward of York, with Warwick, hastened to London, where the citizens received him joyfully, and where the lords offered him the crown of England. In another battle at St. Albans Warwick was defeated, and Henry, whom he had kept as a prisoner, escaped to his own friends. But at Towton Queen Margaret’s army was utterly defeated, and twenty thousand of her soldiers were slain.

Not long afterwards Henry was captured and imprisoned in the Tower of London, and Edward of York was, by aid of Warwick, crowned king as Edward IV. But he soon deeply offended many of his friends, and among them Warwick, towards whom he acted with great deceit.

The result was that Warwick after a time left Edward’s party, and went over to the side of Henry. He even became friendly with Queen Margaret, who had before been his bitterest enemy.

Warwick for a time had to remain out of the country, but

he soon returned. He was so well received by the people that Edward, feeling unable to resist him, fled to Flanders, where his sister was the wife of the reigning duke.

Then Warwick went to the Tower, whither he had himself taken King Henry as a prisoner five years before, and brought the poor king out. Old, and worn, and dressed in very shabby clothes, Henry was led by the king-maker through the streets. Then Warwick had him dressed in robes fit for a king to wear, and restored him to the throne from which he had before removed him.

III. The End of the War.

In the very next year Edward went back to England with an army, entered London in triumph, and took the king prisoner. Then he marched out to meet Warwick, taking Henry with him.

At Barnet the armies of Lancaster and of York met once more. Warwick, now the leader for the Red Rose, was killed in the battle, and his army was defeated. In the same year another battle was fought at Tewkesbury, where the White Rose was again successful. After this battle Prince Edward, Henry’s son, now eighteen years old, was brutally killed. King Henry was again placed in the Tower, where he was murdered by King Edward’s order.

Edward IV. reigned for the rest of his life in peace. At his death his son Edward, a boy twelve years of age, was crowned king, and Richard, Duke of Gloucester, was named protector, until the young king was old enough to rule.

Gloucester was an able man, but his name is stained with deeds of blood which were thought horrible even in those cruel days. Pretending that he wished to keep his nephew, the young king, out of harm’s way, he placed him in the Tower of

London, and soon gave him his younger brother as a companion. Before long the two boys were dead. No one knew how they died, but a story began to be whispered that their uncle had ordered their murder.

Gloucester then made himself king as Richard III. He ruled for only two years. Then Henry, Earl of Richmond, the head of the House of Lancaster, came to England from the foreign town in which he had been living, and fought Richard in the battle of Bosworth Field. Richard fought bravely and died a soldiers death. His crown, which he had worn in battle, was found in a holly bush and placed on the head of Richmond, who was hailed by the army as King Henry VII. Thus ended the Wars of the Roses, with triumph for the House of Lancaster. It was a struggle between the great nobles. Trade, reaping, and sowing, went on almost as usual, while the lords and their followers were fighting out the quarrel among themselves. Many of the lords were slain; many more were ruined. The lands of traitors passed to the king, and thus many lords of both parties lost all their lands.

As a result, Henry VII., and the sovereigns who ruled after him, had much wealth, and became more powerful than any king of England had yet been.

There were now no great lords to check the power of the king. Some of the later kings used their power unwisely, and it needed another war, in the reign of Charles L, to teach the lesson that the sovereign’s duty is to seek the good of the nation, and not his own pleasure or gain.

Section 14: The Story of William Caxton

I. Caxton at Bruges.

During the autumn and winter of the year 1470, the town of Bruges in Flanders was a scene of unusual bustle and gayety. It was always a busy place; merchants flocked to its markets from every country in Europe; and there Margaret, Duchess of Burgundy, kept her court. But now its streets were more gay and busy than ever, for Edward the Fourth, king of England, held his court there. The great war between the houses of Lancaster and York was going on, and Edward, the head of the Yorkists, had been worsted, and had fled from England to avoid capture.

It was natural for him to seek refuge in Bruges, for the Duchess of Burgundy, his sister, had become the wife of the great duke, known as Charles the Bold. Edward was therefore sure of a welcome at the duke’s court, and he hoped to find there not only pleasant society, but also active help against his enemies at home.

Among the higher servants of the Duchess Margaret was a certain William Caxton, an Englishman, who was born in the Weald of Kent, and who was at this time some forty-eight years of age. How Caxton came to enter the service of the duchess is not known. As a boy he was apprenticed to Robert Large, a London silk merchant who became Lord Mayor. At his master’s death, he settled in Bruges as a wool merchant, became prosperous, and was made governor of all the English merchants in the town. In this important office he had to

settle disputes between the traders, and to watch over the interests of English merchants generally.

A year after the marriage of Margaret, however, Caxton gave up his governorship, and became a member of the duchess’s household.

What his duties were is uncertain, but he had so much leisure that he found himself in danger of becoming lazy. He tells us that to save himself from idleness, he took a French book to read, and therein he found many strange and marvellous stories, in which he had great pleasure and delight.

Never having seen the book in English, he thought he would translate it into his own language. He began the work in March, 1469; before the year was out he had finished only fifty pages, then he grew weary and laid the book aside.

The Duchess Margaret had seen Caxton’s translation, and was pleased with it; the book was the famous story of Troy, the great city of the ancient world which was besieged by the Greeks for ten years before it fell. When her royal brother Edward came to Bruges with many of his nobles, they heard about Caxton’s translation, and were eager to read it. The duchess therefore commanded him to finish his work, and in the next year the whole book was translated into English. By that time Edward had gone back to England with an army, and had won the great battles of Barnet and Tewkesbury; but there still remained several English noblemen at Margaret’s court, who desired copies of Caxton’s book.

Several copies were written out, and Caxton worked hard at copying with his own hand. Requests for more copies came in rapidly as the book became known; and Caxton tells us that in writing the same his pen was worn out, his hand became weary and not steadfast, and his eyes were made dim by overmuch looking at the white paper.

II. Caxton Begins to Print.

Wearisome as it was, there had been, until this time, no other way of copying books than by writing them out. In the quiet of the monasteries, monks and their pupils spent long years in making copies of books, and there were also men who made copying a regular trade. Some of the copies thus written were beautiful works of art; the writing was carefully done, capital letters were often painted in colors, and the margins were decorated with colored pictures and elegant designs.

Such manuscript books were scarce, and very expensive. The Duke of Burgundy once gave $275 for a single book. As most people never even saw a book, there was no need for them to learn to read, and very few people wished to do so.

A few years after Caxton’s birth, people began to speak of a new and wonderful way of making books which had sprung up in Germany. It was so strange to them, and they so little understood it, that they actually thought those who practised it were the servants of the Evil One, or magicians at best. Men had at last learned the art of printing. For many years, small books and rough pictures had been printed from wooden blocks engraved in a simple and clumsy fashion. It was not till near the middle of the fifteenth century that men first began to print from movable types.

At the time when Caxton had completed his translation of the History of Troy, it chanced that one Colard Mansion, a skilful copyist, had just set up the first printing-press in Bruges. Here was Caxton’s opportunity for supplying copies of his book to all who wished for them. He paid Mansion to teach him the new art, and provided him with money to buy more types; he also suggested improvements in the form of the types.

The two men worked together, and at length, about the year 1474, the first book ever printed in the English language

appeared; it was Caxton’s translation of the French History of Troy. It formed a large book of nearly eight hundred pages, and it must have taken a long time to print. Nowadays, when a book is set up in type, a printer can print many pages at once, and can make copies very rapidly by means of a press worked by steam. But at first every page was printed separately; the type was inked, and the paper was put on and taken off by hand. Slow as it was, printing effected an immense saving of time and labor; for when once the type was set, a hundred copies could be printed in the time taken to write one.

The type that Caxton used was not at all like that used in printing this book. The letters were much larger, and in shape resembled those which are now called Old English.

III. Caxton in England.

Caxton, as might be expected of one who had been governor of the English wool merchants in Bruges, was a good man of business. He saw that there would be a great demand for printed books, and that a good living might be earned by anybody who set up as a printer. So after printing with Mansion a book called The Game and Play of the Chess, he sailed for England with his types and presses in 1476.

He took a house in Westminster, opposite the west door of the great abbey. The place was then called the Almonry, and as houses were known by signs, and not by numbers, Caxton took for his sign a pole painted red. His full address was therefore “At Westminster, in the Almonry, at the Red Pole.” When it became known that Caxton had set up a press at Westminster, he was soon sought out by the nobles who had met him at Bruges. One of those who went to see him working at his new trade was Earl Rivers, brother-in law of the king. The earl had translated a French book into English,

and this was the first work that Caxton printed in England. It was called The Dictes and Sayings of the Philosophers, and appeared in the year 1477. For fourteen years, until his death in 1491, Caxton went on printing at Westminster, and during that time ninety-nine books were produced at the sign of the Red Pole: stories and poems, fables, service-books and sermons.

Other printers followed Caxton’s example, and books soon became numerous and much cheaper. Many people now began to learn to read, who would never have thought of doing so; and the new invention was the means of bringing knowledge and happiness to thousands.

Caxton, besides being a printer, was a translator; twenty of the books that he printed were translations some of them by himself. He thus did double service for the English people.

Before books were printed, people in different parts of the country spoke so differently that it was almost as if there were no one English language, but each district had a language of its own. The people of one county could hardly make themselves understood by the people of another. When we remember that, even now, a Yorkshire peasant can scarcely understand a man of Devon, we can imagine how much worse the case was in those days when books were few and travelling was difficult.

Caxton tells us a curious story which illustrates this. Some merchants, sailing down the Thames in order to cross the sea to Holland, were delayed by lack of wind, and went on shore at the North Foreland to refresh themselves. One of them went into a house, and asked for eggs; but the woman of the house, not understanding him, answered that she could not speak French. “Neither can I speak French,” said the man; “I want some eggs.” The woman was still puzzled to know what he meant by eggs, until one of his companions said that he wanted some eyren, and then the woman knew, and brought the eggs. For in that part of the country eggs were called eyren.

Spelling, too, was very uncertain. Even educated people spelled words very much as they pleased, according to the way in which they thought the sounds should be represented by letters. Thus such a common word as baby was spelled also babi, babee, babie, babby; and candle appears in the forms condle, candel, candil, candell, and caitdelle.

When Caxton began to translate, he was perplexed as to the kind of English he should use. If he employed the rough and homely language of his native village, he would offend the refined tastes of the nobles. On the other hand, he could not use the more elegant language spoken by the nobles, such as those whom he met at Bruges; for the great mass of his countrymen were not well educated, and they would then have found his books too hard to read.

What Caxton did was to make a selection from both kinds of English; thus his translations were neither too rough in style for the nobles, nor too learned for ordinary people. When he began to print, he thought it well to spell each word upon one plan throughout his books. And so when printed books grew common, men of all classes and in all parts of the country read the same words and learned to spell them in the same way, and the English language became one tongue. Since that time, many new words have come into the language, and spelling has been somewhat altered, and made much more definite. But the English of to-day is very much what it was as printed by Caxton in his ninety-nine books.

Section 15: The Discovery of America

I. Christopher Columbus.

About fifty years after the art of printing was invented, another great event happened which had an important effect on the future history of the English nation. This was the discovery of America.

At that time most people believed that the earth was a great plain, with water all round it, but learned men were teaching that the earth is a globe. Men had travelled overland into different parts of the known world, and had brought back wonderful tales of the wealth and beauty of far-off countries. They had gone as far as India, and even China, and it was thought that beyond India, as Eastern Asia was called, there was no more land on the globe. The greater part of Africa was entirely unknown.

Some of the seamen in the west of Europe believed that if they sailed westward across the Atlantic, they would at last come to the eastern shores of India. Unknown plants had been picked up at sea, and also pieces of wood marked with strange figures, and it was supposed that India was the only country from which such things could have come.

One of the men who were filled with curiosity to know more about what was beyond the sea, was Christopher Columbus. He was born in 1436 at Genoa, then a thriving seaport, where his father was a wool-comber. When the time came for him to choose a trade, the boy declared that he longed to be a sailor. So he spent a rough seafaring life until

1470, when he was wrecked on the coast of Portugal after a sea-fight. He escaped on a plank, and reached his brother’s house at Lisbon. There he married the daughter of an old navigator, and he settled down in Portugal as a maker of maps and charts.

Now Columbus had learned something of astronomy as well as of navigation; he had made many voyages round the western coasts of Europe; he had talked with travellers and seamen, and had read many books of travel. What he had heard and read made him feel sure that there was land on the other side of the ocean, and he was filled with a longing to discover it. But he was not rich, and could not afford to buy ships and pay crews to sail them. So he went to the king of Portugal, and declared that if he were provided with ships and men, he would find the eastern shores of India, and thus open up a way by which the wealth of the east could be obtained, without the cost and danger of journeys by land. But his ideas were thought absurd, and he did not obtain the help he wanted. Nothing daunted, he tried elsewhere. He sent letters to Henry the Seventh of England, asking for his assistance; but the letters never reached him. He then applied to a powerful duke in Spain, who sent him to the good Queen Isabella of Castile. She received him with favor, but her counsellors advised her not to give money to him.

Disappointed but not discouraged, Columbus tried again and again to get what he wanted; and at length, after seven weary years, the queen agreed to fit out an expedition at her own expense. Columbus was made an admiral, and was promised a reward if he were successful in discovering any new lands. Every boy and girl who reads this book knows the story of the voyages, the discoveries, and the life and sorrowful end of Christopher Columbus.

II. Results of the Discovery.

The example of Columbus stirred other seamen to undertake daring voyages of discovery. There was living at Bristol a Venetian merchant named John Cabot, who had spent a long life in trading with distant countries. He had sailed not only to the countries in the south of Europe and along the shores of the Great Sea, but had ventured as far as Iceland. There he heard stories of a land far across the western ocean, which the great-grandfathers of the men of Iceland were said to have visited many years before. Longing to see this land, and hearing of the successful voyage of Columbus, Cabot applied to King Henry the Seventh for help, just as Columbus had applied to the king of Portugal.

Henry was fond of money, and he thought that if there really were a rich land over the sea, he might get part of its wealth for himself. So he fitted out some ships, and allowed Cabot and his sons to set out on their voyage of discovery; he also made them promise to go back to Bristol, and to give him a part of whatever they brought with them.

Cabot sailed away to the northwest early in the year 1497, and after a long and dangerous voyage, reached the shores of the land now called Labrador. Thus Cabot was the first man from the old world that we know for certain landed on the mainland of America. He continued his voyage, and after discovering a land which he called Newfoundland, he returned to Engand. His son Sebastian explored the coast as far south as the Carolinas. These discoveries and that of Hudson in Hudson’s bay, were the bases of England’s claim to the western continent.

A little thought will show how important the discovery of America was. Men had learned for the first time of the existence of an immense continent, very thinly peopled, rich in gold and minerals, and in everything necessary to support

life and make it pleasant. It was a land open to all comers, and so large that there was room for everybody. Men who found life hard and dull at home in Europe could find in the new land plenty to interest them and to employ their best powers. The Spaniards soon made settlements in America, and for years they drew from them such vast treasures, that Spain became the richest and most powerful country in Europe. But Englishmen were never slow to push out in search of adventure and novelty. They did not intend to let Spain have all the benefits of the discovery. The English sea-dogs, as they liked to be called, delighted to meet the ships of Spain upon the seas, and win from them, in fair fight, the spoils they were bringing home.

Many a voyage was made by the bold English seamen to the western world, and many an English ship went back to the old country laden with the wealth from over the sea. But it was a hundred years before Englishmen made a serious attempt to settle in North America. Then their settlements grew and flourished, and while Spain sank to a position of little importance in the world, England rose to the foremost place. It was the English in the new world who laid the foundations of our own vast and mighty republic.

Section 16: The King and the Cardinal

I. King Hal and the French War.

When King Henry the Seventh died in 1509, the whole English nation was delighted that his successor was the handsome young Prince “Hal.” Henry was a tall, strong, handsome youth, quick at outdoor sports and exercises, frank and hearty in manner, and ready to crack a joke with any one. “Bluff King Hal” he was called by the people.

He was a good scholar, too, fond of books and music. He wrote and spoke in four languages, and knew something of medicine, engineering, and ship-building. He was especially learned in the views of wise men about religion and church matters.

On becoming king, he at once pleased the people by spending much of his fathers gathered wealth in sports and shows. He got leave from the Pope to marry Katharine, the Spanish princess who had been the wife of his brother Arthur. He made Katharine his queen chiefly because he wished to keep friendly with the important kingdom of Spain. Henry was eager to make a name for himself, and to show Europe what an important man the king of England was, and he soon began to meddle with foreign affairs.

At that time Germany, France, and Spain were striving for the mastery of Italy, and the Pope, who was a great prince as well as head of the church, was at the mercy of the rivals. Among them all he was likely to lose much of his power. So he made a league with the Emperor of Germany and others,

with the object of driving one of his enemies, the French, out of Italy.

Henry was persuaded to join this league, and he agreed to make an attack upon France. Four years after his accession, he landed with an army of twenty-five thousand men at Calais, which had belonged to England since its capture by Edward the Third a hundred and sixty years before.

The German emperor met Henry at the head of his troops, and though he was an older man and had fought many battles, he offered to serve as a volunteer under the young English king. This he did because he wished to gain Henry for his friend, to suit his own purposes, and he thought that he would get Henry’s support by flattering him.

The two armies laid siege to a small town named Terouenne, which they kept shut up for six weeks. Several attempts were made by the French to supply the townspeople with food, and at last a body of horsemen approached the town with orders to play a trick on the besiegers. They were to pretend to retreat, and so draw the enemy after them, while other soldiers carried food into the town. So the French horsemen, when they came in sight of the besieging army, began to retire. Henry and the emperor at once led their forces out against them, and then the French, struck with sudden terror, turned their sham retreat into a real and disorderly flight.

The English cavalry poured after them in rapid pursuit, and captured many prisoners. Not a man was killed; and when Henry jestingly praised the French for the excellent speed of their horses, one of the prisoners smiled and answered, “In truth, sir, it was a battle of spurs.” And as the Battle of Spurs it is known in history to this day.

All plans to relieve the towns having failed, Henry captured Terouenne and another fortress named Tournai. But peace was soon made; for Henry discovered that his allies thought of no one but themselves. He knew he was not strong

enough to conquer France alone, and all his money was gone. He had nothing to gain by fighting any longer.

II. Flodden Field.

While Henry was in France, there was trouble in England. Scotland was at that time a separate kingdom, and its king, James the Fourth, had married Margaret, Henry’s sister. He took advantage of the absence of the English king to seek revenge for the injuries he had suffered at the hands of the English. He complained of several wrongs done to him. To begin with, when he married the English princess, her father had promised that at his death she should have a large number of valuable jewels. These her brother Henry had not yet sent, and he showed no signs of sending them.

Again, the men who lived on either side of the Border were constantly robbing and slaying one another. James complained that if the offenders were Englishmen, the English officials would not give them up to justice; but if they were Scotsmen, the English seized them in their own country, and carried them into prison in England.

For these and other causes James resolved to make war. He got a great army together, composed of all classes, trained and untrained, and marched across the Border. The Scots captured a few castles, but their march was delayed by James, who, though brave, often gave way to idleness and the pursuit of pleasure.

This delay gave time for the English commander, the Earl of Surrey, to bring up a large force of tried soldiers. James took up a strong position on the hill of Flodden in Northumberland, but foolishly allowed the English to get round to the rear, where he was more open to attack. Thus the English army lay between the Scots and their own country, and the Scots owed their bad position to the imprudence of their

brave but foolhardy king.

The battle began on the afternoon of September 9, 1513. James, against the advice of his nobles, commanded the centre of his army in person. At the first furious onset, the right wing of the English army was thrown into disorder, and Sir Edmund Howard, the English commander, narrowly escaped being killed. But while the Scots were plundering as though the battle were won, the English cavalry under Lord Dacre, charged the Scots, and completely routed them.

Meanwhile, on the left, the English archers, under Sir Edward Stanley, had poured deadly showers of arrows into the ranks of the Scottish right wing, which consisted of Highlanders, who had little armor. Eager to escape the fatal arrows, and to fight at close quarters, the Scots rushed on, whirling their axes and two-handed swords. The English gave way for a moment, but quickly recovered and stood shoulder to shoulder, presenting a wall of lances and bills. 4 The Scots had spent all their strength in the first attack, and in spite of their desperate valor they were driven back in hopeless ruin.

In the centre James was fighting valiantly among his spearmen, and the English could at first make no impression upon the enemy’s ranks. But at last Stanley came up from his victory on the left, and Lord Thomas Howard from the right, and the Scots were beset on three sides at once. Still they kept up the fight till James fell, pierced by countless wounds. His nobles fought and died round his body, but darkness came on and put an end to the battle. The slaughter had been great on both sides, and the loss of their king had so broken the spirit of the Scots that the survivors sadly retired from the field, leaving the victory with the English.

So was the battle of Flodden lost and won — a battle bravely fought on both sides. The blood-stained plaid, taken

4 The bills were broad hook-shaped blades, fastened on the end of a long stout staff — on the backs of the blade there were sharp spikes.

from the body of the hapless King James, was sent to Queen Katharine of England. She had promised Henry to guard the kingdom carefully while he was away, and she had encouraged the English officers when they set out for the north. Now she proudly sent to her husband the trophy of victory. “In this,” she wrote to him, “ your grace shall see how I keep my promise, sending you for your banner a king’s coat.”

III. Thomas Wolsey.

For a number of years the greatest man in England, after the king, was Thomas Wolsey, the king’s friend and adviser. Wolsey was a proud and ambitious man, and during his life of fifty-nine years he made many enemies. They were jealous of him, and tried to put a slight upon him by saying that he was the son of a butcher. But his father was really a grazier and wool merchant at Ipswich, where Thomas was born in the year 1471. He was a very bright boy. By the time that he was fifteen years old, he had taken the Bachelor’s degree at Magdalen College, Oxford. By and by he became master of Magdalen College School, and then he went as rector to a little Somerset village.

But he soon left the quiet of the country, and became one of King Henry the Seventh’s chaplains, and assisted Henry’s ministers in the business of the country. He was rewarded for his work by being made Dean of Lincoln; for in those days orifices in the church were given to men chiefly as rewards for helping the king.

When Henry the Eighth became king, he made Wolsey his chief minister. He gave him the bishopric of Lincoln, and a few months later made him Archbishop of York. In the next year he was made a cardinal by the Pope, and soon he became not only the Pope’s legate, 5 but also chancellor of He now

5 The person who acted for the Pope at the English court.

lived in great splendor. He kept an enormous household, and earned the bitter enmity of the nobles by the display of his wealth, and by the favors he enjoyed from the king.

Wolsey had two great ambitions — one for himself, the other for his country. For himself, he wished to be Pope; for England, he wished to make her the foremost country in Europe.

At this time the greatest sovereigns in Europe — the German Emperor Charles, and Francis the French king — were each striving to gain more power than the other. They were both anxious to get the support of Henry, for the great victory at Flodden had shown them how useful an English army might be to them. Wolsey wished Henry to be friendly with both Charles and Francis, but not to take sides with either of them in their struggles. He thought that, instead of helping them, Henry might be able to use them to increase his own power and importance in Europe.

Now it had been agreed that Henry and Francis should meet near Calais, and spend some time together in a friendly way. Wolsey did not wish Henry to become a firm ally of Francis, so he wrote to Charles, suggesting that he too should have a meeting with Henry. This the emperor agreed to, and he went across to England and met Henry, only a few days before the English king set out for France. On the last day of May Henry set sail from Dover, and made for Calais.

IV.The Field of the Cloth of Gold.

Wolsey was fond of fine dress and grand display, and in making the arrangements for the meeting of the kings he did his utmost to make it as splendid as possible. Hundreds of English workmen were sent to Calais to prepare for the reception of the king and his court — bricklayers and carpenters, masons and decorators, gold workers and armorers.

Wolsey himself chose the nobles who were to accompany the king, and vast sums were spent in preparing themselves and their servants for the journey. One writer says that “ many lords bore thither to the meeting their mills, their forests, and their meadows on their backs,” meaning that they had sold their property in order to pay for their fine clothes.

The king took with him to France more than five thousand persons, and nearly three thousand horses. Not one of his court was more splendid than the great cardinal, whose personal followers numbered eight hundred men. The place of meeting was a meadow near Calais. Tents and huts had been erected around the town, and the camp was bright with flags and splendid decorations. Equal labor and money had been spent on the French side, and the splendor was such that the meeting place was called the Field of the Cloth of Gold.

There the two kings met, dressed in all their finery and jewels. Weeks were spent in feasts and tournaments among the nobles, and all kinds of frolics among the men-at-arms. Henry and Francis gave each other costly presents, and talked long together about matters of state. They professed to love each other sincerely, and no doubt many promises were made on both sides. But the whole meeting was only a splendid sham. Each king was thinking only of his own interests; and a few weeks after they had parted, Henry met the Emperor Charles, the French king’s bitter enemy. Charles and Henry made a secret treaty, in which Henry made the same promises that he had just made to Francis. The result was that Henry was trusted by neither.

But the object of Wolsey was partly attained. Charles and Francis both saw that it would be well for them to keep on good terms with England, and both were anxious not to offend Henry.

V.The Fall of Wolsey.

For seven years after the meeting of the kings, Wolsey continued to be the trusted servant of King Henry, and worked hard for the good of his country. He served Henry faithfully and unselfishly, and took on himself the blame and dislike which some of the king’s acts incurred.

Henry, as he grew older, became selfish and cruel, and when Wolsey at last failed to carry out his wishes, he treated the great man with base ingratitude. The story of Wolsey’s fall is a sad one.

Henry had fallen in love with a lady of the court named Anne Boleyn, who wished the king to marry her and make her queen. Anne was young and pretty and gay, and the king wanted to get rid of his quiet, serious Queen Katharine. So he began to pretend that he had done wrong in marrying his brother’s widow. He wanted the Pope to say that the marriage had been wrong, and to allow him to put away Katharine and marry Anne; and he expected Wolsey to arrange the matter.

But the Pope saw that Henry’s wishes were wrong; and even if they had been right, it would have been impossible for him to enable Henry to attain them. He was a prisoner, for Rome was in the hands of the troops of the Emperor Charles. Katharine was the aunt of Charles, and the Pope dared not offend him.

All that he would do was to send an Italian cardinal to England to join Wolsey in hearing both sides of the matter, but he did not intend that they should decide the question. The two cardinals at first tried to induce Henry to change his mind. When they found this impossible, they tried to persuade the queen to agree to leave her husband; but she would not do so, knowing that she had right on her side.

When the cardinals at last began to hear the case in court, the Italian did his utmost to delay coming to a decision. Henry

blamed Wolsey for the delay, and began to show his anger against him, though Wolsey was really doing his best for his master. A month passed, and when Henry came into court expecting judgment to be declared, the Italian cardinal rose and put off the matter for two months. The king was terribly angry, and so were his nobles. The Duke of Suffolk slapped a table and cried, “It was never merry in England whilst we had cardinals among us. ”

Wolsey turned upon him with scorn, for he had befriended the duke in many ways. “Sir,” he said, “of all men within this realm you have least cause to dispraise or be offended at cardinals; for if I, a simple cardinal, had not been, you should have had at this present no head upon your shoulders.”

Though Wolsey spoke so boldly in the presence of the king, he knew that he was a ruined man. Now that the king was displeased with him, his many enemies began to work for their revenge. He was accused of acting as legate of the Pope in England, contrary to a law passed in the reign of Edward the Third. Wolsey had no defence; for though he had done this at the wish of the king, yet, when the king ceased to support him, he could say nothing for himself.

He was ordered to give up the great seal which he held as chancellor, and to retire to his house at Esher. On the way he received the present of a ring from Henry, which gave him hope of winning back the king’s favor. He had wished to send a gift to the king in return, but he was now so poor that he had nothing worthy of his sovereign’s acceptance.

Among his servants, however, was a jester, who was so clever that Wolsey said he was worth a thousand pounds. The cardinal thought of sending him to the king. But “the poor fool took on so, and fired so in such a rage when he saw that he must needs depart from my lord,” that six tall yeomen had to be sent with him to get him safely to the king’s palace.

VI. Last Days of Wolsey.

At Christmas, Wolsey ‘s troubles made him ill, and Henry sent his own doctor to him. “I would not lose him for twenty thousand pounds,” he said.

“Then,” replied the doctor, “your Grace must send him some comfortable message as soon as is possible.” Henry took a favorite ring from his ringer and gave it to the doctor, saying, “Tell him that I am not offended with him in my heart nothing at all, and that shall he perceive, and God send him life very shortly.”

On Wolsey’s recovery, the king gave him full pardon, but his enemies were so powerful that he had to give up all his offices except the archbishopric of York. By and by he left Esher and set out for the north.

A writer of that time says: “Who was less beloved in the north than my lord cardinal before he was amongst them? Who better beloved after he had been there a while? He gave bishops a right good example how they might win men’s hearts. There were few holy days but he would ride five or six miles from his house, now to this parish church, now to that, and there cause one or other of his doctors to make a sermon unto the people. He inquired whether there were any debate or grudge between any of his visitors. If there were, after dinner he sent for the parties to the church, and made them all one.”

Meanwhile his enemies were still trying to ruin him. It was discovered that he wrote letters to servants of the French king and of the Emperor Charles, and Henry ordered him to be brought to London to be tried for treason. Wolsey was sitting quietly in his room when the Earl of Northumberland entered. He welcomed his visitor with a smile; but the earl, trembling, laid his hand upon his arm, and said to him, with a very faint and soft voice, “My lord, I arrest you of high

treason.”

Wolsey was speechless with astonishment. This fresh act of injustice broke his bold spirit, and when he set out for London he looked a worn-out old man. His servants wept at parting from him; a crowd of country people met him at the gate and cried, “God save your grace. The foul evil take all them that have thus taken you from us; we pray God that a very vengeance may light on them.”

He reached Leicester Abbey so weak and ill that he had to be carried into it from his mule. “Father Abbot,” he said, “I am come hither to leave my bones among you.” For two days he lay there dying; then, on November 27, 1530, the great man passed away. In his last hours he sadly regretted that he had given so much time to state matters, and so little to his duty as a clergyman. “If I had served God so diligently as I have done the king,” he said, “he would not have given me over in my gray hairs.”

Wolsey was one of England’s great statesmen, though the value of what he did and would have done for his country was for a long time not understood. Eager as he was for his own greatness, he was still more eager to make England great. Fond as he was of display, it must be remembered that he spent much of his wealth for his country’s good.

He began to endow and build two colleges, one at Ipswich, his native town, and the other at Oxford; this latter he meant to be a magnificent memorial of himself under the name Cardinal College. He lived to see only the hall of his Oxford college built; but the king finished his work, and the college, under the name of Christ Church, remains as a reminder of the great cardinal who served his king too well.

Section 17: The Story of the Reformation

I.The King as Head of the Church.

The quarrel between Henry and the Pope over the marriage question had very important results. After Wolsey’s death, the king again tried to get leave from the Pope to put away Queen Katharine and marry Anne Boleyn. As the Pope still refused, the quarrel became very bitter.

A Cambridge lecturer named Thomas Cranmer, in talking with the king’s secretary, had suggested that if the Pope would not give way, Henry might ask the opinion of the learned men of Europe as to whether his first marriage was lawful. Henry was much pleased with the notion, and at once began to show favor to Cranmer.

Letters were sent to the heads of all the universities in Europe, asking them to consider the question with care, and to let the king of England know their decision. Unhappily, Henry was more anxious to get a favorable opinion than an honest one, and immense sums of money were spent in bribing the learned men. After all, only half of them decided that Henry had done wrong in marrying his brother’s widow, and thus he was again bitterly disappointed.

But now a bold proposal was made by a man who, for nearly ten years, wielded immense power in England. This man was Thomas Cromwell, the son of a blacksmith at Putney. When a youth, he left England because of some disgraceful conduct, and served as a common soldier in the French army in Italy. Then he became a clerk at Antwerp,

and by and by returned to England, married, and engaged in business. He was a cloth merchant, a lawyer, and a moneylender, and by dint of hard work he became a man of wealth and importance.

Wolsey noticed the young man ’ s ability, took him into his service, and had him elected a member of Parliament. When the cardinal was making plans for the building of his colleges at Oxford and Ipswich, he found Cromwell useful in getting the necessary money together. Cromwell served his master faithfully; and when the great cardinal had lost the favor of the king, and his enemies were seeking to ruin him, Cromwell took his part manfully, and did what he could to defend him. After Wolsey’s death he entered the king’s service, and in a few years he became his trusted adviser, and rose to a position as great as the cardinal’s had been.

His proposal with regard to the king’s marriage was, that Henry should declare that the power of the Pope was at an end in England, and that the king had the right to do whatever he wished in church matters as well as in matters of state. In other words, Henry was to declare himself to be the head of the Church in England. Thus he would be able to do as he pleased without asking the Pope.

Now, when it is remembered that the Pope was admitted to be the head of the Church in every Christian country, it will be seen how daring Cromwell’s proposal was. But Henry would shrink from nothing in order to get his own way. The English clergy were ordered to acknowledge the king as the “only supreme head of the Church and Clergy of England.” They were very unwilling to do so, but they knew that Henry would allow nothing to stand in his way, and they were afraid to refuse.

Cranmer was now made Archbishop of Canterbury, and he at once held a court to decide the great marriage question. In a short time Henry’s first marriage was declared unlawful, and a week after, the king’s new wife, Anne Boleyn, was

crowned queen by the archbishop.

II.The Ruin of the Monasteries.

Henry had now defied the authority of the Pope; and acting on the advice of Cromwell, he proceeded still further in his course. The king took into his own hands the appointment of bishops, which had formerly belonged to the Pope, and Cromwell compelled the clergy to preach sermons against the Pope, and in favor of Henry as head of the Church in England. The Pope replied by excommunicating Henry, declaring him to be no longer king of England, and giving permission to anybody who pleased to take the crown from him.

An Act of Parliament was now passed which required people to declare that Henry had done right, according to the law of the Church, in sending away his wife Katharine and marrying Anne. There were many men who nobly refused to make such a declaration. Numbers of such men were cruelly put to death for their refusal.

Then Cromwell advised the king to set about another measure which made both Henry and his adviser hated throughout the land. Spread over the country there were some six hundred monasteries, that is, places where men or women lived apart from other people, because they had promised to devote their lives to study and prayer and good works. When these monasteries were founded, people thought that the only way to live a really good life was to become a monk or a nun, and keep away from temptation and the pleasures of the world.

But the monks and nuns who lived in these monasteries did not spend the whole of their time in prayer and study. They often worked hard in many ways, and led useful lives. They kept schools; they cultivated land and cleared forests;

they drained pestilent marshes, and looked after the poor and the sick. They built splendid churches and copied books, and wrote records of the history of the country. Their houses were open to every traveller, and many a weary horseman and footsore wanderer found rest and refreshment there.

But there are bad men everywhere, and some of the monks did not keep their vow to live sober and godly lives. They were sometimes more eager to be rich than to be good. Cromwell made the wrong-doing of some the excuse for acts of injustice against all.

The king was extravagant and always in want of money, but he was always reluctant to ask Parliament to levy taxes for him. He was anxious not to seem to oppress the nation. So when Cromwell proposed to shut up some of the monasteries and take their property, Henry was delighted. He allowed Cromwell to take away their lands and treasures, and to turn the inmates out to find other homes. The wealth which Cromwell thus got he gave to the king, who gave some of it back to Cromwell as a reward, and some to lords of his court.

Whatever the truth about the monasteries may be, Henry in dealing with them acted as a tyrant, and his tyranny went even further. An English cardinal, named Reginald Pole, had written a book against Henry’s claim to be the head of the Church. Because of this, Pole’s elder brother, Lord Montagu, and another relative, the Marquis of Exeter, were beheaded, and even Pole’s aged mother, the Countess of Salisbury, met the same fate.

III. The New Religious Faith.

Side by side with this movement against the Pope and the wealth of the Church, there was going on a more quiet change of religious belief. For several years learned men had been

preaching against some of the things which were commonly taught. In Germany a man named Martin Luther was the foremost among these Reformers, as they were called. The people who held the new beliefs were called Protestants, while those who held the old beliefs were still known as Catholics. In our days people think that what a man believes is a matter for his own conscience; in those days they thought that a man who believed differently from themselves should be made to change his belief. For many years, both Catholics and Protestants, when they had the power, treated each other very cruelly.

One of the points on which the Protestants differed from the Catholics was as to the Bible. Most of the Catholics thought that people should not read the Bible for themselves, but should only have it read and explained to them by clergymen. But the Protestants thought that every man should read the Bible for himself, and they wished it to be translated out of the languages in which it was written, into the language of the common people. Some of the Catholics thought so too. One of them, a wise Dutch scholar named Erasmus, was anxious that the Bible should be translated into every known language. “I long,” he said, “for the day when the husbandman shall sing portions of the gospels to himself as he follows the plough, when the weaver shall hum them to the time of his shuttle, when the traveller shall while away with their stories the weariness of his journey.”

Now, when the teaching of Luther and others reached England, Henry was at first very much against it. He even wrote a book against Luther, which he sent to the Pope, and for which the Pope rewarded him with the title of Defender of the Faith. But by and by, when Henry himself had had his great quarrel with the Pope, it was natural that he should think a little less hardly of those who disagreed with the Pope on matters of belief. The Protestants in England were slowly growing in numbers, and already included a few of the chief

clergy.

When Henry declared himself head of the Church, he began to think that he could order people to believe just what he pleased. So he made some changes in the articles of religion, that is, the written statement of the Church’s beliefs, and the changes that he made were such as some of the Catholics themselves agreed with. Henry himself was never a Protestant; and when the Protestants tried to make their beliefs the established religion of the country, he was angry. He got Parliament to pass what was called the Act of Six Articles, which were six things that Henry said everybody ought to believe. The Act inflicted severe punishments on those who said anything against the six articles.

IV. Religious Persecutions.

Henry, by Cromwell’s advice, ordered a translation of the Bible to be made in English, and a copy to be placed in every church. There had been English translations before, but they had not been in the hands of people generally, and had only been read secretly and in fear.

Miles Coverdale, a Yorkshireman, had been for some years helping his friend William Tyndal to translate the Bible. In the year 1536 the first printed copies of the Bible in English were imported from Switzerland into England. Cromwell then appointed Cranmer and the bishops to revise the existing version of the Bible, and published it without note or comment, and in the year 1539 a copy of the English Bible was chained to the reading-desk of every parish church. From that time the Bible has never ceased to be printed and sold freely.

The Protestants now increased more rapidly in numbers, and in the short reign of Edward the Sixth, Henry’s son, the government was in the hands of Protestants. In the next reign, Queen Mary, Henry’s elder daughter, who was a very

strong Catholic, restored the Catholic religion; and now Protestants were terribly persecuted. By the time Elizabeth, Henry’s younger daughter, came to the throne, people of both parties were sick of cruelty and torture, and Elizabeth herself had no strong liking for one religion or the other.

She had both Catholics and Protestants among her favorites and counsellors. She was inclined to allow people to believe what they pleased, so long as they were good subjects and acknowledged her as the head of the Church. She was a tyrant like her father, and punished Protestants and Catholics alike if they offended her. Persecution was not entirely given up for many years, but England never again suffered horrors such as those of Mary’s reign.

Many of the people were Catholics at the opening of Elizabeth’s reign, but from its end, up to the present time. Catholics and Protestants alike have learned to live in friendship and peace with one another, and in common loyalty to their country, though their beliefs are not the same.

Of course there is a great deal more to be learned about the Reformation than can be told in this book. But enough has been said to show that in England it began with a quarrel between the king and the Pope, and that when changes in belief followed, both sides thought that they were right, and both sides sometimes did wrong things in trying to make others believe as they did.

Section 18: The Story of Sir Thomas More I. More’s Life.

Thomas More was the son of a lawyer, and was born in the year 1478. After he left school, the boy became a page in the service of the Archbishop of Canterbury, Henry the Seventh’s great minister, Cardinal Morton. The cardinal was pleased with the boy’s wit and intelligence, and often said to the nobles who dined at his table, “This child here waiting at the table, whosoever shall live to see it, will prove a marvellous man. ”

After studying at Oxford, More became a student of law and a member of Parliament. When Henry the Eighth came to the throne, More soon won favor with him, and was taken into his service, and made a knight. His manners and conversation were so attractive that the king would often send for him after supper, and talk and joke with him. This kept him so much at court, that at last he had great difficulty in getting leave to go home and see his wife and children. So he began to be less talkative and merry, and put on such serious airs, and smiled so seldom, that the king began to think him a dull companion, and did not send for him quite so often. Thus he managed to get a little liberty.

The home life of More was simple and charming. He was fond of his three little girls, and taught them very carefully, trying to win their interest by showing them all sorts of curious things that he had collected. “He was as fond of their pets and games as the children themselves, and would take grave

scholars and statesmen into the garden to see his girls’ rabbithutches, or to watch the gambols of their favorite monkey.” When away from home, he would write amusing verses for his little ones to read, and he was always thinking about their happiness.

No one was better pleased than More when the young king gave up his plans for war with France. He still enjoyed great favor with Henry. Once the king paid an unexpected visit to his house at Chelsea, “and after dinner, in a fair garden of his, he walked with him by the space of an hour, holding his arm about his neck.

“As soon as his Grace was gone,” says More’s son-in-law, “I, rejoicing, told Sir Thomas More how happy he was, whom the king had so familiarly entertained, as I have never seen him do to any before, except Cardinal Wolsey, whom I saw his Grace once walk with arm in arm. ”

More replied: “I find his Grace my very good lord indeed, and I do believe he doth as singularly favor me as any subject within this realm. Howbeit I may tell thee, I have no cause to be proud thereof. For if my head would win him a castle in France, it should not fail to go. ”

When the question of putting away Queen Katharine arose, More, who was now lord chancellor, felt that he could not agree with Henry, and gave up his office. There never lived a more upright judge than More was. He refused to place his relatives in important positions, unless they were the men best fitted for them. It was impossible to bribe him, as some judges in those days were bribed. Once a gilt cup was given him by a lady as a New Year’s present. He courteously drank her health in it, then returned it as a present to her husband. A rich widow, in whose favor he had given a judgment, sent him a large sum of money inside a pair of gloves. “Since it were against good manners to forsake a gentlewoman’s New Year’s gift,” he said, “I am content to receive your gloves, but as for your money I utterly refuse.”

II. More’s Death.

After his retirement from office, More lived quietly with his family at Chelsea. But Henry was a king who never forgave any one who opposed him. When the act was passed which required the clergy and others to acknowledge that the king’s first marriage was unlawful, More refused to take the oath. He was bidden to go to the archbishop’s palace at Lambeth and there take the oath. As he went down the Thames in his boat, he sat silent for a while. Then he turned and said to his sonin-law, “I thank our Lord the field is won.” By which he meant that he had conquered the temptation to give way, and would obey his conscience to the end.

Nothing could make him change his mind, and he was sent a prisoner to the Tower. Some time after this an act was passed proclaiming Henry head of the Church, and declaring that any one who denied it was a traitor. Several clergymen were executed for refusing to acknowledge Henry’s headship, and from the window of his cell More saw them on their way to the block. Yet he spoke cheerfully to his daughter, who was visiting him, though he knew that the same fate would be his. When his wife came to see him, and said that he might, if he pleased, enjoy his house, his library, his books and gallery, his gardens and orchards, and live merrily with his family, instead of lying in a filthy prison among mice and rats, he said, “Tell me, is not this house as nigh heaven as mine own?”

By and by it was reported to the Parliament that the prisoner had spoken treasonable words; and being brought to trial in Westminster Hall, this noble man was condemned to death, after he had defended himself in a splendid speech. A week afterwards, he was led from the Tower to the place of execution.

The scaffold shook with his weight as he mounted the steps. He turned and said cheerfully to the officer, “I pray you,

I pray you, Mr. Lieutenant, see me safe up, and for my coming down let me shift for myself.”

Then kneeling down, he said a short prayer. After which he rose, and turning to the headsman, he smiled, and said: “Pluck up thy spirits, man, and be not afraid to do thine office, for my neck is very short. Take care that you do not aim awry.” He placed his head calmly on the block, but raised it again to move his beard out of the path of the axe. “Pity that should be cut,” he said, “that has committed no treason.”

“So passed Sir Thomas More out of this world to God upon the very same day in which himself had most desired.” When the news was told to the Emperor Charles, he sent for the English ambassador, and said, “We would rather have lost the best city of our dominions than have lost such a worthy counsellor.”

Sir Thomas More, besides being the wisest, wittiest, and noblest Englishman of his day, was the author of a famous book about an imaginary island called Utopia. The name is Greek, and means Nowhere-land, and the book describes the people and customs of a land where all was happiness, peace, and contentment — a land which, the author knew too well, existed nowhere.

More’s object in writing this book was to draw men’s atten-tion to evils in his own country, and to what might be done to remedy them. He saw that the king and his great men thought too much of war and wealth and grandeur, and not enough of the happiness and welfare of the people whom they were set to govern. It was his wish to turn their thoughts to this subject, and show, by means of his picture of Utopia, what a blessed place to live in such a land must be.

Nowadays there are many earnest men and women whose minds are filled with the same desires that caused More to write his wonderful book, and who are working hard and unselfishly to help the poor and the wretched, and to make the world a little more like the Utopia which no man has ever seen.

Section 19: The Story of Lady Jane Grey

I. The Question of the Succession.

The list of the sovereigns of England does not contain the name of Queen Jane; yet for twelve days, Queen Jane was sovereign of the country, though only in name. She is best known as Lady Jane Grey; and to understand her unhappy story, we must return to the reign of Henry the Eighth.

Not three years had passed after Henry’s marriage with Anne Boleyn, before the tyrant king was tired of her, and had fallen in love with one of her maids of honor, Lady Jane Seymour. He found out, or pretended to find out, that Anne was not a faithful wife; and though she declared her innocence, she was beheaded. The very next day Henry married his third wife, Jane Seymour. To his great delight, she became the mother of a prince, who was named Edward; but the queen died a week after his birth. Henry had now three children, Mary, Elizabeth, and Edward; and though he married three more wives, no more children were born to him.

Three years before his death, Henry made a will in which he settled the succession to the crown. Parliament accepted his arrangement, and passed an Act confirming it. By this Act, when Henry died, the crown was to pass first to Edward, then to Mary if Edward left no child, and then to Elizabeth if Mary died childless. If all three left no children, the next heirs were declared to be the descendants of Henry’s sister, Mary, who had married Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk.

At Henry’s death, therefore, his son became King Edward

the Sixth. As he was only ten years old, it was decided that the kingdom should be governed for him until he reached the age of eighteen. The poor boy did not live so long. He was a quiet, studious lad, and very anxious to do what was right, and he had been brought up as a strict Protestant. His reign is chiefly memorable for the drawing up of the Book of Common Prayer, which, slightly altered, is still in use; and for the foundation of sixteen grammar schools in various parts of the country.

Edward being too young to govern, a protector was appointed to rule in his stead. There were two men who held this office, one after the other, both of whom made themselves hated by their unwise actions. The first, the Duke of Somerset, was deprived of his office by his enemies, and afterwards beheaded; the second, the Duke of Northumberland, brought the same fate upon himself by his ambition.

In the sixth year of his reign, Edward became so ill that it was clear he could not live long; and the Duke of Northumberland resolved to make himself all powerful in the land. He told the dying king that if Henry’s will were carried out, and Mary became queen, she, being a Roman Catholic, would restore the power of the Pope in England. He also said that Elizabeth had no right to the crown, because her mother, Anne Boleyn, had not been legally Henry’s wife. After Elizabeth, the next heirs, by Henry’s will, were the grandchildren of his sister, the Duchess of Suffolk; and the eldest of these, Lady Jane Grey, had just been married to Northumberland’s son, Lord Guilford Dudlev. In this marriage we find the explanation of the Protector’s conduct.

Northumberland now persuaded Edward to make a will, appointing the Lady Jane his heir, and called upon the great peers and the chief state officials to sign it. In vain it was pointed out that Parliament alone could settle the succession to the throne; Northumberland violently demanded their assent to his scheme, and they were afraid to refuse. Little

more than a fortnight later, the young king died, and the most important men in the country had promised to make Lady Jane Grey queen.

II. The Fate of Lady Jane.

The Lady Jane was a young girl of sixteen years, and knew nothing of her father-in-law’s designs. She had been carefully brought up as a Protestant. She was very bright and intelligent, and an excellent scholar, knowing Latin and Greek, in addition to Italian and French. Above all, her character was pure and beautiful.

When Northumberland sent for her, and told her that Edward was dead, and that she was to be queen, she burst into tears. Edward had been her playmate and fellow pupil; she was distressed at his death, and also at her own unfitness to succeed to his great office. She at first refused the crown, and only accepted it after much persuasion.

She was led, richly dressed, through the streets of London, and proclaimed queen at the Tower; but no one except her own heralds raised a cheer for her. One apprentice boy ventured to say that Mary should be queen and not Lady Jane, and he was nailed by his ears to the pillory. The boy had only expressed the opinion of many others in the kingdom. Meanwhile a swift messenger had galloped off to tell Mary what had happened. Northumberland sent a party of men to seize her, but when they reached the house where she had been staying, she had escaped.

Nobles and gentlemen now flocked to Mary from all parts, and she gained the support of many who had been forced to sign Edward’s will in favor of Lady Jane. Northumberland raised an army and marched out of London to fight for Queen Jane; but even his own men deserted and went over to Mary. While he was absent, Mary was proclaimed queen in London;

thousands of voices cried, “God save the Queen!” bells pealed, and bonfires blazed. Most of the people were for the rightful queen; they detested Northumberland for his pride and his bad government; large numbers of them were Catholics, and wished for a Catholic queen.

Northumberland and many of his friends were arrested and thrown into the Tower, and Mary rode into London in triumph. The prisoners were tried and condemned for treason, and Northumberland and two others were executed; but Mary spared Lady Jane, whom she knew to be innocent. She and her young husband were sent to the Tower; but they suffered no harsh treatment, and at first enjoyed some liberty within the walls.

Unhappily, Lady Jane soon had to suffer for the crimes of others. When Mary proposed to marry Philip, the king of Spain, many of her subjects were deeply offended. Sir Thomas Wyatt, a brave and accomplished man, raised the men of Kent in rebellion, and led them towards London, declaring that they would not have a Spaniard as their king. Mary was at first in great danger of losing her crown; but she won the Londoners to her side by a spirited speech. When the insurgents arrived at London Bridge, hoping to gain possession of the city, they found the gate shut and the drawbridge broken down.

Hastening to Kingston-on-Thames, Wyatt crossed the river there, and marched through the night towards the city. The roads were heavy with mire; many of his men lost courage and returned to their homes; and the rest, weary and faint with hunger, broke and fled at the first attack of the queen ’ s troops. Wyatt was captured at Ludgate Hill and sent to the Tower; hundreds of his supporters were huddled into the common prisons until they could be hanged.

And now Mary’s vengeance fell on the Lady Jane. She had taken no part in the rebellion, and the rebels had not taken arms for her; but perhaps, if they had succeeded, she would

have become queen. While she lived, Mary felt that her throne was not secure. On February 12, 1554, six months after she had accepted the crown, Lady Jane was led out to execution. She had just seen her husband’s dead body carried past her window, for he suffered first. She walked firmly and quietly to the scaffold; while her attendants wept bitterly as they accompanied her. She sprang lightly up the steps of the scaffold, and told the people who crowded round that she had broken the law in accepting the crown; but that she had meant no wrong, and the guilt was not hers. Then she laid her head on the block, and at one stroke of the axe, the good, beautiful girl was dead.

Section 20: The Story of Queen Elizabeth

I. Elizabeth and Mary.

During the long reign of Queen Elizabeth, England rose to a height of greatness and importance to which it had never risen before. It owed much to great statesmen and soldiers and sailors, but also a very great deal to the queen herself. Elizabeth was the daughter of Henry the Eighth and Anne Boleyn. When she was less than three years old, her mother was beheaded. The little girl’s life was not a very happy one. During the reign of her brother Edward the Sixth, Elizabeth lived at various manor-houses, and had for her teacher a wise tutor named Roger Ascham. While her sister Mary was queen, Elizabeth was in some danger of losing her life. Mary, who was the daughter of Henry’s first queen, Katharine, was a strong Roman Catholic, and was eager to prevent the growth of the Protestant religion in England. Elizabeth was thought to be a Protestant, like her mother, and only her prudence prevented her from suffering for her religion. When Mary died, England was in a sad condition. Mary and her counsellors had so cruelly treated people who did not agree with them in religion, that the nation was sick of the whole matter. She had gone to war with France, too, to please her husband, Philip of Spain; and the English had been beaten, and had lost Calais, which had belonged to them for more than two hundred years. The loss of Calais made Mary so unpopular that the whole nation was quite pleased to hear of her death.

Thus the people were ready to give a hearty welcome to their new queen, the Princess Elizabeth. She had behaved so prudently during the five years of her sister’s reign, that nobody quite knew what sort of queen she would be, and so both Catholics and Protestants thought that they might be favored by her.

II. Elizabeth’s Character.

When she became queen, Elizabeth was twenty-five years old. She had a queenly figure, a pleasing if not a beautiful face, and a mind that had been well trained. She was “ a bold horsewoman, a good shot, a graceful dancer, a skilled musician, and an accomplished scholar.” She could read Greek and Latin, and speak Italian and French, and she keenly enjoyed the poems and plays which the splendid writers of her time produced. She was careful of money; indeed, she was miserly, and would not allow money to be spent even when it was needed for the defence of the country.

But she was anxious to make the people fond of her, and she did not wish heavy taxes to be put upon them. On one occasion she returned part of the money which the House of Commons had ordered to be collected for her. Fear was unknown to her. There were many people who would have liked to kill her, but she took no care for her own safety, and allowed some of her most dangerous enemies to come freely to her court. She hated war, and kept out of it as much as she could.

Besides these good qualities she had some bad ones. Though sparing in some things, she spent large sums of money on dress, and she loved show. She was deceitful, and fond of trickery, rather than of straightforward dealing. She was vain and proud, and sometimes gave way to furious bursts of anger, even going so far as to box the ears of one of her councillors

when he displeased her.

Her ideas of what was honest and fair were strange. Once a number of Spanish ships, carrying money to Philip’s governor in the Low Countries, came into English ports to escape the pirates who sailed the English Channel. Philip had borrowed the money from Italian money-lenders, but Elizabeth ordered it to be seized and brought to her. She would borrow it herself, she said.

One of her worst faults was want of gratitude to the men who served her well. She did not dismiss or put to death her ministers for slight faults, as her father Henry had done; but she was often ungenerous in her treatment of them. Sir Francis Walsingham, a man of great ability, and one to whom Elizabeth owed her life and who spent his whole fortune in her service, died so poor that he had to be buried at night to save expense.

III.England Under Elizabeth.

Englishmen in the reign of Elizabeth lived very differently from Englishmen of to-day. Their houses were not well built, but they ate good, wholesome food; indeed, a Spaniard in writing about their ways said, “These Englishmen have their houses of sticks and dirt, but they fare commonly as well as the king.”

People got up at four o’clock in the morning all the year round. At five o’clock they had breakfast of bread and beef and beer, and then the laborers went to work, and the gentlemen to pleasure or business. Food was cheap; beef and pork could be bought for one cent a pound, a chicken for two cents, and the best goose in a country market for eight cents. For two cents a working-man could buy as much as would now cost him twenty-five cents; but money was scarcer and wages were lower than in our days.

STORIES OF THE BRITISH ISLES

The houses of the poor were made “of sticks and dirt,” as the Spanish writer said; but buildings were being greatly improved. Instead of holes in the roof through which the smoke from the fires passed out, chimneys were built. Instead of having mere holes in the walls, or small windows of thin horn, the people now began to have larger windows of glass. Glass then cost a good deal of money, and some people grumbled at the expense of the new windows.

Furniture began to be improved. Up to this time beds like ours were almost unknown. People used to sleep on pallets of straw, and rest their heads on bags of chaff or logs of wood. But now feather and wool beds came into use. The floors, instead of being strewed with rushes, in. which bones and waste food and filth of all kinds collected, were now covered with carpets.

Nowadays there is not a very great difference between the dress of rich and poor. But in Elizabeth’s time, the nobles spent untold wealth upon their dress. The queen set the example, and her courtiers seemed to try to outdo one another in the splendor of their clothing. They wore silks and velvets of the most gaudy colors, while the poorer classes dressed in plain garments of woollen cloth and leather.

Every man was bound by law to keep arms in his house, according to the amount of his property. A man whose land was worth seventy-five dollars a year had to keep a hauberk, or shirt of mail, a helmet, a sword, a dagger, and a horse. A man whose land was worth only ten dollars a year kept a sword, a bow and arrows, and a dagger. Every man above fifteen years of age was bound to have bow and arrows, so that all the men could be called out as soldiers if need arose. Shooting with bow and arrows was a favorite exercise and amusement.

Every village had its pair of archery butts, “and on Sundays and holidays, all able-bodied men were required to appear in the field to employ their leisure hours as valiant

Englishmen ought to do.” Young men of the upper classes amused themselves with sword and lance exercises, and with practice in the use of firearms. Field sports were also common, such as fishing, shooting, and hunting. The forests were kept for the sake of the rich, and poor men were forbidden by law to hunt in them.

The trade of the country was rapidly growing in extent and importance. A large number of the people were employed in growing crops and in pasturing sheep occupations of far more importance then than they are in England now. The wool from the sheep had formerly been sent across to Flanders to be woven into cloth, and to Florence to be dyed; but now Englishmen had learned to weave it and dye it themselves. Manufactures of woollen and iron goods now greatly increased, and Manchester and Sheffield were rising towns.

The daring of English seamen was opening up new markets for English goods abroad, and was bringing goods from other lands to England. Tobacco, mahogany, maize, and potatoes first became known in England in this reign, and with new materials new trades and occupations arose.

In one matter particularly Elizabeth showed her good sense. It was the custom to reward favorites with the grant of monopolies, that is, the sole right to trade in certain articles. Thus Sir Walter Raleigh had the sole right to export woollen broad-cloth for a certain length of time; also, he had the right to demand a fee from every dealer in wine. Now this of course made such articles dearer than they would otherwise have been, and people complained of the high prices they had to pay. When the House of Commons objected to the monopolies, Elizabeth admitted the justice of the complaints, and took away a number of the monopolies from the courtiers to whom they had been given.

Elizabeth’s reign is famous for the beginning of the poorlaws. Though most people were then able to live in comfort, there was a large number of poor folks. Men who were

maimed in war, and men who were too old and feeble to work, or who could not get work, had either to beg or to starve. There were severe laws against beggars who were well and strong, but too lazy to work, and hundreds of such men were caught and hanged every year. But that did not help those who were willing but unable to work. So at last laws were made by which the people of every district were bound to look after their own poor and old people, and to provide homes and food for them. Those who could work were made to do so; and thus great numbers of idle men, instead of being left to become robbers, were made harmless and useful members of society.

Section 21: The Story of Mary Queen of Scots I.Mary and Darnley.

Mary Stuart, daughter of James the Fifth of Scotland, was a queen from her babyhood, for she was crowned when she was less than a year old. As she grew older, Henry the Eighth was hoping that he might be able to bring about a marriage between the young Scotch queen and his son, Edward the Sixth. This would have united the two countries under one crown.

But Mary’s mother had been a French princess, and she was not willing that her daughter should marry an English king, so when the little girl was five years old she was sent to France to be educated. At the age of sixteen she married Francis, the eldest son of the French king; and when, in less than a year, he succeeded to the throne, Mary became queen of both France and Scotland.

Francis had reigned only eighteen months when he died, and the young girl found herself facing a great responsibility. She had already lost her mother who had been ruling Scotland for her, and now the Scots were eager for her to return to her own country.

Mary loved the gay court of France and she was distressed at the thought of the difficulties which awaited her in Scotland. The French were a bright, pleasant people, while the

Scotsmen were rough and plainspoken. Moreover, many of them were under the influence of the reformers, led by the stern John Knox, who denounced the life of gayety and ease to which Mary was accustomed. She decided, however, to leave her beloved France, and return to her native land.

For years the king of Scotland had been kept in power mainly by the aid of French troops. At last, with England’s help, the reformers grew strong enough to drive out the French, and the control fell into the hands of a number of nobles who called themselves, “Lords of the Congregation.”

Mary was an ardent Catholic, and had it not been for the charm of her youth and beauty, she would have had serious trouble with her sternly Protestant people. As it was, she gave great offence to many of her lords by her marriage to Henry, Lord Darnley, a handsome young man of nineteen. He was not a strong character, and Mary allowed neither him nor his friends to have any power in the government. They were enraged at this, especially when Mary, instead of asking their advice, often consulted her secretary, an Italian named David Rizzio. One evening Mary’s husband, with four friends, burst into the room where Rizzio was sitting with the Queen, stabbed him as he clung to her dress for protection, and then dragged him into an ante-room where they hacked him to death.

Mary’s dislike of her husband now turned to hatred, which, however, she carefully concealed. She treated him with apparent friendliness and won him over to her interest.

II. Mary’s Misfortunes.

Not long after this, Darnley fell sick and was lodged in a solitary house near Edinburgh. Mary nursed him with every appearance of tenderness. One night, when he was left alone with an attendant, the house was blown up and burned to

ashes. The next day the dead bodies of Darnley and his page were found in the garden.

Lord Both well, a few weeks afterwards, seized the queen as she was out riding, carried her off to Dunbar, and there married her. The whole nation was shocked and indignant, for they believed that Mary and Both well had planned the murder of Darnley together. The Protestant “Lords of the Congregation” flew to arms, while the Catholics held aloof from a queen whose marriage with a Protestant they could not forgive. Still, Bothwell was able to raise a fair force and met the lords at Carberry Hill; but his men refused to fight, and Bothwell fled to Denmark, where he afterwards died in prison. Mary surrendered and was taken back to Edinburgh.

The lords imprisoned the captive queen in Lochleven Castle, which stood in the middle of a lake. Here Mary was forced to resign her crown to her baby son, James, and to appoint her half-brother, the Earl of Moray, regent. After nearly a year Mary made her escape. A page took the keys of the castle from beside the plate of the governor as he sat at supper, and ran off with them. Mary followed the lad down the stairs. She unlocked the outer gate and passed through with one or two companions, locked it behind her, and sprang into a little boat that lay by the shore.

They rowed rapidly across to where a number of lords and other friends were waiting on horseback, and galloped off in safety. A large number of nobles, with other armed men, joined Mary at Hamilton. When the Earl of Moray heard of the queen ’ s escape, he speedily raised an army in defence of young King James. He met and defeated the queen’s forces at Langside, two miles south of Glasgow.

When Mary saw that all was lost she rode off with a few friends towards the south, covering sixty miles before she rested. At the coast of the Solway Firth she embarked in a fishing boat for England, for she hoped that Queen Elizabeth would protect her and restore her to her kingdom.

Years before, Mary had claimed to be the rightful queen of England, and many of the English Catholics supported her claim. She was certainly heir to the throne in the event of Elizabeth’s death. The Catholics of the north flocked to her, and the Duke of Norfolk, the head of the English nobility, wished to marry her.

Mary demanded that Elizabeth should either restore her to her position as queen of Scotland or allow her to go to France. Elizabeth said that she would help her if she would stand trial and show that the charges made against her by the Scots were untrue; but Mary declared that she, a queen, could not be tried by English judges, and then Elizabeth decided to keep her in England.

For the next twenty years Mary passed a weary life, moving from one mansion to another in the charge of guardians set over her by Elizabeth. All the time her friends were working to make her queen of England. Some were trying to persuade the king of Spain to invade England in her favor. They wished to depose Elizabeth and restore the old religion, and several plots were formed for carrying out these designs. At length one of these plots, which was said to have had for its object the murder of Queen Elizabeth, was found out, and all the conspirators were brought to trial and executed. Mary herself was arrested by a troop of soldiers as she was riding out with a hunting party. She was taken to Fotheringay castle and charged with plotting the death of the queen. After a trial before forty-five judges she was found guilty, and the Parliament begged Elizabeth to have her put to death.

Elizabeth at first hesitated, but at last she gave way, and on February 18, 1587, the hapless Queen of the Scots was beheaded at Fotheringay. She met her death bravely and calmly, declaring her innocence. Indeed, there are to this day people who believe that the charges against her were false.

Section 22: The Story of Sir Francis Drake I.His Early Life.

In the last years of the reign of Edward the Sixth, a little, chubby, blue-eyed, curly headed boy might have been seen playing on the deck of an old ship moored off Chatham dockyard. The boy was Francis Drake. Brought up on the hulk which was his father’s only house, his eyes were constantly upon masts and rigging and guns, his ears were filled with the rough talk and the jolly songs of the mariners, and he grew up with a longing to enter the royal navy.

When Queen Mary came to the throne, Francis became a ship-boy on a small vessel that sailed to France and Holland. It was hard and rough work, but the boy grew up sturdy and strong, and with a deep hatred of the king of Spain for the cruelty with which he treated his Dutch subjects.

Soon after Elizabeth became queen, Drake’s master died and left him his ship. With this he traded for some years; but when the king of Spain, by shutting his seaports against English ships, ruined Drake’s trade, he sold his ship and entered the service of John Hawkins, the bold sea-rover and slave-trader.

After a successful trading voyage the English ships were driven by a storm into a Spanish port on the Gulf of Mexico. There, in spite of a promise to allow them to refit in safety, the Spaniards basely attacked them unawares, and Hawkins lost half his ships. From that moment he and Drake vowed to show no mercy to Spain.

II. One of Drake’s Adventures.

The life of Sir Francis Drake is full of adventure. He was the first English navigator to sail round the world, and the story of the perils and miseries and triumphs of that famous voyage would fill this book. With the story of how he “singed the king of Spain’s beard,” we must leave the bold hero.

The king of Spain had been for a long time preparing a great fleet, with which he meant to conquer England. One day Drake slipped out of Plymouth with twenty-four ships, and set sail for Spain to see what damage he could do to the Armada, as the Spanish fleet was named. After sailing round the coast, he led his fleet into the bay within which lies Cadiz harbor, and announced that he was going to attack the huge ships which lay at anchor there. Some of his officers thought him mad, for the Spanish ships were not only powerful, but they were defended by batteries on shore.

As the sun was setting, Drake sailed into the harbor. The merchant ships at once cut their cables and attempted to escape from the terrible Dragon, whose very name they feared, while ten war-ships came out to defend them. Having sent a part of his fleet to capture the flying vessels, with the rest Drake met the Spanish war-ships, which, before they could get their guns to bear, were pounded and ruined by English shot.

Ship after ship was captured and sunk or burnt. Far in the depth of the harbor lay the splendid ship of Spain’s greatest admiral amid a crowd of other huge vessels. Drake made straight for these, and before long, they too had been plundered and destroyed.

Thus in thirty-six hours, Drake and his bold seamen had utterly destroyed many of the finest ships in the world, and captured enough provisions to store his fleet for months. This he called “singeing the king of Spain’s beard”; and thus he

succeeded in delaying the departure of the great Armada for a year, until new ships and fresh stores had been got ready by the Spaniards to replace those they had lost.

With the defeat of the Armada in the year 1588, Drake crowned his fame. He had been knighted by the queen on his return from his voyage round the world, and he was now the darling of the whole country. All Europe rang with the glory of his name, and in Spain the mischievous street boys yelled under the windows of the beaten Spanish admiral, “Drake is coming! Drake is coming!”

During the remaining eight years of his life, Drake won no more great successes. When Spain was preparing a new Armada for the conquest of England, Drake led an expedition against it, and destroyed much shipping, but the loss of life on the English side was terrible.

He joined in an attempt to restore to the throne of Portugal the sovereign whom Philip had deposed, but it ended in failure. Then Drake in some way lost the favor of the queen, and while other admirals were scouring the seas, he had to remain at home as governor of Plymouth. There he did good work by building mills, and by bringing a supply of water to the town from the river Meavy.

Drake did much for the strength and glory of England. He believed he was doing God’s work in taking from Spain the wealth that would have been used to help crush the Protestants. He never allowed churches to be destroyed, he never killed his prisoners, and his men had strict orders never to hurt a woman or an unarmed man.

Section 23: The Story of the Spanish Armada

I. The Sailing of the Armada.

“On the afternoon of the 19th July, A.D. 1588, a group of English captains was collected at the Bowling Green on the Hoe at Plymouth, whose equals have never before or since been brought together. There was Sir Francis Drake, the terror of every Spanish coast in the old world and the new; there was Sir John Hawkins, the rough veteran of many a daring voyage and of many a desperate battle; there was Sir Martin Frobisher, one of the earliest explorers of the Arctic seas; there was the high admiral of England, Lord Howard of Effingham, a man of wise and noble courage, skilful in sea matters, wary and prudent, and beloved by the sailors.

“A match at bowls was being played, in which Drake and other high officers of the fleet were engaged, when a small armed vessel was seen running before the wind into Plymouth harbor, with all sails set. Her commander landed in haste, and eagerly sought the- place where the English lord admiral and his captains were standing. He was the master of a Scotch privateer, and he told the English officers that he had that morning seen the Spanish Armada off the Cornish coast. At this exciting information the captains began to hurry down to the water, but Drake coolly checked his comrades, and insisted that the match should be played out.” “There is time to finish the game first, and beat the Spaniards afterwards,” he said. That was the spirit in which the English went to the

fight.

Beacon-fires were lit along the coast. “The warning flew to London, swift messengers galloping behind it. There was saddling and arming in village and town, and musters flocking to their posts. Loyal England forgot its difference of creeds, and knew nothing but that the invader was at the door.”

“The most fortunate and invincible Armada” was the title which Philip of Spain, in the pride of his heart, gave to the great fleet which he had been preparing for so many years. With this fleet he intended to avenge the many injuries and insults he had suffered at the hands of Englishmen, and to depose Elizabeth.

For years he had spent untold treasure upon his preparations. The fleet at last sailed for England, under the Duke of Medina Sidonia, one of the greatest of Spanish grandees. There were 132 Spanish ships in all, many of them huge vessels that rose like castles out of the sea. Seventeen thousand of the picked soldiers of Spain were on board, with eight thousand sailors, and hundreds of doctors, priests, and slaves.

At that time the royal navy of England consisted of only thirty-six ships, all of them smaller than the war-ships of Spain. But many private gentlemen, sea-rovers, and merchants had ships, which they were eager to send to sea for the defence of their loved England. England was fortunate in her captains, men of splendid daring and courage, who had fought and beaten the Spaniards on the sea in all parts of the world. The common seamen were worthy of their commanders. They loved their country, and would have died for their officers. They cheerfully put up with the bad and scanty food which was all that the stinginess of the queen would allow to be provided.

II. The Defeat of the Armada.

When the game of bowls was finished, the English captains put out to sea, and waited for the coming of the enemy. As the beacons gave the signal, ships of all sorts and sizes poured out from every harbor, until the English fleet numbered some one hundred and sixty vessels, most of them manned by volunteers.

Now, Philip’s plan was for the Armada to sail up the Channel until it reached Dunkirk, and there to anchor and allow a huge army, under the Duke of Parma, to cross from Antwerp to England in safety. The Spaniards were anxious to get through the dangerous Channel as soon as possible.

The plan of the English admirals was to avoid a general battle with the enemy, but to single out and attack certain of their ships, doing as much damage as they could with as little risk as possible to themselves. The English sailors were skilful at their work, and could fire rapidly at the Spanish ships, making every shot effective. The guns of the Spaniards were fired slowly, their aim was not true, and most of their shot passed over the low decks of the small English vessels.

The Spaniards tried to lay hold of the English ships with grappling-irons, trusting in the superior numbers of their men if it came to a hand-to-hand fight. But Lord Howard, acting on the advice of Sir Walter Raleigh, had given strict orders to avoid coming to close quarters. The English therefore sailed their light ships as near as they pleased to those of the enemy, fired their broadsides, and sped to a safe distance before the unwieldy Spanish warships could be brought fairly into action.

For a week this method of fighting, was pursued; but the Armada, in spite of all their efforts, gradually drew nearer to its destination. It had suffered considerable damage, and two or three ships had been captured; but it was still strong and undaunted, and the English had used up nearly all their

THE STORY OF THE SPANISH ARMADA

ammunition, apparently without much success.

At last the Spanish ships dropped anchor off Calais, with the English two miles behind them. At all costs, thought the English admirals, the Armada must now be dislodged, for a change in the weather might enable the Duke of Parma to cross in safety under its protection.

After midnight on the following day, which was Sunday, eight English ships, filled with combustibles and smeared all over with pitch, were rowed silently in black darkness towards the crowded Spanish vessels lying at anchor. Suddenly the fire-ships burst into flame, and were carried by the wind and the tide right upon the Armada. A panic seized the Spaniards at the sight of these blazing monsters. Cables were cut in mad haste, and the swift tide carried the great fleet away from its anchorage into the open sea.

In the morning the English admirals fell on the disordered fleet. For six hours the fight continued, and when night fell Drake kept close watch upon the Armada, hoping that the wind would drive the ships upon the sand-banks of the Dutch coast, and place them at his mercy.

Next day the fight went on again. The Armada was drawing nearer and nearer to its doom, when suddenly the wind changed, and the Spanish admiral, thankful at having escaped wreck, gave orders to make all sail for the north, in the hope of escaping round Scotland. “There was never anything pleased me better,” wrote Drake, “than the seeing the enemy flying with a southerly wind to the northward.”

For two days Drake and Howard chased the Spaniards. Then their powder and shot failed, a tempest sprang up, and with bitter disappointment at losing their prey they returned to the south, leaving the remnant of the great Armada to its fate. Storms tossed it upon the rock-bound coasts of Scotland and Ireland, and many ships were crushed and battered to destruction. Numbers of the Spaniards got ashore on the Irish coast; some of these were slain by the wild natives, others

were captured and sent from village to village, with halters about their necks, to be shipped to England.

Elizabeth disdained to put them to death, and scorned to keep them; so they were all sent back to their own country, “to witness and recount the worthy achievements of their invincible navy. ”

Thus the storms joined with the dauntless bravery and unrivalled skill of English seamen to destroy proud Philip’s great fleet. A medal was struck in Latin, to commemorate the event, with the motto “God blew, and they were scattered.” Since that time England has striven to keep her position as mistress of the seas, and has looked upon her navy as her surest means of defence.

Section 24: The Story of Sir Walter Raleigh

I.Raleigh a Favorite of the Queen.

Among the great men of Queen Elizabeth’s court none earned more splendid fame than Sir Walter Raleigh. He was born near the sea, in an old farmhouse at the village of Budleigh, in the year 1552. As a boy, he is said to have been fond of the company of sailors, and of reading all the books of voyages upon which he could lay hands. After studying at Oxford, he went to France among a band of gentlemen soldiers, who had offered to help the French Protestants in their fight for liberty of religion. He afterwards gave his services to the people of the Low Countries, who were struggling against Spanish oppression.

On returning to England, he began to study law in London; but he spent a good deal of his time in freaks and frolics with other young men of fashion. Presently he was made captain of a hundred soldiers in Ireland, where the people were constantly in rebellion. Raleigh did good service against the rebels; but he grew tired of his duties there, and wrote to the Earl of Leicester, the queen’s favorite, asking for other employment. At Leicester’s invitation he returned to England, and quickly won high favor with the queen. It is said that Elizabeth, walking one day with her ladies, came to a miry puddle, and hesitated to go on; whereupon Raleigh, who happened to be there, instantly took off a new plush cloak from his shoulders and spread it over the mud. The queen

stepped on this fair foot-cloth with a gracious smile; she was pleased at Raleigh’s readiness, and attracted by his handsome appearance. She rewarded him with a post in the palace, where one day he wrote with a diamond, on a window which the queen would pass

“Fain would I climb, but that I fear to fall.”

Elizabeth came up, and added the rhyming line, “If thy heart fails thee, climb not at all.”

Raleigh soon became the queen ’ s favorite courtier. Elizabeth liked his looks, for he was tall and handsome, with curly hair and blue eyes; she enjoyed his company, for he was polite and witty, and amused her with the stories he told in his broad but pleasant west-country accent. She made him captain of the yeomen of the guard, whose duty was to guard the palace and the person of the queen; and she listened with attention to his advice in matters of state.

Raleigh now rose high in wealth and importance; the queen gave him estates in England and Ireland, and much of the property of the traitor Anthony Babington came to him. He spent large sums in buying armor and fine clothes, diamonds and pearls, books and pictures; and in erecting houses, laying out gardens, and building ships. But he was not satisfied with an idle court life; he wished to do something in the world. He proposed to join his half-brother, Sir Humphrey Gilbert, in an expedition to Newfoundland, but the queen would not part with him. Sir Humphrey went without him, and died on his return voyage.

Though Raleigh was not allowed to seek adventures himself, he got leave from the queen to fit out an expedition for settling a number of colonists in America; for he had an idea that a great English empire might be founded beyond the seas. When his men returned from their voyage, bringing splendid furs and pearls, he called the part of America where they had landed Virginia, in honor of the Virgin Queen. He sent other

expeditions to Virginia, and tried to found a colony there. Every time his men returned, they brought with them new plants and fruits, such as potatoes, tobacco, and melons; and told wonderful stories of the wealth and beauty of the great continent.

Raleigh was said to have been the first to smoke tobacco in England. There is a story that one day a servant, bringing a jug of ale into the room where Raleigh was sitting, was alarmed to see smoke coming from his mouth. The servant instantly emptied the jug over his master’s head, to put out the fire which he thought was burning within him.

II.Raleigh in Disgrace.

A year after the defeat of the Spanish Armada, Raleigh paid a visit to his Irish estates. At that time Edmund Spenser, the great poet, was secretary to the governor of Ireland; Raleigh visited him, and read the first three books of his poem The Faerie Queene. When he returned to England he brought Spenser with him, and introduced him to the notice of Elizabeth. Raleigh now displeased the queen by marrying one of her maids of honor without permission. For this he suffered six months’ imprisonment in the Tower of London.

Three years later he set out on a voyage to Guiana, a country in South America which was reported to be marvellously rich in gold. One of its kings was said to delight in rubbing himself with turpentine, and then rolling about amid his gold dust till he looked like a golden image. Raleigh and his men sailed up the river Orinoco in search of a wonderful gold mine of which they had heard; but though they saw signs of gold and silver in the soil, they did not discover the mine. On his return Raleigh wrote an account of the expedition, in which he told some strange stories that he had heard: stories of a tribe of women warriors, and of a race of people who had

eyes in their shoulders.

In the year after his return, news came that another fleet was fitting out in Spain for the invasion of England. The English government resolved to destroy it, and a fleet set out for Cadiz. Raleigh was one of the principal commanders, and planned the attack which proved such a brilliant success. Several Spanish ships in the harbor were captured, the town was taken by assault, while immense spoils were shared among the victors.

Seven years after this Queen Elizabeth died, and James the Sixth of Scotland, son of Mary Queen of Scots and next heir to the throne, became King James the First of England. The new king at once showed great dislike towards Raleigh, who had not paid humble court to him before his accession. Raleigh, too, was proud; and his pride, with his wealth and his successes, had made for him many enemies, who poisoned the king’s mind against him.

He was tried for treason, unjustly condemned, and sent to the Tower to await execution. There he remained thirteen years, devoting his time to scientific studies and the writing of books. He finally persuaded the king to release him by promising to sail to Guiana and bring back untold wealth to the royal treasury. But the expedition was a sad failure, and on Raleigh’s return to England the Spanish ambassador demanded his death for the mischief he had done to the Spanish possessions. So James, to please the king of Spain, had him executed on the old charge of conspiracy. As Raleigh stood on the scaffold he called for the axe and said as he felt its keen edge, “This is sharp medicine, but it is a sure cure for all diseases.” He refused to be blind-folded, and as he knelt gave the signal for the executioner to strike. The man hesitated. “What dost thou fear?” cried Raleigh. “Strike, man, strike!” and his head was severed from the body.

So died Sir Walter Raleigh, bravely as he had lived. He was in the first rank of discoverers, a great admiral, a fine

soldier, a wise counsellor, a witty courtier, a poet, and a great prose writer. After his cruel death his faults were forgotten, and men remembered only his fine qualities.

It is to Raleigh that England owes the beginning of her great colonial empire. Years after his death others took up his unfinished work, and the vast empire which he had only dreamed of became a reality.

Section 25: The Story of William Shakespeare

I. Shakespeare’s Life.

In the last year of Queen Elizabeth’s reign there might have been seen, in the Mermaid tavern off Cheapside, as jolly and witty a company as ever met to enjoy an hour’s pleasant chat. There was Sir Walter Raleigh, courtier, soldier, poet, and wit; there was Ben Jonson, once a soldier, now known as a great scholar and poet — a big man with a bad temper; there was many another man whose name was made famous by play and poem.

There, too, perhaps a little less boisterous in his merriment than some of the party, was a man who was called Will Shakespeare — one who watched the others with a twinkle in his light hazel eye, and whose voice they all listened to eagerly when he joined in their talk. That pleasant man, with the high forehead and long auburn hair, was the writer whom Englishmen boast of as the greatest poet the world has seen. He was not great by birth; his father was only a merchant in a country town: it was his own mighty genius that raised him to his high place among the world’s great men.

In Warwickshire, the heart of England, there is a little town called Stratford-on-Avon. Here William Shakespeare was born in April, 1564. Doubtless the boy was sent to King Edward VI.’s grammar school in the town, where he learnt among other things a little Latin. Perhaps, like the boys he afterwards wrote about, he went “with his satchel and shining

morning face, creeping like snail unwillingly to school”; or, like those other boys he mentions, sometimes played truant and picked blackberries instead. He left school early, for his father fell into misfortune. What he did then is not known; but some people say that he helped his father. He certainly married when he was eighteen years old; and, not very long” after, he left home to seek his fortune in the great city of London.

Now, in the Guildhall of his native town, plays had sometimes been performed by travelling companies of actors. No doubt Shakespeare had been present at some of these performances, and he must have heartily enjoyed them; for when he reached London, poor and a stranger, he seems to have gone at once to the theatre in search of work. It is said that he began by holding the horses of the gentlemen who came to see the play, and that he was so careful and polite that his services were much sought after. He paid boys to help him, and gentlemen, as they rode up, called out for “Shakespeare’s boys” to come and mind their horses.

Then Shakespeare was taken inside the theatre to assist the actors, and by and by he became an actor himself. Presently he began to show that he could revise and improve the plays which were acted; and after helping other men to write their works, at last he wrote plays that were entirely his own. His poems and plays won him the favor and friendship of great people. Several times he acted with his company before Queen Elizabeth, who was much pleased with his plays. By and by he became one of the owners of the theatre; and, being careful in business matters, he rose to a position of ease and comfort. He often paid visits to his home and family at Stratford, and it is pleasant to know that he helped his father to regain his prosperity. At length he was rich enough to buy a large house in his native town; thither he returned to spend his last years as a quiet country gentleman with his family. He died on April 23, 1616, and was buried in the

Parish Church at Stratford.

II. Shakespeare’s Works.

Shakespeare’s works are often all printed in one book, and that not a very large one. Perhaps some may wonder why Shakespeare has won fame as the greatest of the world’s poets. It would be very difficult to tell the reason briefly; but whoever reads Shakespeare’s works for himself, and thinks about them, will begin to see a little why he deserves such praise. For one thing, when Shakespeare has said a thing, it seems impossible that it could ever be said in a better way. The little songs which occur in some of the plays are among the most charming gems of poetry in the English language.

Shakespeare’s plays, also, are wonderfully interesting. Some of them tell the stories of certain of the English kings: of the poor weak Richard the Second; the crafty Henry the Fourth; the brave Henry the Fifth, who fought and conquered at Agincourt, and his wild pranks when as yet only Madcap Harry. Others tell stories of the ancient world. One is the sad, splendid life of Coriolanus, the great Roman general who was expelled from Rome because the people could not endure his pride, and who, when he was going to fight against the city, turned back at the pleading of his wife and mother. Another is the story of the murder of Julius Caesar; another, that of the Roman general Antony, who lost an empire through his own weakness and folly. Other plays tell stories of imaginary characters. Of Portia, the noble lady who saved the life of her husband’s friend; of Othello, the noble man who was led to murder his sweet, innocent wife by the lies of a villain; of Rosalind, the bright, happy girl who dressed herself as a young man, and went gayly into banishment with her cousin Celia.

Shakespeare was not, perhaps, very learned in books; but he knew a great deal about plants and animals, whose habits

he must have carefully observed; and, above all, he seemed to know human nature through and through. The characters in his plays all seem to be living people; among them there are heroes and cowards, fine soldiers and feeble-witted countrymen, witty jesters and amusing rogues, lovely and tender ladies and tigers in woman’s shape. Shakespeare seemed to be able to show us almost every kind of man and woman, good and bad, and to know how to touch all our feelings, whether sad or joyous. We cannot help feeling sorry when we see poor old King Lear wandering in the storm, made mad by the unkindness of his daughters; we must laugh at the mishaps of the fat, jolly, cowardly knight Falstaff; every Englishman feels a thrill of pride in his country when he hears the splendid words of the dying John of Gaunt—

“This royal throne of kings, this sceptr’d isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea.”

Last of all, though Shakespeare wrote his plays only for the amusement of those who went to see them, they contain many good lessons, which may help those who read them to be better, and wiser, and happier. It is pleasant to think that the play of The Tempest, probably the last that Shakespeare wrote, ends with scenes in which those who have been wronged forgive those who have wronged them; and that the great poet passed his last years in good-will towards all men.

Section 26: The Story of the Pilgrim Fathers

I. Religious Freedom.

In the reign of Queen Elizabeth, Englishmen made many voyages over the seas to America. This they did partly out of a reckless spirit of adventure, partly out of hatred of Spain, and partly to gain a share of the matchless wealth of the new world. There came a time later, when Englishmen sought America simply to find a home, because it had become impossible for them to live peaceably in England. No place was home to them where they were not free to worship God in the way they believed to be right; and when this liberty was denied them in England, they left their native land.

When the English Church was first separated from that of Rome, the differences between the services of the two churches were not great. But soon a party grew up called the Puritans, who wished to make the church service much plainer and simpler than it had hitherto been. Now that the sovereign was head of the English Church, instead of the Pope, the people were ordered to worship in the way which the sovereign settled for them. Queen Elizabeth did not like the Puritans; she was fond of many of the old Catholic forms of worship, to which they objected; and when some of them refused to attend church, because they did not like the form of. service which she had ordained, they were punished.

Besides the Puritans, who wished to alter the form of worship, but not to leave the Church, there arose a small party

who thought that the Church should be quite free from royal control. They held that neither the sovereign nor anybody else ought to say what people must believe, or how they must worship; but that people should be at liberty to follow their own conscience in all religious matters. They thought that there should not be a state Church, or Church established by law. Those who held these views became known as Separatists or Independents, because they separated themselves from the state Church. Numbers of these people went to Holland in order to avoid the persecution which they suffered in England.

When James the First ascended the throne, the Puritans hoped that he would make some of the changes in church matters which they desired; but they were disappointed. The Independents were now still more harshly treated than they had been in Elizabeth’s reign. They were few in numbers, and were so strict in their ways of life, and so scornful of all who remained in the Established Church, that they were looked upon with dislike by all churchmen, whether Puritans or not.

In the year 1608 a number of Independents left England, and joined their friends in Holland. They settled in Leyden; but, being most of them country people, they found town-life irksome. Besides, their children, as they grew up, learnt foreign ways; but the Independents still loved their native land, though they had been obliged to leave it, and they did not wish their children to become foreigners.

After a time, therefore, they desired to find a new home, where they could live together in peace, away from the temptations of town-life, and where they could still keep their English character and manners. They decided to go to America, and the story of the band of courageous men and women who left England in the Mayflower, their sufferings from cold and famine and fever, their perseverance, and the reward of their toil is too well known to need repeating here, for this is the story of the Pilgrim-Fathers.

Meanwhile, fresh persecution had arisen in England, and a Puritan emigration began again on a larger scale than the emigration of the Independents. Charles the First, who was now king, granted a charter to the new colony under the name of Massachusetts. Farmers, and country gentlemen, clergymen and lawyers, God-fearing men of all classes, left their beloved country for conscience’ sake. In the ten years from 1630 to 1640, twenty thousand Puritans sought a home in New England.

Section 27: The Story of the Great Rebellion

I.The Petition of Right.

On June 7, in the year 1628, King Charles the First gave his assent to a famous document called the Petition of Right. It was a statement, drawn up by the House of Commons, reciting certain rights of the English people which had not been respected by the king, but which the House declared must be respected for the future.

The Commons demanded, for example, that people should not be compelled to lend the king money, or to receive soldiers in their houses; that no person should be imprisoned without the cause being stated, or should be tried by martial law in time of peace, but should be brought before the regular judges. People had suffered in the ways thus protested against; and when the House of Commons declared they would vote no money to the king until their demands were granted, Charles unwillingly gave his promise to that effect.

One of the leading members of the House which forced this promise from the king was Sir Thomas Wentworth, the member for Yorkshire. He belonged to an ancient and wealthy Yorkshire family, had been educated at Cambridge, and had suffered imprisonment for refusing to lend £40 to the king.

Charles had an unfortunate belief, encouraged by his adviser and favorite, the Duke of Buckingham, that he had a right to rule just as he pleased, and that Parliament only

existed to carry out his will. There were members of Parliament, however, who thought differently. Men like John Pym and Sir John Eliot held that the king ought to govern as the nation wished, and that the wish of the nation was to be discovered by consulting the House of Commons, elected by the people.

The quarrel between king and Parliament grew to a dangerous height. It had been the custom, at the opening of a new reign, for the House of Commons to vote to the king, for life, a tax called tonnage and poundage. This was a tax on goods that came into and went out of the country.

The House had only granted the tax to Charles for one year, and when the year had expired, Parliament dissolved without renewing it. Without waiting for the consent of the Commons, Charles on his own account demanded payment of the tax. Several merchants who refused to pay it were thrown into prison.

This enraged the members of the House, and when they met again they proposed resolutions declaring that any one who advised the collection of tonnage and poundage without their consent, or who paid the tax, was an enemy of the country. Charles ordered the House to disperse; but the doors were locked, and the Speaker was held down in his chair until the resolutions were passed. The king immediately dissolved Parliament, and for eleven years ruled without one.

II. The Government of Ireland.

After three years of energetic rule in the north of England, Wentworth was appointed Lord-deputy or Governor of Ireland. That country, which had in name belonged to England since the reign of Henry the Second, had in reality only been subjected to English rule in Elizabeth’s reign. It was troubled by constant rebellions, and the majority of the people, being

Roman Catholics, objected to the establishment of the English Church among them. Thus Catholics and Protestants lived in deadly enmity with one another. When Wentworth was sent to rule the island, he found it in a terrible condition. The taxes were unpaid, the army was ragged and disorderly; the Protestant churches were falling in ruins, and some were even used as stables and ale-houses. Part of the money which ought to have gone to the clergy was appropriated by dishonest officials. The trade of the country was crippled by the pirates who infested the seas. The very ship which was conveying Wentworth’s goods to Ireland was captured by a pirate, and the new lord deputy lost furniture worth $20,000, and linen worth $2500.

Wentworth was armed with full powers, and was answerable to the king alone. He set to work with energy to bring the country into a better state. He enforced the payment of taxes by Catholics and Protestants alike; he dismissed unjust officials, and reorganized the army; repaired the churches and protected the clergy; and fitted out war-ships which soon swept the pirates from the seas. He improved trade, and spent much of his own money in encouraging the cultivation of hemp and flax for the manufacture of linen. In many ways he showed that he had a sincere desire for the welfare of Ireland, and a passion for order and good government.

But he made countless enemies, both in Ireland and in England. His ways were masterful; and though his aims were often right and just, he used illegal and unjust means to carry them out. He offended the Protestants by allowing the Catholics to worship in their own way; he offended many of the Catholics by declaring that their lands belonged to the king, and by bringing over Protestants to settle on them. His great aim was to make the king all powerful in the country, and to show both Catholics and Protestants that they must depend on the king’s power for support and protection. This was the system which he nicknamed “Thorough” in his letters to his

friend, Archbishop Laud.

III. More Trouble for King Charles.

While Wentworth was winning hatred by his conduct in Ireland, the king and Archbishop Laud were exciting enmity by their doings in England. William Laud was made Archbishop of Canterbury in the same year that Wentworth crossed to Ireland. He was a good and an able man, unselfish, and kind to the poor; his aim was a noble one to unite all Christian people in one pure and strong church. But, like Wentworth, he tried to drive people instead of leading them; he attempted to force his own opinions on the nation, and he failed.

One of the Courts of Law which Laud used to enforce his will and that of King Charles, was that known as The Court of the Star Chamber. This court had power to punish any one of whose acts the king did not approve, whether the act were against the law or not, and its judgments were often very cruel.

During the years when there was no Parliament to vote supplies, money for carrying on the government had to be obtained by other means, and Charles levied taxes at his pleasure. One of these taxes was known as Ship-money. It was properly a tax that could only be claimed from the coast towns in time of war, but by the advice of Laud it was now demanded from inland counties and towns as well.

One country gentleman, named John Hampden, had the courage to refuse to pay the five dollars required of him. He took his stand on the law and custom of the country, and particularly on the Petition of Right, which forbade the levying of taxes without the consent of Parliament. The case was tried by twelve judges, of whom seven pronounced in favor of the king. Hampden was condemned, but most people held

that he was in the right, and the opposition to Charles grew stronger.

Now Scotland burst into rebellion, on account of Laud’s interference in religious matters, and at length it became a question of war. An English army was hastily got together to compel the Scots to obey, but the soldiers were of poor quality and the officers incapable. The Scots, on the other hand, were well drilled and thoroughly in earnest. Charles gave way without fighting, and promised that matters should be settled by a parliament.

But the Parliament would do nothing for the king until he had removed the grievances of which they complained. Rather than yield, he dissolved Parliament, and prepared again for war with Scotland. Wentworth, now Earl of Strafford, came over from Ireland to help him; but the Scots invaded England, and drove back an English force which opposed them.

It was clear that another parliament must be called, either to satisfy the demands of the Scots with regard to their religion, or to provide means for fighting them. Accordingly, Charles issued a summons for a new parliament. It met on November 3, 1640, and is known in history as the Long Parliament, for it was not finally dispersed for twenty years. Meanwhile Parliament, made bold by the support of the people, brought Strafford and Laud to trial. Strafford was charged with political tyranny, and Laud with religious tyranny. They were condemned and executed, meeting their fate with a courage worthy of a better cause.

IV.Affair of the Five Members.

When Strafford was dead, the House of Commons set to work to compel Charles to govern as it wished. Ship-money was declared to be against the law, taxes were not to be levied

without the consent of Parliament; the Courts of Star Chamber and High Commission were abolished, and the ceremonies which Laud had restored to the church service were forbidden.

About this time a terrible massacre took place in Ireland, where the natives rose up against the English and Scotch settlers, and tortured and murdered them. England was filled with horror, and the king was blamed for the state of affairs which had produced the massacre.

The Commons drew up the Grand Remonstrance, a document in which they stated the acts of misrule of which they complained, and demanded certain changes in the government of Church and State. The Remonstrance was passed, after a long discussion, by a majority of only eleven; and when the king’s party raised a protest against printing it, many of the members drew their swords, and bloodshed was only prevented by the influence of Hampden.

Charles consented to have the Remonstrance read to him; but soon after, he ordered the attorney-general to impeach five members of the House of Commons, including Pym and Hampden, as well as one of the peers. He charged them with a treasonable correspondence with the Scotch army during the recent troubles, and demanded their immediate arrest.

Such a demand from the king was illegal, and the Commons merely replied that they would consider it. Next day Charles was persuaded by his queen to go down to the House himself, and arrest the members by force. “Go along, you coward,” she said, “and pull those rascals out by the ears!”

With five hundred armed gentlemen, the king went down to the House of Commons. Leaving his company in Westminster Hall, he entered the House, and standing by the Speaker’s chair, said that he must have the men whom he accused. There was dead silence. The king asked, “Is Mr. Pym here?” but not a word was spoken in reply.

He then turned to the Speaker, and asked whether the five members were present. The Speaker fell on his knees, and replied, “May it please your Majesty, I have neither eyes to see nor tongue to speak in this place, except as the House is pleased to direct me.” “Well, well,” Charles cried angrily, “’tis no matter; I think my eyes are as good as another’s.” Carefully looking along the benches, he saw that not one of the five was present; they had gone for safety to the city. With an angry flush in his cheeks, the baffled king said, “Since I see that my birds are flown, I do expect from you that you will send them to me as soon as they return hither; otherwise I must take my own course to find them.”

As he left the House, angry shouts of “Privilege, privilege!” burst from the members. The sheriffs of London refused to give up the five members, who, a few days later, returned to Westminster by the river, amid the cheers of thousands of spectators who lined the banks. The train-bands or volunteers of London took up arms in defence of the liberty of the Commons. The friends of Charles feared for their lives and fled. He had no army, and the queen left the country with the crown jewels to buy arms and raise money with which to pay soldiers. Charles left London, summoning all loyal subjects to his aid. Nobles and gentlemen came gayly at his call, and on August 22, 1642, the royal standard was set up at Nottingham, and civil war began.

V.Oliver Cromwell Appears.

The country was now divided into two great parties. The west and the north were for Charles, the east and south, with London, for the Parliament On the king’s side were most of the lords and country gentlemen; some who considered that he was in the right, some who thought that he was in the wrong, but supported him simply because he was their

sovereign. Among them, too, were some who cared nothing about the rights of the quarrel, but were gay, gallant gentlemen, who loved fighting and hated the Puritans.

On the side of the Parliament there were a few peers and some country gentlemen, but a great many townsmen and farmers. Charles had as followers the men of fashion and pleasure; the Parliament had the wealth of the trading classes at its back. The king’s party were distinguished by their flowing hair, fine dress, and gay manners, and were known as Cavaliers; many of his opponents cropped their hair close, and wore plain clothes and odd-looking hats, which gained for their party the scornful name of Roundheads.

After a skirmish in Yorkshire, Charles set out with his army for the south. If he could only get possession of London, with all its wealth, he thought that success would speedily crown his cause. He was met at Edgehill in Warwickshire by the army of the Parliament under the Earl of Essex. At first the battle inclined in favor of the Royalists; Prince Rupert, the king’s nephew, carried all before him with his fine troop of horse. Dashing in pursuit of the flying enemy, he left the king’s foot-soldiers to be cut to pieces by the cavalry of the Parliament; and when he returned it was too late to win the battle, although the king had the advantage.

Charles now pressed rapidly on towards London, and reached Brentford, only a few miles from the city. Here he was met by the train-bands in full force a strong, determined, well-led army. Fearing to risk a fight, the king fell back on Oxford and made that city his headquarters.

There was, among the officers of the Parliamentary army, a captain of horse named Oliver Cromwell. Born in 1599, of good birth and means, he had lived since his nineteenth year the quiet life of a gentleman farmer. He was a member of the Parliament which passed the Petition of Right; but when that Parliament was dissolved, he returned to his home at Huntingdon, and took no further part in public life for twelve years.

He was an honest and upright man, a Puritan in his beliefs, but not so hard and stern as some of his party; he was a loving son, husband, and father; and was filled with a burning desire to help all who were desolate and oppressed. When the great struggle began, he raised a troop of horse for the Parliament.

At the very opening of the war Cromwell saw at once what was needed to give victory to his party, and he mentioned his ideas to John Hampden, who was his cousin and who commanded a regiment of foot-soldiers. “Your troops,” he said, “ are most of them old, decayed serving-men, and tapsters, and such kind of fellows; the king’s troops are gentlemen ’ s sons and persons of quality. Do you think that the spirit of such base, mean fellows will ever be able to encounter gentlemen that have honor and courage and resolution in them? You must get men of a spirit that is likely to go on as far as gentlemen will go, or else you will be beaten still.” What sort of spirit this was Cromwell tells us in his own words: “I raised such men as had the fear of God before them, as made some conscience of what they did; and from that day forward they were never beaten.”

He drilled his men constantly in the use of arms and the management of their horses, and kept them under strict discipline. If a man swore, he paid a fine of a shilling; if he got drunk, he was put in the stocks; if he called one of his mates a Roundhead, he was dismissed. Cromwell’s troop, his “lovely company,” as he called it, became known as a splendid body of sober, well-trained soldiers, and it was these men who gave victory to the Parliament.

Cromwell soon gained a high place in the army. He threw himself heart and soul into his new work. He did not spare his own relatives in his zeal for collecting arms and stores. Once he visited his uncle, Sir Oliver Cromwell, with a good strong party of horse. He asked him for his blessing, and the few hours he was there he would not keep on his hat in his uncle’s presence. But at the same time he not only disarmed, but

stripped him of his plate. It was this earnest man, this “Ironside,” as Prince Rupert called him, who was destined to bring ruin and destruction upon King Charles.

VI. Success of the “New Model.”

For a year the war went on without decisive success for either party. Both Royalists and Round-heads won and lost battles, and famous men were killed on each side.

A Scottish army now came to the assistance of the Parliament, but would lend its aid only on condition that the Presbyterian form of religion should be established in England. This was agreed to, and the English leaders signed a formal document called the Solemn League and Covenant, promising to support Presbyterianism. With the aid of the Scots, the army of the Parliament won a great victory at Mars ton Moor, near York. Cromwell and his Ironsides scattered the cavalry of Prince Rupert like dust before them. “We never charged without routing the enemy,” wrote Cromwell. “God made them as stubble to our swords.”

The north of England was now in the power of the Parliament; but the commander-in-chief of its army, the Earl of Manchester, was a quiet, meek man, who did not follow up his successes. There was a growing division among the Parliamentary party. The Presbyterians, such as Manchester, who formed the majority of the Parliament, wished to make terms with the king without utterly crushing him; the Independents, led by Cromwell, thought that no peace should be made until Charles was thoroughly beaten.

While there was disagreement of this kind, success was impossible; Cromwell therefore carried through Parliament the Self-denying Ordinance, by which no member of either House could hold command in the army. At the same time the army was remodelled, and the “New Model,” as it was now

called, was placed under the command of Sir Thomas Fairfax. By means of the Self-denying Ordinance and the New Model, the control of the army was taken from the Presbyterians and given to the Independents; and the war was carried on with more spirit and vigor. Cromwell, though a member of the Commons, was placed second in command.

The whole army was now formed on the same plan that Cromwell had adopted with his own Ironsides, and England never had finer troops. At Naseby, in Northamptonshire, the New Model army inflicted a crushing defeat on the king, capturing five thousand prisoners, all his guns and baggage, and his private papers. Cromwell and Fairfax then marched from place to place, storming castles, taking towns, and forcing Royalist armies to surrender. Charles wandered about the country, trying in vain to collect a new force large enough to take the field. At length he gave himself up to the Scots at Newark, hoping to win them over to his side.

The Presbyterian majority of Parliament, anxious to bring the war to an end, offered Charles the terms on which they would restore him to his kingdom. He was to give Parliament the control of the army for twenty years, to sign the Covenant, and to support the Presbyterian form of worship. For six months he declined to make any definite answer to these demands, hoping that his enemies would quarrel among themselves. Then the Scots, weary of his delay, gave him up to the Parliament in return for the payment of their war expenses, and went back to their own country.

VII.Fall of the King.

What Charles had hoped for, a quarrel between the army and the Parliament, at length broke out with bitterness. The army, which consisted mainly of Independents, was determined to secure complete religious freedom; the Parliament

was equally determined to allow no religion but the Presbyterian to be followed.

When the king at last agreed to rule as a Presbyterian, the Parliament ordered the army to be disbanded; but the soldiers refused to disperse until their demands were satisfied. Then Cromwell took a bold step; he sent Cornet Joyce, with a strong body of horse, to remove the king from Holmby House, where he was lodging under the charge of the commissioner of the Parliament. Having the king now in its power, the army. left him at Newmarket, and marched towards London. Its demand for an immediate settlement of the kingdom being refused, it entered the city in splendid array, and then the House of Commons yielded to its show of force.

For months Cromwell tried to induce the king to make terms with the army; but Charles, while pretending to be ready to discuss an arrangement, was really determined to yield nothing, and to get back all his former power. Contriving to escape from his guards, he sought refuge in the Isle of Wight. When he was again captured, and lodged in Carisbrooke Castle, he made a secret treaty with the Scots, in which he promised to establish the Presbyterian worship in England for three years, and to put down the Independents. On these terms the Scots took up arms for the king. At the same time the Cavaliers were mustering in various parts of the country; north and west and south men raised the cry, “For God and King Charles!”

Burning with anger at what they considered the trickery of the king, the soldiers of the Parliament fiercely resolved, first to vanquish the enemy, then to bring to trial “Charles Stuart, that man of blood,” whose conduct had caused a renewal of the war. South, west, and north their generals hastened. Cromwell met the Scots at Preston in Lancashire, and in a battle lasting over three days, he cut to pieces a fine army three times the size of his own. Everywhere the Cavaliers were crushed. But when Cromwell hurried back to London,

he found the Presbyterian parliament again striving to make dishonorable terms with the king, and threatening the Independents with punishments. This he determined to prevent. One morning, a regiment of foot-soldiers under Colonel Pride marched into Westminster Hall, and arrested forty-one Presbyterian members of the House of Commons. Next day more than sixty others were arrested, and “Pride’s Purge,” as this act was called, made the army the absolute master of the country.

The remnant of the Commons, known as the “Rump,” consisted of only fifty-three Independents. They immediately passed a resolution to bring Charles to justice, and appointed a High Court of Justice for his trial. When the Lords refused to take any part in it, the Commons declared that, being chosen by the people, they themselves held supreme power in the country, and that their decisions had the force of law.

Charles was now brought to London, and on January 21, 1649, he was put on trial in Westminster Hall as a tyrant, a traitor, and an enemy of the people.

VIII. Last Days of the King.

The proceedings of the Rump Parliament were entirely illegal. No subject had the right to call the sovereign to account for his actions; no decision of the House of Commons could become law unless agreed to by the Lords and by the king. In bringing Charles to trial, the leaders of the army were committing a greater offence against strict law than ever Charles had committed. But the king had shown himself to be incapable of ruling wisely; he had acted as a tyrant; when he might have made a fair settlement, he engaged in underhand proceedings, and brought the horrors of war again on the country. The worst of it was that Charles believed himself thoroughly in the right, even when he was most deceitful. He

thought he was justified in any course which would restore him to his throne and crush the rebels.

Cromwell, finding that it was impossible to trust Charles, believed that he would be doing God’s will, and securing happiness to the nation, by taking the king’s life. The trial was a mockery from the beginning; it was decided beforehand that the king should die. When the names of the men who were to form the court were read out, only sixty-seven out of a hundred and thirty-five answered. Lady Fairfax, when her husband’s name was called, cried out, “He is not here, and never will be; you do wrong to name him.” Many of those who had fought most stoutly against their king shrank from taking his life.

When Charles was asked what answer he had to the charges brought against him, he refused to plead, denying that the court had any authority over him. On the fifth day of the trial, he was sentenced to death, and four days later the sentence was carried out.

The scaffold was erected outside one of the windows of the king’s Banqueting House at Whitehall. Excited crowds filled the streets; the roofs and windows of the surrounding houses were occupied by spectators. As the unhappy king mounted the steps of the scaffold, many of the people, and even some of the rough soldiers on guard, burst into tears. The king’s quiet fearlessness and dignity moved every one to pity.

Declaring that the war had been caused by those who had rebelled against his authority, and that he was dying a martyr for his people, Charles laid his head on the block. At one blow it was struck off, and as the headsman lifted it, crying in the customary way, “This is the head of a traitor!” a deep groan rose from the multitude below.

Charles Stuart’s follies and crimes thus led him to a terrible end; but after his death, people’s thoughts dwelt rather upon his good qualities than upon his bad ones. They

remembered that in his home life he was one of the best men who ever wore the crown of England; and that he had the misfortune to come early in life under bad influences. They forgot his weakness, his deceit, his wrongheadedness, and admired the kingly manner in which he met his fate. “He nothing common did, or mean, upon that memorable scene,” wrote a poet of the time. The Cavaliers honored his memory as that of a martyr, and the nation soon learnt to hate those whom they called his murderers.

Section 28: The Story of Oliver Cromwell

I.Cromwell’s Last Victories.

King Charles was dead, and the chief men among his enemies so hated the name of king that they pronounced it treason to give any one that title. The House of Lords was abolished; the country was declared to be a republic, under the title of the Commonwealth; and the government was put into the hands of a Council of State.

There was one man far above all others in ability and strength of character, and to whom the people looked for security and peace. That man was Oliver Cromwell, the victor of Marston Moor, Naseby, and Preston. It was soon necessary for him to put forth all his power in defence of the new government.

The people of Ireland had risen in arms on behalf of Charles, the eldest son of the late king, and Prince Rupert had gone to their aid with a fleet. Cromwell instantly made ready for war; after sternly putting down a mutiny among his troops, he crossed the Irish Channel with a small but well-trained army.

For nine months he remained in Ireland, and made his name a terror throughout the land. The flower of the Royalist army was stationed at Drogheda, a fortified seaport on the Boyne. After a stout resistance the place was taken by storm, and the whole of the garrison, and many of the inhabitants, were ruthlessly massacred. A similar massacre took place at Wexford. Fort after fort surrendered to the pitiless conqueror,

and the severity of his measures speedily put an end to the rebellion. A few years later, hundreds of Irish landowners were removed from their lands, which were then given to English settlers.

Having subdued Ireland, Cromwell was recalled to lead an army against Scotland, where Prince Charles had accepted the Covenant and been proclaimed king. The Scottish army, under a skilled general, David Leslie, laid waste the south of the country, and took up a strong position at Edinburgh, from which it was impossible to dislodge it. The English army suffered severely from the bad weather, lack of food, and sickness; and Cromwell at length, almost despairing of success, withdrew to Dunbar, to be near his ships that were lying off the coast. Leslie immediately posted his army on the hills to the south, thus cutting off Cromwell’s retreat to England, and placing the English at such disadvantage that defeat seemed certain.

Late one evening, the Scots, impatient to secure the victory they believed to be theirs, began to move down the hill towards the shore, intending to attack on the English left. “The Lord hath delivered them into our hands!” cried Cromwell, as he saw the movement. The Scots were exposing themselves to danger as they left their secure position on the hill. At dawn, September, 3, 1650, Cromwell fell upon them with both foot and horse, and, before the sun had burst through the morning mist that hung over the fields, the Scots were flying in all directions.

A severe illness prevented Cromwell from following up his great victory at Dunbar. Meanwhile, Charles had collected a fresh army and made a dashing march into England, hoping that the English Royalists would flock to his standard. Few obeyed his call; and when Cromwell came up with him at Worcester, the royal troops were disheartened and tired out.

On the anniversary of the victory at Dunbar, Cromwell’s troops forced their way into Worcester, after a siege of five

days. With the loss of only two hundred men, Cromwell won a brilliant and decisive victory; it was what he called his “crowning mercy,” and the last battle that he ever fought.

Many stories are told of the adventures of Prince Charles after the battle. For days he remained hidden in an oak, from whose leafy shade he watched the Roundhead troopers as they rode about seeking him. Then he escaped to Bristol in the disguise of a servant, riding on horseback with a lady sitting on a cushion behind, as was then the fashion. After several narrow escapes, he succeeded in reaching France; and he remained quietly abroad till his people called him back again.

II. Cromwell Becomes Protector.

When Cromwell returned to London after crushing the Royalists at Worcester, he was received as a popular hero; Parliament gave him Hampton Court Palace as a residence, and voted him an annual sum of £4000, equal to $200,000 as values now are.

Soon, however, a conflict arose between the general and the Parliament. The government of the country had not yet been properly settled, and there was much discontent among the people. The Parliament did not now truly represent the nation, but it nevertheless wished to hold supreme power, and especially to obtain control of the army.

Cromwell and his officers demanded a new parliament, which would set about the reforms necessary for the good of the country. Some of the Presbyterian leaders of the House, while deciding for a new parliament, resolved to pass a bill which would allow the present members not only to retain their seats, but also to reject any new member of whom they might disapprove.

With a company of musketeers, Cromwell marched to the

House, and took his seat while the bill was being discussed. Presently he rose and made a long and angry speech against it. One of the members complaining of his harsh language, Cromwell left his seat, clapped on his hat, walked up and down the floor of the House stamping with his feet, and cried out: “You are no parliament; I say you are no parliament! Come, come, we have had enough of this: I will put an end to your prating. Call them in!”

Thirty of his musketeers marched in and turned out the members whom Cromwell called by name. Going up to the mace that lay on the table, “What shall we do with this bauble?” he cried. “Here, take it away!” and gave it to a musketeer. The Speaker was dragged from his chair; fifty-three members were turned out, Cromwell reproaching them with bitter words as they went. When the House was cleared the doors were locked. Thus was achieved the famous expulsion of the Long Parliament.

Cromwell now called a council of 140 members men chosen by himself for their “godliness.” They began to work with such vigor, and with such imprudence, that bitter opposition was aroused in the country, and they soon resigned their powers. A few days later the leading men drew up a document called the Instrument of Government, by which Cromwell was made Lord Protector. He was to govern with the assistance of a council, and to summon Parliament every three years. Parliament alone was to have the power to levy taxes, and any bill passed by it was to become law after twenty days, with or without the Protectors assent. Parliament was to meet every year, and could not be dissolved until it had sat for at least five months.

This famous document shows that Cromwell’s idea of government was much like that of Strafford; he believed in government by one person with the assistance of a parliament, and not in a system which gives Parliament the whole power.

III. England’s Greatness Under Cromwell.

For five years Cromwell was the ruler of the Commonwealth of England, and under his strong hand the country rose to a height of greatness and power. Trade increased, law was respected, justice was done; learning and science were encouraged; men were not cruelly punished for their religious beliefs; taxes were not oppressive; and the money of the nation was prudently spent.

Abroad, too, England began to be feared and respected for her strong government. A war broke out with the Dutch, because England passed a Navigation Act, requiring that imports should be brought to the country in English vessels. The Dutch were then known as the carriers for the world their ships carried goods for every nation and this Act injured their trade. In the war, Admiral Blake won several splendid victories over the most brilliant of Dutch admirals, Van Tromp and De Ruyter; and the peace which was concluded was to the advantage of England. From that time the power of the Dutch declined, and England gradually rose to the proud position of mistress of the seas.

The haughty Spaniards again began to dread the daring of English seamen. Cromwell demanded that English merchants should be allowed to pursue their trade freely in the Spanish colonies. When this was refused, Cromwell sent an army to Flanders, to help France in the great war then being waged in the Low Countries against Spain, and the French generals declared that Cromwell’s troops were the finest in the world. An English fleet was sent to seize San Domingo in the West Indies, in revenge for the seizure of English islands by Spain. The attempt failed, but the island of Jamaica was captured, and has remained ever since the chief of the possession of England in the West Indies.

Meanwhile Blake had sailed to the Mediterranean, and

bombarded Tunis — the headquarters of the pirates who infested the seas, and made descents upon the English and Irish coasts. The forts and the pirate fleet were destroyed, and hundreds of English and Dutch captives were set free from slavery. Then Blake sailed for the harbor of Santa Cruz, in the Canaries, where the great Spanish treasure-fleet had taken shelter. The harbor was strongly fortified, and huge ships of war guarded the rich fleet within; but in spite of shot and shell Blake forced his way in, sunk or burnt every ship in the harbor, and sailed out again in safety in the teeth of a gale. Not many weeks afterwards, part of Blake’s fleet fell in with some treasure-ships returning to Spain across the Atlantic. The English fought and captured the ships of Spain; soon after, the Londoners cheered with delight as they saw thirty-eight wagons, loaded with the Spaniards’ silver, pass through the streets of the city. By the aid of the English troops the French won brilliant successes against Spain in the Low Countries. Dunkirk was captured, and was handed over to the English in reward for their services. Cromwell was recognized by all Europe as a great statesman and a mighty prince, and the world was filled with the glory of England.

IV.Cromwell’s Difficulties and Death.

While glorious abroad and prosperous at home, England was not really contented and happy. The rule of the Puritans was too strict for the majority of the people: theatres were shut up; innocent sports were forbidden; and the beautiful service of the English Church, which so many of the people loved, was not allowed to be used. Cromwell himself, serious as he was, was not so gloomy and severe as many of the Puritans. He loved music, and placed an organ in his residence at Hampton Court. He loved books, and collected a fine library; he prevented the destruction of some splendid pictures which

otherwise might have been lost to the country.

Like all great men, he had many enemies; not only among the Royalists, but even among his own party. Many were jealous of his power, and some thought him a great tyrant. He himself believed that he had been called by God to rule England, and he could not put up with the opposition which Parliament sometimes raised against him.

His first parliament, instead of applying itself to various important matters to which Cromwell directed its attention, began to wrangle about the mode of government. Cromwell dissolved Parliament at once; then, as insurrections began to spring up, he divided England into twelve military districts, which he placed under the charge of twelve major-generals. For twenty months no parliament met, and the country lay under martial law one of the very things which had been condemned in the Petition of Right. Then Cromwell summoned a new parliament, which offered him the title of king. This he declined, because the officers of the army, on whom he depended, were opposed to his acceptance of it.

Soon Parliament again raised objections to the form of government, and was again dissolved. Cromwell was deeply offended by the opposition with which he met. “I would have been glad to have lived under my woodside, to have kept a flock of sheep,” he said, “rather than undertake such a government as this. I do dissolve this parliament, and let God be judge between you and me. ”

Seven months after this speech the great Protector was dead. The toil he had endured so bravely for sixteen years, the worries he had suffered during his few years of rule, had worn out his hardy frame. Four days before his death a terrible storm raged over the country, stripping roofs from houses, tearing up trees by the roots, and scattering the seas with wrecks. Mocking Cavaliers said it was the Prince of Darkness come to fetch away the soul of the regicide. While the winds swept around the palace of Whitehall, Cromwell was

breathing his last prayer for his country. On the afternoon of September 3, his great day, the day of his triumphs at Dunbar and Worcester, the Lord Protector died.

Section 29: The Story of General Monk I. The Restoration.

George Monk was born on December 6, 1608, at Potheridge, in North Devon, the native county of so many of the bold soldiers and sailors whose names are famous in English history. Adopting the profession of soldier, Monk served for a time in the Dutch army. He took the side of King Charles at the outbreak of the Civil War, and was known as a brave soldier and able officer. “Honest George” his regiment called him. In the very first battle in which he was engaged, the king’s army was defeated and Monk was taken prisoner. For three years he lay in the Tower of London; and then, the king having been decisively beaten by the New Model army, Monk accepted a commission in the army of the Parliament. He became one of Cromwell’s lieutenant-generals in the campaign in Scotland, and fought, pike in hand, at the head of his regiment at Dunbar. When peace was concluded, Monk was placed at the head of the army in Scotland, and became in fact governor of that country, ruling on the principle “assist the weak inhabitants, and weaken the mighty.” He took no part in the quarrel between the army and the Parliament. It was enough for him to do his duty without arguing; his rule was, strictly to obey those who paid him for his services.

When Oliver Cromwell died, his son Richard was named Protector. Utterly unlike his father, he was a weak and indolent man. The army, which had been so proud of Oliver,

and had been the mainstay of his government, knew nothing of the new ruler; and when Richard was proclaimed Protector at. Edinburgh, Monk’s soldiers grumbled. A great cheer burst out when one of the troopers exclaimed, “Old George for my money; he’s fitter for a Protector than Dick Cromwell!”

Monk loyally supported Richard, and assisted him with good advice; but after ten months of confusion, due to renewed quarrels between army and Parliament, the luckless Protector resigned office and retired to the Continent. All was now confusion in the government. Monk, watching affairs quietly from his post in Scotland, saw that the country was tired of military rule, and promised to support the demands of the Parliament by force if quiet measures were of no avail.

It was on the first day of January, 1660, in the midst of a bitter winter, that Monk began his famous march to London. As he passed through the country, people turned out to stare at him; church bells rang; everybody was tired of wrangling and confusion, and everybody hoped that England would soon have a king again. Monk said nothing about his intentions; he only declared that he was bent on securing the welfare of his country. Soon after his arrival in London, the Long Parliament dissolved itself by its own vote, and a new parliament was elected.

As soon as the members met, letters were read from Prince Charles, who promised, if he were restored, to govern with the assistance of Parliament, to pardon those who had rebelled against his father, and to allow liberty in religious matters. Prince Charles had written at the advice of Monk; and when the letters were read, a member of the Commons immediately moved that the proper government of England was by King, Lords, and Commons. The motion was passed with delight, and the Great Rebellion was at an end.

On the 25th of May, 1660, the fleet which was bringing the king back from Holland was sighted from Dover. Swarms

of noblemen and gentlemen hurried thither, eager to pay court to their sovereign. As Charles stepped from his boat upon the beach at Dover, Monk fell on his knee and kissed the king’s hand. Charles raised him, and embracing him, called him his father.

England now had a king again, and Monk for the remaining ten years of his life loyally served King Charles the Second. Charles was grateful to the man who had given him his kingdom; he made him a Knight of the Garter, appointed him Master of the Horse, and raised him to the peerage with the title of Duke of Albemarle.

When the terrible Plague broke out in London, and king and courtiers fled for their lives, Monk remained, fearless as ever, in the pestilent city, and managed the whole affairs of the nation. The old general died on January 2, 1670, and was buried with great pomp in Westminster Abbey.

Monk was, in a sense, the founder of the British army. Up to Cromwell’s time there had been no standing army that is to say, no soldiers who were constantly paid by the state for their services. When war broke out, men were called from their farms and their workshops to fight, and returned to their trades when the fighting was done. Cromwell’s army was the first standing army in England; but it was also a political and religious body, which did not think itself bound always to obey Parliament. It was Monk who founded and kept on foot a few famous regiments, separated the army from all political questions, and taught soldiers and their commanders alike the lesson contained in Tennyson’s lines

“Theirs not to reason why, Theirs not to make reply, Theirs but to do and die.”

Section 30: The Story of John Milton I.Milton’s Life.

Three days after the birth of George Monk, there was born a far greater and more famous man, John Milton. Monk was a great soldier; Milton was a great poet, who showed in his own life the truth of his fine words, “Peace hath her victories no less renowned than war.” John Milton was born on December 9, 1608, in London. His father, who was a money-broker, was a refined and learned man, and an excellent musician. He brought up his son to love books and music; and the boy became so fond of reading that he used to sit up till past midnight.

Leaving St. Paul’s school at the age of seventeen, Milton went to Christ’s College, Cambridge, where he remained for seven years. At college he was as studious as he had been at home, and showed signs of his poetical gifts while he was yet a student.

On leaving college, Milton went to live at Horton, in Buckinghamshire, where his father had settled. It was time for the young man to choose a profession, but he had already made up his mind to become a great poet, and to compose something which the world would not willingly let die. This aim he placed before himself as a solemn duty, which would require for its accomplishment that he should live a pure life and give himself up to continued study. His father was wealthy, and was quite willing that his son should devote himself to what he had chosen as his life-work.

STORIES OF THE BRITISH ISLES

For five years Milton lived at Horton, spending his time in reading and study, and finding deep enjoyment in the song of birds and the beauty of the pleasant countryside. During these years he wrote his two beautiful poems, Il Penseroso and L’ Allegro, and three others, composed for special occasions, Arcades, Comus, and Lycidas.

In 1638 Milton set out on a journey through France and Italy, intending to proceed to Greece. He made a short stay in Florence and Rome, and conversed with many notable people, who admired his genius, but did not like his outspoken views on religious matters. At this time the dispute between Charles the First and the nation had become exceedingly bitter. Milton, hearing of the state of affairs, brought his travels to an end sooner than he had intended. He felt that it was his duty to take a part in the struggle for liberty of conscience.

“I considered it dishonorable,” he wrote, “to be enjoying myself at ease in foreign lands, while my countrymen were striking a blow for freedom.” He therefore returned to England, settling in London. For twenty years Milton laid aside his intention of writing a great poem. At the establishment of the Commonwealth he was appointed Latin Secretary to the Council of State, in which office it was his duty to write letters in Latin to foreign countries. He also wrote several pamphlets in defence of the Commonwealth against the attacks of Royalist writers, and the writing of one of these cost him his eyesight. He had weakened his sight by constant study; and, refusing to give up what he believed to be his duty to his country, he became quite blind at the age of forty-four. But he did not give up his employment, which he retained until the Restoration of Charles the Second.

After the Restoration two of his books were publicly burnt as a mark of disgrace, and he was kept for a short time in custody. On his release he took a house in Westminster, and gave himself up to the composition of his greatest poem, Paradise Lost, which appeared in the year 1667.

Being blind, Milton could not write down his own verses; but after composing them as he walked in his garden, or lay awake at night, he would repeat them aloud to some one who wrote them at his dictation. Friends and pupils came to read to the brave poet. He had trained his daughters to pronounce the words of several languages, and sometimes they read to him; though, understanding nothing of what they read, they did not care for the task.

The last years of the poet were spent in quiet happiness. He passed his time in conversing with visitors, in hearing books read, in dictating his compositions, and in playing on the organ and the viol. He died on November 8, 1674.

Milton ranks next to Shakespeare among the great writers of England. Their lives present an interesting contrast.

Shakespeare was a country boy, whose works show how fond he must have been of country life of rambling in the woods, noting the forms and colors of the flowers, and learning the habits of animals and birds. Milton was a town boy who did not live in the country until he reached the years of manhood; and who, though he too found pleasure in country scenes, never learned to know nature as Shakespeare did.

Milton spent many years at school and college; indeed, did little else but study up to his thirtieth year. Shakespeare, on the other hand, had little schooling, and throughout his life never gained a large knowledge of books. Milton never had to undergo the hardships of poverty. But Shakespeare knew, when quite young, what it was to be poor, and was working hard to earn his living at the same age at which Milton was enjoying a life of leisure at Cambridge.

Shakespeare was a cheerful, great-hearted man, who enjoyed fun and merriment, and had troops of friends who loved him for his kindliness. Milton was more grave in his ways of life, though it would be a mistake to suppose that he was a sour or gloomy man. He shows us, in his poems L’ Allegro and Il Penseroso, that he was not; he loved music and pictures, he

liked the theatre, and composed his poems Arcades and Comus for two grand entertainments, given with music and splendid show before noble ladies and gentlemen. But he was thoughtful and earnest, a man who liked twilight walks in the cool evening better than the glare of sunlight, and loved to stand alone, listening to the song of the nightingale, better than to mix with a gay company of his fellow-men.

Section 31: The Story of Two Great Calamities

I.The Plague of London.

In the summer of the year 1665, while England was at war with Holland, London was attacked by an enemy more difficult to fight against than any armed force. A strange disease made its appearance in St. Giles’s parish in the west, and spread with frightful rapidity through the city, seizing chiefly on the poor, but sparing none who came in its way. This disease was known as the Plague. At its first appearance, the nobles and gentry fled into the country, and their example was followed by vast numbers of the trading classes. The royal family left Whitehall; and, of the government officials, only the brave General Monk remained in town.

The skill of doctors seemed powerless to check the dreadful disease. It was assisted by the hot and sultry air, and by the filthy condition of the city. Nowadays London has wide streets, well-built houses, a plentiful supply of good water, and an excellent system of drainage. But then the streets were narrow, and the overhanging houses almost met in the centre; the rooms were small and dark, and streets and houses were dirty beyond description; while the water was poor in quality and scanty in supply.

As the disease spread, orders were given that the door of every house attacked should be marked with a red cross, and have the words “Lord have mercy on us!” painted above it. No one was then allowed either to enter or to leave the house

for a month. At night, a cart went the round of the streets, accompanied by a man who rang a bell, and called on the people to bring out their dead.

Thieves broke into the deserted houses, careless of their lives. Shocking deeds of sin and shame were committed by the worthless people who roamed abroad. All business ceased; grass grew in the streets, the silence of which was broken only by the wails of plague-stricken people, or the wild shouts of drunken ruffians. It was four months before the Plague showed any signs of abatement, and not until the winter did people venture back into the city. More than a hundred thousand persons had perished, and for more than a year longer the disease lingered in various quarters.

II. The Fire of London.

London had not recovered from the ravages of the Plague when another calamity fell upon it. The Plague had destroyed human life; the Fire now destroyed property. About two o’clock on Sunday morning, September 2, 1666, a fire broke out in a bake-house in Pudding Lane, in a crowded part of the city near the Thames. A strong wind carried the flames to the surrounding houses, which were built of wood; and the fire quickly spread to the neighboring warehouses, which contained stores well fitted to feed the flames.

People were so amazed at the sudden outburst of the fire that they failed to do what might have been done to save other houses. As a writer says, “There was nothing heard or seen but crying out and lamentation, running about like distracted creatures, without at all attempting to save even their goods.”

The wind grew in violence during the day, and the fire spread with wonderful speed. “The following night presented a most magnificent but appalling spectacle. A vast column of

fire, a mile in diameter, was seen ascending to the clouds; the flames, as they rose, were bent and broken by the fury of the wind. The glare of the sky, the heat of the atmosphere, the crackling of the flames, and the falling of the houses and churches combined to fill every breast with astonishment and terror.”

An eye-witness wrote: “Here we saw the Thames covered with goods floating, and barges and boats laden with what some had time and courage to save. We saw carts carrying things out to the fields, which for many miles were strewed with movables of all sorts, and tents erecting to shelter both people and what goods they could get away.

“All the sky was of a fiery aspect, like the top of a burning oven, and the light was seen above forty miles round about. The noise and cracking and thunder of the impetuous flames, the shrieking of women and children, the hurry of people, the fall of towers and houses and churches, was like a hideous storm. The air all about was so hot and inflamed that at the last one was not able to approach it, but they were forced to stand still and let the flames burn on, which they did for near two miles in length and one in breadth.”

Next day the fire was still raging, and many streets of houses were reduced to ashes. St. Paul’s Cathedral took fire. At length, the king ordered a number of houses to be blown up, in order to make a wide gap over which the flames would not leap. The wind fell, and the fire, after raging for three days and nights, gradually burnt itself out. Besides the cathedral of St. Paul’s, eighty-eight churches were burnt to the ground, and more than thirteen thousand houses. The Royal Exchange, and many other fine buildings were among the ruins; and thousands of people were rendered homeless and slept in the fields.

In the midst of the terror, a report arose that an army of French and Dutch had entered the city, while another rumor declared that the fire had been set by the Roman Catholics.

Instantly there was uproar and tumult. The citizens seized their arms, and attacked every foreigner they met; and troops had to be sent by the king to quell the turbulence of the mob. Terrible as the Plague and fire -were in their effects, they were in some ways a blessing. The Plague taught people the value of cleanliness. The fire burnt out the remnant of the Plague, and destroyed parts of the city that were really dens of fever. London was rebuilt, with wider streets and better houses. In place of the old Gothic cathedral, Sir Christopher Wren erected St. Paul’s as it now is, with the magnificent dome which towers above the smoke and din of the city.

Section 32: The Story of the Revolution

I.James the Second.

One of the greatest events in English history is that known as the Revolution of 1688. England went through a kind of revolution in the time of Charles the First, when the Parliament waged war against the king, defeated and put him to death, and established the commonwealth. But these events are not known in history as the Revolution, because the change of government lasted only a few years, and with the return of Charles the Second the old form of government, monarchy, was restored.

We must now see how it came about that, forty years after the death of Charles the First, another and a greater revolution took place. This revolution did not cause the death of a king, and was accomplished without bloodshed; it did not do away with the office of king, but it took away from all future kings of England the power to oppress the people.

King Charles the Second reigned for twenty-five years, during which time the prosperity of the country greatly increased. The king was a gay, witty, and careless man, with fine ability, but of a selfish and pleasure-loving character. He was careful, however, not to do anything to make himself generally disliked; he was determined, as he said, not to go on his travels again, and therefore took care to keep on good terms with his subjects.

When Charles died, leaving no lawful children, his brother James, Duke of York, became King James the Second.

The new king was not so bright as his brother, and his character was as bad; but he was more earnest and diligent. Unhappily for himself, he held the same belief which had ruined his father Charles the First, namely, that the king was absolutely above the law, and could do just as he pleased. James thought that everybody who agreed with him was right, and everybody who disagreed was wrong. He had none of his brother’s skill in managing men, and he was unable to learn the lesson which the sad fate of his father ought to have taught him.

II. The Dispensing Power.

King James soon began a course which was in the end to cost him his crown. In the previous reign the Corporation and Test Acts had been passed. These were laws intended to prevent any one who was not a member of the Church of England from serving as a member of Parliament, a magistrate, an officer in the army, or as a public official of any kind. But James the king thought he was above the law and appointed men to certain offices who did not belong to the Church of England. When it was complained that this was against the law, he said that he, as king, had the right to excuse or “dispense” persons from obedience to the law. Now James had no such right, but he was unwise enough to try to prove that he had. When the judges told him that he was in the wrong, he dismissed them from their offices, and appointed in their places men who, he knew, would do whatever he wished.

James did many other things that were contrary to the harsh and narrow laws which then existed. When the people heard of these doings of the king, they began to show their discontent. Riots broke out in various parts of the country, and to overawe the people James collected a great army on

Hounslow Heath, near London.

Blind to all signs of danger, the king now issued a Declaration of Indulgence, in which he gave permission to different sects in England to worship as they pleased, and set aside all laws against them. He then interfered with the universities. At Cambridge the vice-chancellor was deprived of his office for refusing to grant a degree to a monk. At Oxford, James ordered the Fellows of Magdalen College to elect as their president one who was not a member of the Church of England. When they refused, because the rule of the college was against such an appointment, they were turned out. These were acts of tyranny for which the king had no defence whatever.

III.Trial of the Seven Bishops.

The next proceeding of the foolhardy king was to issue a second Declaration of Indulgence, which he ordered to be read in all the churches throughout the country. Most of the clergy objected to this because it was illegal. Seven bishops, therefore, including the Archbishop of Canterbury, drew up and presented a petition to the king, in which they assured him of their loyalty, but declared that they could not advise the reading of an illegal document.

When the Sunday came on which the Declaration was to be read, hardly a clergyman obeyed the king’s order. In the churches where it was obeyed, the people rose in a body, and streamed out, leaving the ministers to themselves. James was enraged at the conduct of the bishops and clergy. He summoned the seven bishops before him, and demanded that they should comply with his wishes. On their refusal, he sent them to the Tower; and as the barge conveying them passed down the river, hundreds of voices from the banks shouted “God bless your lordships!”

The bishops were charged with having published a “false, malicious, and seditious libel,” and were put on their trial in Westminster Hall on June 29, 1688. Among the jury was one Michael Arnold, the king’s brewer, who was in great distress at his position. “Whatever I do, I am sure to be half ruined,” he said. “If I say not guilty, I shall brew no more for the king; and if I say guilty, I shall brew no more for anybody else.’’

The trial lasted for several hours, and it was night before the jury retired to consider their verdict. They remained locked up all night, and hours were spent in argument. At length, towards morning, all were in favor of the bishops but Arnold the brewer, who refused to agree to a verdict of not guilty. He would listen to no argument, and by and by one of the jury, growing impatient, said: “Look at me. I am the largest and strongest of the twelve; and before I find such a petition as this a libel, here I will stay till I am no bigger than a tobacco pipe.”

At six o’clock in the morning the brewer gave way, and the twelve jurymen, returning into court, gave a unanimous verdict of Not Guilty. Instantly the thousands of people who crowded the hall shouted for joy; the cry was taken up by thousands outside; guns were fired; flags were run up the masts of ships on the Thames; and horsemen galloped off to carry the joyful news into the country. James was at the camp on Hounslow Heath when the news reached him. Angry at the result of the trial, he was setting out for London, when he was startled by boisterous cheers behind him. Asking what they meant, he got the answer: “Nothing; the soldiers are glad that the bishops are acquitted.” “Do you call that nothing?” said James; “so much the worse for them.”

IV. William of Orange.

James had now been king for three years, and had dis-

gusted the nation by his contempt for law and justice. But he had reached his fifty-sixth year, and the people hoped that when his death took place his grown-up daughter Mary would become queen, and bring contentment to the country. Less than three weeks before the trial of the seven bishops, a son was born to James, and the hopes of the nation were destroyed. For the young prince would be brought up in his father’s religion, and the people could only look forward to another Catholic king, who, they thought, would respect the law no more than James had done. This they were determined not to endure. On the very day of the acquittal of the seven bishops, a letter was sent to Holland, asking the ruler of that country to come and deliver England from the tyrant. The ruler of Holland was William of Orange, who was also the husband of James’s daughter Mary, the princess whom all Englishmen had hoped might be their queen.

William accepted the invitation. He was delayed for some months, but on November 5, 1688, he landed at Torbay, in Devonshire, and began his march towards London. Nobles and gentlemen flocked to his banner; and James, when he set out with his troops to meet William, was deserted by many of his officers and courtiers.

Returning to London, the poor king found that even his second daughter, the Princess Anne, had left him and gone to join William. “God help me!” he exclaimed; “my own children have forsaken me. ” James now sent the queen and the baby prince to France; and, fearing for his life, he tried to follow them on the next day. As he crossed the Thames he dropped the great seal into the water, hoping that the business of the country could not be carried on without that mark of royal authority.

Driving rapidly eastward, James arrived at Sheerness, where he embarked on board a small boat. His appearance excited the curiosity of some rough fishermen, who boarded the boat, stripped him of his money and watch, and carried

him on shore, where he was recognized. “Let me go,” he cried; “get me a boat. The Prince of Orange is hunting for my life. If you do not let me fly now, it will be too late.” He was rescued and brought back to London. But William did not want him there. While he remained in England he was king. He was therefore allowed to retire to Rochester, whence he escaped, and took ship for France.

Parliament then declared that by leaving the country James had “abdicated” or given up the government, and left the throne vacant; and, two months later, the crown of England was offered to and accepted by William and Mary. The Revolution was over; it put an end to the claim of the sovereign to be above the law, and henceforward every English sovereign would have to rule by the will of Parliament.

Most people were glad to be rid of James, yet in spite of this the English people did not much like William, because of his foreign ways and his cold manners, and William soon found that it was harder to keep his crown than it had been to win it. Indeed, there were many persons who wanted James to come back from over the sea and be king again. They were called Jacobites, or friends of James. When they drank the king’s health, they would wave their glasses over the waterbottle, to show that they drank, not to William, but to the king “ over the water.”

England, Scotland, and Ireland had the same king. Most of the Scottish people were glad to have William as their ruler; but the wild Highlanders, who lived among the mountains of the north and west of Scotland, rose in arms for King James. But when William’s government began to give money to the chiefs, and to promise a pardon to those who would submit, they all did so except the Macdonald Clan, which lived in Glencoe. The chief of that clan was a few days too late in taking the oath to obey William. Now this clan was much hated by the Campbells, who lived not very far away. The worst possible interpretation was given to the conduct of

the Macdonalds in the report which was sent to King William, so that, on reading it, he exclaimed, “It will be proper to root out that set of thieves!”

Soldiers were accordingly sent to Glencoe, and they stayed there as though they were friends. After they had been kindly entertained for more than a week, they suddenly rose, murdered about forty of the clan, and destroyed their village. Many more of the clansmen perished in the snows of winter amidst the wild country which surrounds their glen. This massacre of Glencoe, as it is called, has left a dark stain on William’s reign.

V.The War in Ireland.

In Ireland there was much harder fighting than in Scotland; for most of the Irish did not like to see James II. driven from the throne and William become king; and they hoped that with the help of James and some French officers they would keep him as their king, and be free from the control of England. James also saw that his best chance was to go from France to Ireland and rouse the Irish against William. He landed at Kinsale, and was soon at the head of a large army. Nearly all Ireland, except the northern part, owned James as king.

Even in the north the Irish supporters of William were so few that they had to take refuge within the walls of Londonderry. James’s army followed them there, and expected soon to storm the weak walls of that city. But there were thousands of brave men in Londonderry who would not give in. An old clergyman named Walker acted as governor, and kept up their spirits by his brave words and by the sermons which he preached in the cathedral. Several times the defenders drove James’s troops away from their walls.

At last their foes closed them all round so as to starve

them out. Their hunger became worse and worse, until they had to hunt the rats and mice for food, and a dog’s paw was sold for more than five shillings. At last, when all hope seemed to be gone, three English ships forced their way up the river, and brought food to the brave defenders. So James’s troops, after trying for over one hundred days to take Londonderry, had to abandon the attempt.

In the next year (1690) William landed in the north of Ireland and began to march towards Dublin. The Jacobite army was drawn up on the south bank of the river Boyne, to prevent William’s troops crossing that river. The day before the battle William was wounded by a ball; but his undaunted spirit kept him on horseback for many hours in his determination to inspirit his men.

On the next day was fought the battle of the Boyne. William sent some of his troops to cross the river higher up, so as to make the Jacobites fearful of being cut off from Dublin; and most of their best troops were thus drawn away from the bank of the river. Then William’s men rushed into the river, crossed it by a ford, and though they suffered much from the Irish bullets, they drove their foes away from the bank and scattered them in flight.

The Irish horsemen charged bravely, but they could not win the day. James rode away as fast as he could to Dublin and thence to Kinsale, where he took ship for France. The Irish were enraged at his cowardice; and one of their officers said to one of William’s men, “Change kings, and we will fight you again.” After a few more fruitless struggles, the whole of Ireland submitted to King William; and unhappily the Protestants after their victory oppressed the Roman Catholic Irish very cruelly. So the old enmity lived on in that land.

VI.The War with France.

The help which the king of France had given to James led to war with England. In the end the English had the best of it; for in a great battle off Cape La Hogue they burned most of the French ships under the eyes of James and the French troops. When the news of this victory reached London, Queen Mary II. gave up the royal palace of Greenwich for the wounded English sailors; and for a long time it was used for old and disabled sailors of the navy. It was the first great public hospital in England.

King William was not so fortunate in his battles on land, which were mostly fought in Flanders. His fixed determination had always been to band England with the other Protestant states in a league against the great king of France, Louis XIV.; and, now that he was undisputed king of Great Britain and Ireland, he gained his end. But the French army was larger and better equipped than all the forces — English, Dutch, Spanish, and German — which could be used for the defence of Holland. Besides, William was not so able a general as some of the French, and he was often beaten; but his spirits always rose in time of danger. When his friends despaired he was calm and determined; and he generally managed to steal a march on his foes while they were enjoying their triumph. In the end he was able to hold his own, and to save the Netherlands from being conquered by the French; and then Louis XIV. made peace with William.

VII.The Close of William the Third’s Reign.

One of the worst of William’s trials was the death of his queen. In those days towns were not kept so clean as they are now; and the practice of vaccination had not yet been

introduced. For these reasons small-pox was a terrible and generally a fatal scourge. It attacked Queen Mary II., and she soon died of it.

William was generally stern, but he really had a tender heart; and he showed it now. He said to one of the bishops, “I was the happiest man on earth, and now I am the most miserable.” Still he held up bravely; and in the last eight years of his lonely life he stoutly faced the French and his secret foes in England.

Many English people did not like to be ruled by a king who was a Dutchman and could not speak English properly. Indeed, William found that very few of his ministers and generals could be trusted. Some were secret friends of James, and some stole the public money. But when William raised to power some of his trusty Dutchmen, there was more grumbling than ever. Forty Jacobites made a plot to murder him as he was on his way back from hunting to his favorite palace, Hampton Court; but one of them secretly told about the plot. So it ended only in several of them being executed.

Even after this the English Parliament was very jealous of William, and would hardly grant him supplies which were needed to make Louis XIV. keep the peace. But when James II. died in France, Louis at once showed that he would try to make James’s son king of England. This enraged the English people, who were determined not to let Louis meddle in English affairs. For this and other reasons there was another war with France; and William’s last parliament raised the British army to forty thousand men.

In the midst of these difficulties William had an accident which led to his death. He was riding in the park at Hampton Court, when his horse stumbled over a mole-hill, threw him, and broke his collar-bone. William had always been weakly; and after long years of hard work and anxiety he had no strength to recover from the shock, and he died in 1702.

Few men have had so hard a life of struggle as William of

Orange. His father died before he was born; and his foes kept the young lad out of his rights in Holland. Nevertheless, at twenty-two years of age his energy brought him to the first place in the Dutch Republic; and he not only freed his land from the French, but became the champion of the Protestants of Europe. At thirty-eight years of age he became king of England. He restored liberty to the people, he kept France from conquering the Netherlands, and but for him all those of his faith would have been in sore straits all over Europe. The career of William of Orange is a signal example of the influence for good which an able and determined man can exert on his own people and on those of other countries. Beginning life as an orphan and almost as a prisoner, he rose superior to the difficulties which beset his youth; he became successively the liberator of Holland and of England, and ended his life of toil and struggle as the victorious champion of the cause of the liberty of the people.

Section 33: The Story of Marlborough

I. The Balance of Power.

John Churchill, who later became Duke of Marlborough, was one of the greatest generals of all time. He was born in 1650 at Ashe, in Devonshire. Even in his youth he showed himself to be a brave and skilful officer, and when he served with the Royal Guards in France he was publicly thanked for his ability and energy.

The French knew him as “the handsome Englishman.” It was only natural that he should make friends on all sides, and many grand presents were made to him. Unfortunately, this made him too fond of money, and he often stooped to mean and underhand actions to further his interests. Thus, though he was advanced to favor by James II. for putting down a revolt, he deserted to William of Orange when he seemed likely to become king. For this William gave him the title of Earl of Marlborough, and soon sent him to the Netherlands to lead the British troops against the French. But Marlborough soon began working in a treacherous way for James II., and against William III. For this treachery he was brought back to England, and was imprisoned in the Tower for a time. Yet he was finally pardoned, and again was sent to fight the French; for there was no other general who could hope to beat the foes of England.

William III. had had hard work to keep the great king of France, Louis XIV., from conquering Holland. But just before William III. died, the king of France had become still more

powerful than he had been before. Louis had long ago married a princess of the Spanish royal family, so that his grandson had a claim to the crown of Spain. The king of Spain had no children of his own, and when he died he left his many lands to the grandson of the king of France. This young man, Philip V., was to govern not only Spain and her vast colonies in America, but also a great part of Italy, and the Spanish Netherlands, which we now call Belgium. As he was a grandson of the king of France, he would be a close ally of France. Men began to ask what would happen if nearly half Europe was governed by the same family. The English ambassador at Paris wrote: “I fear that in a few years France will be master of us all.” This Marlborough prevented. He restored the balance of power, that is, he prevented any one country from growing so strong as to control the others.

When William III. died, the Princess Anne, who was the second daughter of James II., became queen of England. The new queen was at first very fond of Marlborough’s wife, and they used to write to each other as bosom friends. Neither Anne nor the greater part of the English people looked with much favor on the war with France, but Marlborough was kept in his command, and was made duke.

II.The Battle of Blenheim.

Marlborough had command of the British and Dutch troops in the Netherlands, but the Dutch officers and advisers were timid. As Marlborough always wanted to strike quick and hard at the French, he was often almost in despair. It was like putting a race-horse and a mule to draw the same carriage. But, fortunately, Marlborough had a very good temper. His favorite motto was “Patience will overcome all things,” and by his winning speech he generally got his way.

In the first two campaigns he showed his skill and energy

STORIES OF THE BRITISH ISLES

by taking five fortresses from the French and Spaniards, and thereby saved Holland from being conquered. The Dutch now showed how thankful they were to their deliverer. Once he and his staff were very near being captured, and the news got about that he had been made prisoner. When he arrived in safety at The Hague, the Dutch people wept for joy to see him.

But Marlborough was to do far more than save Holland. In his next campaigns he crushed the power of France, which then seemed so threatening to Europe. The French, with the help of the Bavarians, hoped to conquer the greater part of Germany. Marlborough made his plans secretly and skilfully to prevent this. He quickly led his troops along the bank of the river Rhine, and then, turning up the valley of the Neckar, he took the Bavarians by surprise, and defeated them on the bank of the Danube. The French sent a large army to help the Bavarians; while Marlborough was joined by the Imperial troops, commanded by Prince Eugene, who was also a great general.

The French and Bavarians now took their stand on a line of hills, in front of which was a stream that flowed into the Danube. The strongest part of their position was the village of Blenheim, which rises high above this stream and above the swiftly ‘flowing Danube. Soon the battle raged all along the line, and the French at first beat back the British attack on Blenheim. Then Marlborough ordered his soldiers merely to keep up a pretence of attacking this strong position, while he made his chief attack across the marshy ground against the weakest part of the enemy ’ s line the centre. It was a difficult and dangerous task to cross the marshy valley and the stream under the fire of the French and Bavarians, but at last it was done; and late in the afternoon Marlborough led 8000 of his horsemen up the opposite slope, to charge an even larger force of French cavalry. He routed them, and they made for the Danube, hoping to cross it by a ford; but the

water was too deep and the current too strong. Hundreds were swept away by the waters, and the rest surrendered to Marlborough’s troopers. But this was not all. The 11,000 French foot-soldiers, who had been so bravely defending Blenheim, were now, by the flight of the French centre, cut off from their comrades, and had to lay down their arms.

Altogether the French and Bavarians lost nearly 40,000 men in killed, wounded, and prisoners, as well as most of their cannons, and all their tents and baggage. The survivors, only some 20,000 in number, retreated with haste towards France.

Such was the great victory of Blenheim, which was won mainly by the skill and daring of Marlborough. An English officer who was in the battle thus describes his conduct there. “No general ever did behave with more composure of temper and presence of mind than did the duke. He was in all places wherever his presence was required, without fear of danger or in the least hurry, giving his orders with all the calmness imaginable.”

Thanks to Marlborough, Germany was saved from a French invasion, and he recovered nearly all the German strongholds which the enemy had seized earlier in the war. For these great services Marlborough, on his return to England, was thanked by Parliament. The splendid estate of Woodstock, near Oxford, was also given to him and to his heirs.

In the next year little was done; but in the year after that, when the French made an effort to regain ground in the Netherlands, Marlborough met and defeated them in the great battle of Ramillies, and they had to give up all the lands which they had held. The war dragged on for nearly three years more, until after a long and desperate battle at Malplaquet, Marlborough drove the French out of their lines; but his troops lost more heavily than the French.

III. Marlborough’s Downfall.

The English people were now weary of the war, and, besides, Queen Anne was on very cool terms with Marlborough. She had had a violent quarrel with his wife, and dismissed her from all her high offices. In vain did the duke, when he came back to England, throw himself on his knees, begging the queen not to disgrace his wife. The man who had subdued the power of France could not bend the will of the resentful queen, and he himself was soon disgraced. It happened thus:

The Whig ministry which had supported him had become more and more unpopular; and at last a Tory ministry was formed by the queen. Some of the new ministers, who desired to ruin Marlborough, charged him with taking the public money, and the charges were proved to be correct. Marlborough’s excuses were that others had done the same, and that he had used much of it for getting news about the enemy ’ s plans. These were lame excuses; and as the new ministers desired to ruin Marlborough, the queen soon dismissed him from his office. He bore his disgrace with dignity and manliness, and, with his duchess, retired to the Continent after peace was made.

The terms of peace left England not much stronger, for all her triumphs. She was to keep Gibraltar and Minorca, which had been conquered in the war; and she gained Nova Scotia, the lands around Hudson’s Bay, as well as fuller control over Newfoundland. The Dutch were better protected against France, but elsewhere Louis XIV. held his own.

When George I. became king of Great Britain and Ireland in 1714, he restored Marlborough to honor; but the famous general never returned to active service, and after some years of retirement he died in 1722.

Marlborough was more than fifty years of age before he

commanded a great army. A great French writer has said of him that he never besieged a fortress which he did not take, or fought a battle which he did not win. This cannot be said of any other general in modern times, not even of Wellington,

Section 34: The Revolt of 1715

On Queen Anne’s death in 1714 the crown of Great Britain and Ireland went to Prince George of Hanover in Germany, who was great-grandson of King James I. He was a heavy, dull man, who never could speak English, and did not care for England. The English people put up with him because he was a Protestant. If the son of James II. had not been a Roman Catholic, he would have been welcomed back from exile in France, and gladly accepted as king.

The Jacobites, that is, the supporters of the exiled prince, were far more numerous in Scotland than in England. The Act of Union with England had caused much discontent in the northern country; and when the Earl of Mar began to arouse the Highlanders against George I.’s rule, James the Pretender set sail for Scotland.

Mar had twelve thousand men under arms for the Stuart prince, and soon held all Scotland north of the Firth of Forth. Part of his men crossed the Forth and marched towards the border. They crossed into England near Carlisle, although the wild Highlanders were very loath to leave Scotland. Marching carelessly southward, they were brought to bay at Preston, in Lancashire, and after a short fight they had to surrender, some fifteen hundred in number.

On that same day the rebels were defeated in Scotland. Mar had had to retreat before King George’s troops, which were commanded by the Duke of Argyle, but finally the two armies met at Sheriffmuir, between Perth and Stirling. On one wing the Highlanders were successful, but on the other Argyle led his men across some frozen marshes, attacked the

rebels on their flank, and put them to flight. On the whole, the royal troops had the best of it, and Mar retreated.

Then, when it was too late, the Pretender landed farther north and called himself king. But he showed little spirit; and when Argyle marched against him, both he and Mar fled to France. Many of the chief insurgents were pardoned, and only a few were executed. One of the condemned English lords escaped from prison in woman’s clothes, which his wife secretly brought to him.

Both England and Scotland began to settle down, because it was felt that the Pretender was foolish, selfish, and obstinate; but neither George I. nor his son, George II., gained the affection of the people, as was proved by the startling successes won by the young Pretender in 1745.

Section 35: Sir Robert Walpole

I. The South Sea Bubble.

After the revolt of 1715 England was at peace with all nations, except for a short war with Spain. During the many previous years of the war, merchants had feared that French men-of-war would capture their ships, but now they felt sure that their ships might proceed on their voyages in safety. The treaty of 1713 between Great Britain and Spain had also granted to English merchants the right of sending a merchant ship every year to the South Seas, as the Pacific Ocean was then called. In consequence, English commerce and wealth began to increase by leaps and bounds.

All this made people ready to venture their money in risky enterprises, and a number of merchants and bankers formed a great company for trading with the South Seas. Their schemes caught the public fancy, and when the South Sea Company promised to make all rich who trusted their money to it, people rushed to take its shares. They paid absurdly high prices for very doubtful chances of gain; and men and women, rich and poor, went almost crazy with excitement.

When they regained their senses they saw that they had paid far too dear for profits which might never come. Then, all at once with equal folly they rushed to sell their shares, but very few people would buy. The great South Sea Bubble burst, and many thousands of people were ruined.

The only man who came forward with any plan for healing

some of the misery was Robert Walpole, who was known to be the best man at figures in the House of Commons. He had warned people against trusting these schemes, and now he showed his skill in repairing some of the ruin. This brought him back to power as one of the chief of the king’s ministers, and for the next twenty-one years he was the first man in England next to the king.

He was a rough Norfolk squire, who had long been a strong supporter of the Whig party. He had a complete belief in his own ability. It was said of him “that his face was bronzed over by a glare of confidence,” and he now showed great skill in managing men and in keeping his supporters contented. He was not a great orator; but in that corrupt age members of Parliament were more often led by bribes than by appeals to their reason or to the public interest. Still, Walpole felt that in crushing a Jacobite plot, and in keeping first George I. and then George II. on the throne, he was doing the best for his country, and though he often used bad means to gain his ends, he managed to secure rest and quiet for the land.

Thus, when the Irish were much enraged because they thought that a bad coinage was to be forced on them, Walpole gave way. Indeed, whenever it was possible, he did so rather than make a public disturbance. His favorite mottoes were, “Let sleeping dogs lie” and “Leave well alone.”

Gradually most men came to feel that Walpole was necessary to the peace and prosperity of the land. If he resigned office, the Tories would have come back to power, and would perhaps have brought back the Pretender to be king. The merchants liked Walpole because he preserved peace; Dissenters liked him because he and the Whig party had put a stop to recent attempts at religious persecution, and George I.liked Walpole and the Whigs because they supported him and kept out the Stuarts.

II. The Origin of the “Prime Minister.”

As George I. spoke only German and detested English politics, he ceased to preside at the meetings of his ministers, at which affairs of public importance were discussed. Now, when men meet for business, there must always be some one to preside, otherwise there can be no order. Who was to direct the meetings of the ministers? Gradually, as Walpole became more and more important, he directed the meetings, and was called the first, or prime, minister.

Before Walpole’s time the king’s ministers had all been equal, and had had to obey only the king or queen; but from that time onward the position of prime minister has become more and more important, until now he directs a good deal of the action of the other ministers. In fact, the whole ministry now acts under the general guidance of the prime minister, and the chief ministers form what is called a cabinet. So that, because George I. and later George II. trusted Walpole with the control of business for twenty-one years, this great change came about; and the prime minister has latterly had far more to do with the public affairs of the British empire than the reigning sovereign.

We must notice one other result of Walpole’s long control of public affairs. Before his time the king or queen used often to forbid the passing of a law; but since then this has hardly ever been done. George I. and then George II. trusted Walpole to look after their interests. Therefore it came to be the custom for the king always to give his assent to bills passed by Parliament. Thus the king’s power became less, while that of Parliament and of the king’s ministers became greater. Remember, then, that in Walpole’s time we see the English government taking its present form.

England owes much to Sir Robert Walpole in other ways. He was the first English minister who encouraged commerce

by letting raw material come into the country more freely, so that England’s manufactured goods became better and cheaper than before. He also made it easier to export England’s manufactures, and before very long the value of England’s exports rose from $30,000,000 a year to more than $60,000,000. Her colonies also had certain privileges granted to them for their trade, and altogether the British empire grew greatly in wealth and power.

But Walpole’s success raised up many enemies who were jealous of him, and tried to poison the public mind against him. This was the case when he proposed a useful reform in the collection of part of the taxes, so as to check smuggling. Troubles in Scotland, and disputes between George II. and his son, the Prince of Wales, also added to his difficulties, and after a long fight against his foes he had to resign (1742). King George II. was deeply grieved at losing his trusty adviser, and falling on his neck, he kissed him and begged to see him frequently.

Men soon found out how unable his foes were to take his place, and matters went from bad to worse for the next few years. After three years of retirement, death overtook the statesman who had done so much for the peace and prosperity of his country. Englishmen regretted his downfall, until a greater statesman came to power, William Pitt, Earl of Chatham.

Section 36: “Bonnie Prince Charlie ”

I. The Outbreak in the North

The Scots were still sore because their Parliament had been united with that of England. But now, when England was again at war with France, it seemed a favorable time for the Jacobites to rise in revolt and try to win back the crown of Great Britain for the son of James II., or the Old Pretender as he was called.

His son, the Young Pretender, was a tall, handsome youth, with far more dash and energy than his father had shown in 1715; and though the French government did not help him much, he determined to sail to Scotland, even if he landed there with only one follower. On the voyage he was nearly captured by an English man-of-war; but at last he set foot on Scottish soil near Moidart in Inverness-shire. Even the bold clansmen were aghast at his rashness in attempting with but seven followers to overthrow a powerful king like George II.; but the young prince, soon called Bonnie Prince Charlie, charmed all hearts by his winning ways. As a friend said of him, “If this prince once sets his eyes upon you, he will make you do whatever he pleases.”

The Macdonalds and the brave chieftain Cameron of Lochiel joined his cause, and a successful skirmish with King George’s troops raised the spirits of the Highlanders. They were delighted by the tall athletic form of the young prince, and by his sharing all their perils and hardships. At night he often lay down among them to sleep, sheltered only by his

plaid.

When the royal troops were timidly withdrawn northwards to Inverness, the road towards the south was left open, and the prince marched in triumph to Perth and thence to Edinburgh. At the old cross of the Scottish capital he caused his father to be proclaimed king; and when the young prince rode into Edinburgh, the streets rang with the cheering of the rejoicing Jacobites, many of them pressing round to kiss the boots of the handsome young cavalier. He took up his abode for a time at the ancient palace of Holy rood, where so many of his ancestors had dwelt.

For about a year Charles held his followers together and fought the English with varying success. At last the Duke of Cumberland, who was in command of the royal troops, forced a decisive issue. On Culloden Moor, not far from the town of Culloden, was fought the last serious battle on British soil. The Highlanders were hungry and dispirited; and the Macdonalds, angry at not having the post of honor on the right wing of the rebel army, stood moody and motionless. Yet the other clansmen by their wild rush burst through the first line of the royal troops, only to be driven back by steady volleys from the second line. In their rage some of them stood hurling stones at the red-coats until a general charge of the royal troops swept them from the moor. No quarter was given to the rebels, and the severity of the Duke of Cumberland gained him the title of the Butcher.

Charles fled for his life. When his foes were closing all around him, a brave young lady, Flora Macdonald, helped him to escape, disguised in woman’s clothes, to Skye. He was in the utmost danger, for the soldiers were searching for him everywhere. Yet, though £30,000 was promised to any one who would capture him, not one of the poor clansmen betrayed him. The prince was even befriended for three weeks by a band of robbers, who hid him from his pursuers and fed him with the best of their food.

STORIES OF THE BRITISH ISLES

At last two French vessels rescued him, and he left Scotland at the same spot where fourteen months before he had landed, flushed with the hope of regaining Great Britain for the Stuarts.

King George’s government strove to crush out the Jacobite spirit in the Highlands by putting down the power of the chieftains and by forbidding the clansmen to wear their kilt and tartan. Later many Highland regiments were raised to fight for George III., and now they form some of the best and most devoted troops of the empire.

Yet long after the rebellion of 1745 the clansmen yearned for the return of Bonnie Prince Charlie, and in this verse of an old Scottish song there breathes the devotion felt for the romantic young adventurer, so frank in speech and handsome in person, so gallant in fight and generous even to his foes

“I once had sons, but now ha’e nanc, I bred them toiling sairly; And I wad bear them a’ again, And lose them a’ for Charlie.”

Section 37: The British in India

I.Clive Goes to India — The Siege of Arcot.

In 1745 it seemed as though the power of England was in danger from a few thousands of untrained Highlanders. Yet within fifteen years she acquired a mighty empire across the seas, owing to the exploits of Clive and Wolfe and the organizing genius of that great statesman, the elder Pitt.

Before the time of Clive his countrymen in India held only a few factories and trading-stations on or near the coasts. These were Surat, Bombay, Fort St. George (now known as Madras), and Fort William (now known as Calcutta). Bombay belonged to the British crown, but the other three stations belonged to an important trading company, the English East India Company, which paid rent to the native rulers. It was the courage and genius of Clive which soon made this struggling little trading company the possessor of large and wealthy provinces.

Robert Clive was born in 1725 at Market Drayton, in Shropshire. All through his school life he showed a daring and masterful spirit which nearly drove his parents and teachers to despair. Not knowing what to do with him, his parents at last sent him out as a clerk in the service of the East India Company.

The French were then more powerful in the East than the English. In one of their inroads they captured Madras and took all the English prisoners. Among them was Clive, who managed to escape in the disguise of a native, and became an

ensign in the Company’s little army.

Before long peace was made between England and France, and Madras was restored to the English Company; but the ambition of Dupleix, the French governor of Pondicherry, again brought the English and French to war in the south of India. This ambitious man had formed the plan of playing off the rival native rulers one against the other, and by this means he meant to make his countrymen supreme in India. The bravery of the French soldiers scattered in flight ten times their number of native troops, and the rule of Dupleix in the south of India seemed in 1750 to be firmly established.

But the genius of Clive soon changed the whole aspect of affairs. He persuaded the English East India Company to send help instantly to one of the native princes against the French, and to seize the important town of Arcot. He led his little force of five hundred men quickly towards its walls. Undaunted by a terrific thunder-storm which burst over them, Clive and his men struggled on, and the defenders were so astonished at foes coming against them in such a tempest that they fled, and left Arcot as the prize of Clive’s valor.

An army of ten thousand natives and a few French threatened him in the weak walls of Arcot, but Clive’s daring spirit again nerved his scanty band to resist these overwhelming numbers, and Arcot was saved for the English.

II. The Black Hole — Plassey.

This and other exploits made Clive famous, and he was rightly looked on as the greatest English commander since the time of Marlborough. On his return to England to restore his health he was greeted as the saviour of the Company’s rule in India. After a time of rest he returned to India, where his vigorous hand was needed more than ever.

The Company’s settlement at Fort William, now known as Calcutta, had been seized by the Nabob Surajah-Dowlah, who then ruled over Bengal. This fickle and cruel young despot, annoyed at the growing power of the English, had suddenly marched a great army against Fort William and seized it. The English prisoners, 146 in number, were promised that their lives would be spared; but their fiendish captors shut them all up in a narrow cell called the Black Hole. Stifled by heat and by the foul air, they struggled in agony to get near the few small air-holes, and begged the native guards to fire on them to put them out of their misery. The guards only mocked at their torments. So this awful night wore on, the groans getting fewer and feebler, until the next morning only twenty-three ghastly figures staggered from that charnelhouse. The rest had perished of heat, thirst, and suffocation.

Clive sailed from the Madras coast to Fort William on the Hoogley, to punish Surajah-Dowlah for this frightful crime, dive’s little force of three thousand men stood face to face at Plassey with sixty thousand foes. Even his stout heart was for a brief space appalled at the danger. He went apart to a grove to think, and at the end of an hour’s musing he made up his mind to fight at once.

The few British guns poured a destructive fire against the fifty cumbrous cannon and the crowded ranks opposite them. Then Clive, at the right moment, ordered a general charge. It swept away the dense and confused masses of their foes, and in a few minutes the plain was covered with torrents of fugitives, horse, foot, and elephants flying before the thin lines of red-coats. The camp, the baggage, cannon, and treasure of their foes were the spoils of the victors; and the great province of Bengal was conquered by this one blow (1757).

Other successes were gained over the Dutch and the French; and the capture of Pondicherry in 1761 made England as supreme in the south as she was in Bengal.

III. The Story of Warren Hastings.

Warren Hastings, who was to become one of the greatest of the governors of India, was born at Daylesford in Worcestershire (1732). He was left to the care of a distant relative who did not want to be burdened with him. So, as in the case of Clive, young Hastings was sent off to India as a clerk in the service of the East India Company.

After the battle of Plassey, Clive, hearing of the skill of the young clerk, made him agent at the court of the new Nabob, Meer Jaffeer. Soon Hastings rose to an important post in the government of Bengal, and he protected the natives from the greed of many officers of the East India Company.

In 1770 Bengal suffered from a frightful famine, such as happened, and sometimes still happens, whenever the monsoon fails, for then hardly any rice or corn can grow and the people starve. More than half of the people died; for there were then no railways to bring food from other parts, and no canals from which water could be drawn to irrigate the fields. These have since been made by British engineers, and a famine in India is not so terrible now as it was then.

Three years after this dreadful scourge Warren Hastings became governor-general of India. He was the first who held that office and who ruled British India partly under the control of the Parliament. But its control was very slight, and the first governor-general did several things which would not be allowed now.

One of these was as follows: He let out on hire British troops to a native prince who wanted to conquer some of his neighbor’s lands. On success crowning this disgraceful enterprise, a large sum was paid to the East India Company by the conqueror; but a fertile province was made desolate by British troops for the sake of gain to the Company. This and other acts brought Hastings into trouble.

But in the years 1776-1783 England’s difficulties were so very great in America, in Europe, and also in India, that Hastings could not be spared. He had to face the great and growing power of the Mahrattas. These were bands of fierce and warlike horsemen who swept over the plains, carrying off plunder. They had founded some important states in India, and now they were likely to be helped by the French. The position was critical, for if French and Mahrattas had been allowed to act together, England would probably have lost her hold on India.

Danger acts as a spur to great and manly natures, and Hastings determined to strike at once and to strike hard at the Mahrattas. He raised more sepoys, he made an alliance with a native prince, and sent an army to the west of India to attack the Mahrattas before the French could help them.

A powerful native ruler in southern India, seeing the British busy far away to the north, seized the opportunity to send an army of ninety thousand men against Madras. A small British force was attacked by immense numbers of the enemy. On came the victors, believing that they would sweep the English into the sea. The brave garrison in Madras saw the night sky aglow with the flames of burning villages, and in terror they sought refuge behind the walls of Fort St. George. Such were the tidings sent off to the governor-general in Calcutta.

Warren Hastings did not despair. He sent all possible troops to the south to meet this new foe, and with them large supplies of money for the expenses of the new war. His men were in time to defeat the native troops before a French fleet arrived. In 1783 peace was made between England and her enemies, and her dominion in the south of India was left as large as it had been before this war

The vigor of Hastings saved British rule in India, but his conduct was marred by some unjust acts. He had been in sore need of money for the expedition to save Madras; and, not

knowing how to get it by fair means, he forced the ruler of Benares to pay a very large sum. What was even worse, he forced the Princesses of Oude to give up their concealed treasures, and he had their officers tortured to force them to do so. The English East India Company had had claims in both these cases, but nothing can excuse the cruelty and wickedness of its governor ’ s action in wringing these large sums from almost helpless native governments.

In 1785 Hastings returned to England. He left her dominion in India far larger than he found it when he first became governor-general, and on his return home he received the thanks of King George III. and the applause of the people.

But soon there came a change. He was brought to trial for his acts of extortion in India. It was one of the most famous trials in the world’s history. Westminster Hall was crowded with the greatest, the noblest, and the fairest of the land; and so great was the public interest that #250 were paid for a single seat there. Burke, the finest orator of that age, accused Warren Hastings in a noble speech which at times brought tears to many an eye. Sheridan also made a brilliant speech against him. But the interest died away as the trial went on for months and years. At last, after seven years (1795), Hastings was acquitted; for men by that time had come to feel that his actions after all had saved India to Britain, and the lives of thousands of his countrymen. He died in 18 18, having won the reputation of being the second founder of British rule in India.

Section 38: The Story of General Wolfe and the Taking of Quebec

When we read the life of Clive we saw that for some time the French appeared certain of becoming masters of India. At about the same period they were making great and successful efforts to gain nearly the whole of North America. The French had long had possession of Canada. They also held or laid claim to the lands along the courses of the rivers Ohio and Mississippi. But this did not satisfy the ambition of Vaudreuil, the French governor of Canada, who formed great plans of building forts at strategic points on the Ohio and Mississippi. He hoped by these means to shut in the English settlers, who then had only the colonies on the coast of the Atlantic.

Montcalm, commander of the French forces in America, won many tribes of Indians to help him in his contest with the English, and perhaps he would have succeeded in America, like Dupleix in India, if in both cases an English hero had not appeared to baffle French designs. Clive worsted Dupleix in India; Wolfe overcame Montcalm in North America.

James Wolfe was born in Kent in 1726. He grew up to be a shy, modest young man, of a weak and delicate frame, and he ever showed great kindliness and modesty of spirit. He early entered the army, and distinguished himself by his bravery in the wars against France, as also at the battle of Culloden. Later he showed his bravery in the war in North America (1758); but the generals who commanded the British there were incapable, and they were very often defeated. Matters were soon changed when younger and abler men

were appointed to command there. Among these was Wolfe, who was selected by Pitt for his energy of mind and power of awakening enthusiasm. Three British armies were to attack the French in North America. Wolfe, with eight thousand men, sailed up the broad and noble river St. Lawrence to attack Quebec, 1759.

The city of Quebec stands on a lofty cliff which overhangs that stately river. Many streams, which in England would be thought large rivers, pour their waters into the St. Lawrence. Some miles below Quebec, near one of these streams, Wolfe landed his men; but, in trying to cross its rocky bed near a great waterfall, they were driven back by the French.

Other attempts failed, and the French were so strongly posted in and around Quebec that it seemed impossible to dislodge them. Still, Wolfe and his officers did not give up the attempt. He knew that higher up the St. Lawrence above Quebec there were steep cliffs, which at one point were indented by a small watercourse. He thought that if his men could quietly make their way up at this point by a steep winding path, they would take the enemy by surprise.

One night in September, 1759, all was ready. The oars were muffled so as to make no noise which would alarm the French; but there were so few boats that Wolfe’s small force had to cross in two divisions. While he was anxiously waiting, Wolfe repeated to his officers nearly the whole of Gray’s Elegy in a Country Churchyard, and said that he would rather be the poet who wrote that than have the fame of conquering the French the next day.

At last all his men were landed, and began to climb the cliffs by the steep and narrow path. They reached the top and even dragged up one small cannon without the French taking alarm. When dawn broke, the French found nearly four thousand British troops on the Heights of Abraham just outside Quebec.

Montcalm hastily brought his men up for battle, and they

fought as bravely as ever; but Wolfe’s men were all trained soldiers, and now that they were on even terms with their foes, they soon gained ground from them. As Wolfe was cheering on his troops, he was severely wounded in two places. The dying hero was carried to the rear; and when he heard the shout “They run,” he raised himself on his elbow and eagerly asked, “Who run?” On hearing the answer “The French run,” he uttered his last words, “I die contented.” The French commander also perished in this battle, which at once overthrew all his great designs.

First Quebec surrendered, a little later the rest of Canada submitted, and that fine country has ever since been one of England’s greatest colonies, and the French and English there now live peacefully side by side. On the promenade at Quebec there is a statue in honor of those brave and able men, Wolfe and Montcalm. It bears an inscription to this effect: —

“Their valor gave them a united death, History has given them a united fame, Posterity, a united monument.”

Section 39: William Pitt, Earl of Chatham

The great orator and statesman, called the elder Pitt, to distinguish him from his famous son, was born in Cornwall, in 1 708. In his youth he entered the army, but his talents fitted him more for Parliament than for the battlefield. He entered Parliament as member for Old Sarum, a tiny hamlet close to Salisbury.

He soon showed that he was a splendid speaker. His noble figure, his powerful yet musical voice, and his rapid vehement style of speaking carried his audience along with him. Moreover, men felt that he meant what he said. As he once whispered to a member of Parliament, “When once I am up on my feet everything that is in my mind comes out.” His attacks against Walpole partly led to the fall of that great minister in 1742; and the Duchess of Marlborough, who had hated Walpole, left $50,000 to Pitt for his defence of the laws of England.

After Walpole’s death, there followed a time of confusion in public affairs; and though George II. bitterly hated Pitt, when the difficulties of the country seemed overwhelming, he became the most important of the king’s ministers (1757).

Times were indeed very serious for the nation. Scotland was still discontented, and many people even in England still longed for the return of the Stuarts. In 1756 war had broken out with France, and at first England was beaten in several encounters. Minorca, which belonged to England, was captured by the French; and Admiral Byng, who did not do his utmost to prevent its capture, was shot by order of a courtmartial. Englishmen had begun to feel that their day was past,

and one of the chief statesmen exclaimed in despair, “We are no longer a nation!”

As soon as Pitt became chief minister, he aroused the people out of their despair. “Be one people!” he cried; “forget everything but the public welfare. I set you the example.” His fiery speeches and the boldness of his acts soon made Britons feel more confident. An officer once said that none who went to talk with him could help feeling braver for it.

When a great man like Pitt begins to control public affairs, there is sure to be a change for the better. He determined to do his utmost to help the King of Prussia, Frederick the Great, who was bravely struggling against the French, Austrians, and Russians. Pitt could not then send many men to help Frederick, but he helped him with money, for he saw that while France was thus kept busy in fighting Prussia, her colonies would the more easily fall to England.

Pitt did more than all the soldiers had done for keeping the Highlands quiet. They had vainly tried to crush the spirit of the Highlanders, but Pitt hit upon the happy thought of enlisting the Highlanders as soldiers, so that their courage might be used for their country; and they soon showed their bravery in India and Canada.

Pitt also chose young and energetic men to lead the new enterprises, and we have seen how wise he was in the choice of Wolfe for the conquest of Canada. This is one of the marks of a great ruler or statesman. He cannot do everything himself; but if he is a great man, he will pick out the right men and set them to whatever work they can do best.

Soon there came news, not of defeats, but of victories, from all parts. Bengal was conquered in 1757. Two years later came the capture of Quebec; and there were two victories over the French nearer home. In 1756 England was in such despair that George II. had even thought of bringing Hanoverian troops over, to help to protect England from the French. When the king died in 1 760, he left England

successful in all points, having conquered a great colonial empire from her rival. Very much of this was due to the energy of Pitt, and to the courage which he breathed into all who came near him.

The next king, George III., did not like Pitt, and the great statesman resigned his office. A little later he was called back to the ministry; but it was only for a short time. He did his best to prevent the foolish acts which turned her kinsmen in North America against the mother country; and in his later years, when he was made Earl of Chatham, he still raised his powerful voice on behalf of friendship towards those colonists. “You cannot conquer America,” he cried. “If I were an American, I would never lay down my arms, never, never, never!”

The end of Pitt’s life was very sad. He had always been a martyr to gout, and had made many of his finest speeches with his limbs swathed in flannels so as to ease the pain. Now it had grown much worse; but he wished to speak once more on the question of America. Though his end was drawing near he was carried to the House of Lords, and uttered a few feeble words. It was too much for him, and he fell back in a swoon. He was carried home, and died five weeks later (May, 1778).

When he left office in 1761, his country was everywhere victorious. When he died, her mistakes had banded nearly all the world against her. We see then how much one great man can do for a nation, and how his vigor and wisdom may be missed when he no longer guides its affairs.

In one respect his example lived on. Before his time, some of the king’s ministers had thought it quite a fit thing to take large sums or bounties from the nation’s money. Pitt was the first who refused to touch a penny which was not fairly and openly his by right. He was a patriot, and he saw that a land could never be strong where the governors were not quite straightforward in money matters. Since his time there has been far more honor and honesty in public life than there had

been before.

Because he brought back victory to Britain’s flag and honor to her public life, Pitt earned the honorable name of the Great Commoner.

Section 40: The American War of Independence

Many years before the time of which we are writing, Englishmen had settled on the Atlantic coast of North America, and England possessed thirteen colonies there. The most important of these were Virginia, Pennsylvania, New York, and Massachusetts. In course of time the colonies became powerful, and disputes arose between them and the British government. The worst dispute was on the subject of taxation; it arose in the following manner.

There had been, as we have seen, a long war between the English and the French in North America, which ended with the conquest of Canada by New England. As this war had given safety to her North American colonists, the British government resolved to make them bear some of its cost; and perhaps the colonists would have done so, had they been wisely treated in other respects. But the government also interfered with their trade and their customs duties; and when the colonists resisted, it gave way on some points, but resolved to keep a small duty on tea imported into those colonies. The ministers wanted to show that England had the right to tax the colonists; while the colonists denied that the Parliament had any right to tax those who did not send members to Westminster.

Then came the closing of the port of Boston, the fight at Lexington, and the battle of Bunker Hill. July 4, 1776, the colonists declared their independence of England. In 1777 France came to the assistance of the colonies. For five years the struggle continued, until English statesmen came to see

that it was folly to prolong the war in America, and in 1781 England recognized the independence of the British colonies. In Europe, England boldly faced her many enemies, and her troops splendidly defended Gibraltar for three years against countless assaults of the French and Spaniards. The English Admiral Rodney also gained a great victory over the French fleet in the West Indies. So Great Britain ended this war against her many foes with something like honor (1783). In other parts of the world she held her own fairly well, and even gained ground in India. Hardly ever had any country fought so many enemies at once, and come out of the struggle so creditably. The loss of the United States was, of course, a terrible blow; but it has taught her the important lesson, that it is best to let her colonies manage their own taxation and arrange as far as possible their local affairs.

Section 41: William Pitt, the Younger

I. Reduction of Taxation The French Revolution.

We have read of the wonderful way in which William Pitt, Earl of Chatham, restored his country in 1 757-1 760, after a time of failure and disgrace. His second son, also named William, was to render equally great services to England, after reverses far more terrible than those which the Earl of Chatham had repaired.

This famous son of a famous father was born in 1759 at Hayes, in Kent. He completed his education at the University of Cambridge, and entered Parliament at an unusually early age. At the time when he entered public life his country was in a sad state. England was fighting her American colonists as well as half the great states of Europe. Ireland was in almost open revolt; a little later England had to make peace with her many foes (1783), and all these disasters wrung from the patriotic young Pitt the despairing cry, “The sun of England’s glory is set.”

Pitt had lately become Chancellor of the Exchequer, and had to do his best to meet the heavy expenses of the wars. His clear and convincing speeches and his straightforward conduct quickly gained him a great name, and in 1 784 he took on his shoulders the heavy burden of being Prime Minister of George III. Pitt was then a youth of twenty-four years of age, and could get no man of power and experience to work with him. “They are a set of children playing at ministers,” said one

of his opponents, “and ought to be sent back to school.” The current of events at first seemed certain to sweep him helplessly before it. The country was sullen after its defeats and losses, trade was bad, and he had to face a hostile majority in Parliament itself.

Still the young Prime Minister struggled on, showing that he had faith in his country and confidence in his own powers. On one occasion he said, “I am sure that I can save this country, and that nobody else can.” This was no empty boast, but the expression of an able man ’ s confidence in himself; and every one admired his pluck, his talents, his clear, telling speeches, and, above all, his keen sense of honor. The country had recently been ruled by men whose honesty had not been above suspicion. Now it felt that the spirit of Chatham was breathing again in his son. After many reverses in Parliament Pitt at last appealed to the people, and after the general election he had a majority of members favorable to him.

He had already begun to put the finances in order, and sadly they needed it. The recent wars had added more than $500,000,000 to the national debt. The taxes were very heavy, and so were the duties on articles which came into the country, or which were exported. Pitt boldly determined to make these duties lighter, so as to encourage trade with other countries. To make up for the slight loss to the nation’s revenue, he imposed an income-tax, which was not to be paid by the poor. By these wise and far-seeing measures Pitt soon made his country more prosperous than it had ever been before, and he began to reduce the national debt so as to be able to lessen the taxes still more.

But all this useful work soon came to an end, owing to terrible events which took place in France. For a long time the French people had had a bad system of taxation and government. The poor were very heavily taxed, while the rich were nearly free from taxes. The people had little or no voice in public affairs, and her recent war with England had made

France bankrupt. At last her people rose in their fury and overthrew the old order of things. They seized the Bastille, a very strong castle, which then stood by one of the gates of Paris: they compelled their king and queen to come to Paris, and in 1 793 the extreme party caused them, as well as many others whom they hated, to be executed.

These events are known as the French Revolution. Excited and ignorant men seized on power at Paris. War was proclaimed against neighboring countries, and in 1793 the young French Republic made war on England. Pitt had done all that he could to keep at peace with France; but the violence and folly of the men who were in power at Paris brought about a war which dashed all his hopes of progress and prosperity. The war, which began in 1793, lasted (with a short interval) for twenty-one years. At first the British were so few and so badly led that they were several times beaten by the French in the Netherlands.

There was much discontent in England, caused by the burdens of the war, and by the desire of a few of the people to overthrow the monarchy and to make England a republic, like that which the French had made. Some severe laws were passed to curb the agitators, and Pitt felt that he must give up his plans of reform until the war was over.

He did not show himself to be as great a war minister as his father had been, for he had not Chatham’s gift of putting the right man in the right place. France, on the contrary, showed a marvellous power in raising soldiers and driving back her many foes. Her victories became all the more astounding when her troops were commanded by that great military genius, Napoleon Bonaparte.

II. War with France — The Irish Act of Union.

Napoleon Bonaparte was born in Corsica in 1769, and

was educated in France. He so distinguished himself in some events of the French Revolution that he was named commander of the French army in Italy. There he defeated the Austrians in eighteen great battles, drove them back to Vienna, and compelled them to make peace with France (1797).

England was now left alone to struggle against the mighty power of France and her allies. It was a terrible time for her. Though her sailors had beaten the French and Dutch fleets, they themselves were discontented, and broke out into obstinate mutinies. At last, when the ringleaders were hanged, the men returned to their duty; and, under Nelson, they soon showed their former devotion and bravery. The rest of these events will be told in the chapters which describe the lives of Nelson and Wellington.

Pitt had to face all these difficulties, as well as the troubles in Ireland, where the people were deeply excited by the events of the French Revolution, and desired to overthrow the form of government which then oppressed them. Ever since the conquest of Ireland by William III., the Protestants there had kept the Roman Catholics in a state of subjection. This led to bitter feelings, and in 1798 a fierce rebellion broke out, which was put down by the governing classes with terrible bloodshed.

Pitt saw that this state of things must be ended, and in 1800 the Act of Union was passed, whereby the Irish members of Parliament were to sit with the British Parliament at Westminster, and the same laws were to hold good for Ireland as for Great Britain. He also hoped to pass a measure for giving to all Roman Catholics the same rights as the Protestants had. But George III. was very angry at this last proposal, and Pitt had to resign (1801). This was unfortunate, as Pitt was needed just then more than ever; but he had pledged his word to get justice done to the Roman Catholics, and as the king would not let it be done, Pitt felt that he must resign

office. It was not until 1829 that Roman Catholics had the right of voting and other political rights.

The next ministry was a very weak one. Peace was made with France on unfavorable terms, but did not last. Napoleon had become almost complete master of France, and seemed bent on provoking England to war. After war broke out, every one felt that only Pitt could manage the affairs of England, and he became Prime Minister again (1804).

Napoleon now became Emperor of the French, and he seemed determined to invade and conquer England. He assembled a great army of one hundred and twenty thousand men on the cliffs at Boulogne, and prepared a fleet of about twelve hundred small vessels and flat-bottomed row-boats to take them over the Straits of Dover. The English were much alarmed, and Pitt organized a national defence. In every town and village men began to form bands of volunteers. Beacons were piled upon the hill-tops of Kent so as to flash the news of any landing of the foe. Besides this, the sailors were on the alert, and they defeated every attempt of the French to get command of the English Channel.

Napoleon, finding his plan useless, suddenly broke up his camp at Boulogne, marched his troops against those of Austria, and by terrible defeats again compelled her to sign a disastrous peace. This news crushed Pitt’s health and spirits. He had hoped that the great States of Europe would conquer Napoleon; but now he said to his attendants, “Roll up that map of Europe, it will not be wanted these ten years.” The prophecy was to come strangely true. The dying statesman saw that Europe would for a long time be subject to Napoleon. His. keen foresight detected the greater disasters yet to come, and the truth crushed him. His release from the troubles of life was to him a merciful deliverance. Yet his last thoughts wandered off to the land which he had loved so well, and his last words were, “My country, how I love my country!”

Section 42: The Story of Lord Nelson

Pitt, Nelson, and Wellington — these were the men who served their country best during the great war with France. Pitt was the statesman who guided his country’s councils, Nelson gained for her the mastery of the seas, and Wellington did more than any other man to overthrow Napoleon’s power. Horatio Nelson was the son of the rector of Burnham Thorpe in Norfolk, and was born there in 1758. In boyhood, as in the rest of his life, he seemed never to know what fear was. When he entered the navy, he hated its hard and cruel rules; but he began to like the life when he went on adventurous voyages. In due course he became captain; and when the great war with France began, he commanded a warship in the Mediterranean. During the siege of a town in Corsica, where he commanded an English battery, a French cannon ball struck the ground near him and drove some sand up into one of his eyes, so that he lost sight in that eye. The first great sea fight in which he took part was that of Cape St. Vincent (1797). His fleet numbered fifteen ships of the line and four frigates. That of the Spaniards was twice as strong, but the English were brave, skilled, and confident. They soon threw the Spanish fleet into confusion, and the men of Nelson’s ship jumped on board an enemy’s ship, which was closely locked with his, and captured it. Nelson was not content with this, but called to his men to take another large Spanish ship close by. Inspiriting his men by the words, “Victory, or Westminster Abbey!” he leaped on it, and soon the Union Jack replaced the Spanish flag at the masthead of the second prize. For this exploit the English Admiral Jervis

embraced Nelson, and said he could not thank him enough.

Nelson was not always successful. He failed in attacks on Cadiz and on Teneriffe, and at the latter place his right arm was torn off by a cannon ball. A little later he was sent to blockade the French fleet in Toulon, but during a storm it managed to get out, and sailed for Malta and Egypt; for the plan of Napoleon was to conquer Egypt and then go on to drive the English from India.

Nelson put a stop to these designs. After searching the east of the Mediterranean for the French fleet, he came up with it as it lay at anchor not far from the mouth of the river Nile. It was near sunset, but Nelson determined to attack at once. He sent his ships in two lines, to sail both sides of the enemy ’ s line and conquer it bit by bit.

Darkness quickly drew on, but the whole scene was lit up by the flashes from the guns. The leading French ships quickly had their masts shot away, and soon their largest ship, L’Orient, caught fire. The flames spread with fearful rapidity, throwing a lurid light on the desperate combat, and when the fire reached her powder magazine the gallant ship blew up. After this the firing went on for five hours, till out of the seventeen French ships only four escaped.

Napoleon’s troops had conquered Egypt, but the destruction of their fleet now cut them off from France. After a time Napoleon succeeded in escaping to France, but his army had to surrender to the English two years later, and Egypt was given back to Turkey. Nelson also took Malta from the French. So, instead of being driven from India, Britain became, thanks to Nelson, stronger than ever before in the Mediterranean.

In 1801 Nelson again delivered her from a great danger. Russia, Prussia, Sweden, and Denmark had formed a league against her, while she was without an ally and was still at war with France, Spain, and Holland. But Admirals Parker and Nelson at once sailed with a great fleet to Copenhagen, so as

to seize the mouth of the Baltic, and beat the Danes before the Russians and Prussians could help them. Off Copenhagen there was a long and obstinate battle between Nelson’s ships and the Danish batteries and armed hulks. At one time it seemed that Nelson must be beaten, and Parker gave the signal to recall him and his ships. But Nelson, in his determination to fight on, put his telescope to his blind eye, exclaiming: “I really do not see the signal. Keep mine for closer battle flying. That’s the way I answer such signals. Nail mine to the mast.”

In 1803 Nelson was sent to blockade a large French fleet in Toulon and prevent it from sailing away and helping their army to cross from Boulogne to Kent. He spent many weary months cruising off Toulon. At last the French fleet put out to sea while Nelson’s ships were away. When the admiral found out the enemy ’ s course, he chased them across the Atlantic. He next discovered that they meant to sail back to the English Channel, and sent fast-sailing ships to warn the admiralty of their intentions.

Finally he came up with the French and Spanish fleets off Cape Trafalgar. They had thirty-three ships of the line and eight frigates, while Nelson’s fleet numbered only twentyseven ships of the line and four frigates. But his men were well trained, and were devoted to their leader; and when Nelson hoisted as his signal “England expects that every man will do his duty,” all the crews received it with a ringing cheer.

The British ships, sailing in two columns, soon broke through and disordered the enemy ’ s line. The French and Spaniards fought stubbornly, and Nelson’s ship, the Victory, suffered terribly. A musket shot fired from the mast of a French ship pierced Nelson’s back, and he fell. When taken below he would not let the doctor attend to him, but bade him see to the wounded men whose lives could be saved. No human skill could save him, and his life slowly ebbed away. He lived just long enough to know that his fleet had gained a

complete victory, and his last words were, “Thank God, I have done my duty.”

This great victory of Trafalgar (October, 1805) made England mistress of the seas more than ever she had been before. In return for Nelson’s bravery and devotion to his country, England reared a monument to him in St. Paul’s Cathedral and the great column in Trafalgar Square in London.

Section 43: The Story of Wellington

I.Sir Arthur Wellesley in India.

Arthur Wellesley, who was afterwards made Duke of Wellington, was born in Ireland in 1769, the same year in which his great antagonist, Napoleon, was born. The family was noble and talented but poor, and only with difficulty was Arthur, the third son, sent to the great school at Eton. There he showed himself a bright, spirited lad, fond of all manly games. Indeed, he afterwards said that Waterloo was won in the playing-fields at Eton. He meant that Englishmen became strong and alert by taking part in football and cricket, and so were able to beat their foes in warfare.

He spent a short time at a military school in France, and in due course he entered the navy. He first saw active service in Flanders in 1794, when he was captain of a regiment. Soon afterwards Wellesley was sent with his regiment to India, where he distinguished himself by defeating an able and powerful ruler in the south of India called Tippoo, who was hoping, with the help of the French, to drive out the English. Tippoo had about seventy thousand troops, while the English did not number more than twenty thousand men.

Wellesley’s next great exploits were against the warlike Mahrattas. When we read about Warren Hastings, we learned that the Mahrattas were bands of horsemen who had plundered a great part of India, had formed powerful States, and had then threatened to break down English rule. They were in 1800 quite as dangerous as they had been in the time

of Warren Hastings.

Wellesley was now made a general, and he advanced against a force of Mahrattas, which was nearly eight times as large as his own. Still, he remembered Plassey, and did not despair. He met his foes at Assaye (1803) and won a notable victory.

Again, in the same year, Wellesley routed the Mahrattas, and they were glad to make peace. Thus he completed the work which Clive and Warren Hastings had begun, and there was no serious war in central India until the Mutiny of 1857.

II. Wellesley Commands in the Peninsula and Becomes Duke of Wellington.

But Wellesley was to win far greater fame in wars in Europe against the French. While he was strengthening England in India, Napoleon Bonaparte had been making himself master of France, and in 1804 was crowned Emperor. Again there was war between England and France, which soon enveloped all Europe in flames. Though Nelson drove the French off the seas, Napoleon’s armies were so splendidly led that they defeated the Austrians, the Russians, and the Prussians in several great battles. In 1807 Napoleon was almost completely master of the Continent. It seemed as though England was to be mistress of the seas, but Napoleon was to be master of the land. Indeed, he hoped to be able to ruin the trade of England, and so compel her to accept peace on any terms. Thus the war became a struggle for life or death to the British.

The French Emperor had resolved to have Spain under his control. His troops occupied most of the strong places in that land, and by a trick he kidnapped the king of Spain and kept him a captive in France. The Spaniards are a very proud

people, and were determined to drive out the French troops. They begged England to help them in this desperate struggle, and Wellesley was sent out with a small force.

In 1809 Wellesley for the first time met the brave French marshal Soult, with whom he had so many battles. The French in Spain had invaded Portugal, and now occupied the city of Oporto. Wellesley’s army rapidly marched against them, quickly crossed the broad river Douro in boats, surprised Soult’s army, put it to flight, and captured all its baggage. The French just managed to escape into Spain.

Wellesley gained another victory in that year, 1809, the battle of Talavera. As a reward for his skill and valor he received the title of Viscount Wellington, and a few years later he was called Duke of Wellington, as we shall call him in the future.

In 1810 Napoleon had no enemies to fight except the British, Spanish, and Portuguese troops, and he hoped to be able quickly to end the Peninsular War. He sent a great army of his best troops into Spain, led by one of his ablest generals. On it swept through Spain, and drove Wellington’s smaller army before it through the north of Portugal. Here Wellington turned to bay, and the superior forces and utmost skill of the French failed to dislodge him.

In 1812 Napoleon collected an army of more than half a million men, and led them into Russia, to subdue that vast land. He reached Moscow, but then had to retreat, and lost nearly all that great army in the winter snows. As he had recalled a good number of his troops from Spain to serve him in Russia, Wellington had not such odds to fight against in Spain during the campaign of 1812.

One of the younger French generals also gave Wellington an opportunity of striking quick and hard. The French had been making rapid marches to cut his men off from the fortress of Ciudad Rodrigo, but near Salamanca part of their army marched too far from the rest of it. Wellington saw his

opportunity and gained a great victory, taking about seven thousand prisoners. This victory of Salamanca made the French give up their hold on Madrid, and retreat towards the river Ebro. Wellington led his army into the Spanish capital amidst the wild rejoicings of the people.

The next year he commanded a large force of Spanish as well as English soldiers, and at Vittoria completely defeated the French, taking all their stores, money, and cannon. He then drove them over the Pyrenees, and forced them to give up their hold on Spain.

III. The End of the Great War.

Wellington gained two more successes over his adversary, Soult; then the war came to a speedy end, for the following reason.

The other peoples of Europe, especially the Germans, had risen against Napoleon’s rule, had driven his armies from their land, and had just captured Paris. The French were weary of war. Napoleon gave up his crown, and the victorious allies determined that he should now rule only over the small island of Elba, off the coast of Italy.

But there was much discontent in France with the ruler who took Napoleon’s place, and when the allies began to quarrel among themselves, Napoleon secretly took ship, and with a few troops landed on the coast of France. His old soldiers soon flocked to his side, and he again became Emperor of the French for a short time. But troops began to march from Prussia, Austria, and Russia to dethrone him.

England also sent an army to Belgium, under the command of Wellington, who now, for the first time, met the great Napoleon in battle. The French Emperor hoped to surprise Wellington’s army and that of the Prussians. He nearly succeeded, and flinging a great French force against

the Prussians at Ligny, he defeated them and drove them back.

On that same day another desperate battle was going on at Quatre Bras, only a few miles away from Ligny. Wellington’s men there had hard work to keep their position from being seized by the French. At last, when the English army was reenforced, the French drew off; but Wellington had to fall back on a position at Waterloo, nearer Brussels, to keep touch with his Prussian allies.

Wellington, with sixty-nine thousand men, of whom only one-third were British, now stood face to face at Waterloo with Napoleon’s army, which numbered at least seventy-five thousand well-trained soldiers. Many of Wellington’s men were raw and undisciplined, and he trusted to the help which Bluchers Prussians would bring in the coming battle.

After a terrific struggle in which the flower of both armies were engaged, the victory was with Wellington who, aided by the Prussians, drove the French away in headlong rout.

Napoleon fled for his life to Paris. There he again abdicated, and was soon taken on a British war-ship to the lonely island of St. Helena. Then, thanks to Wellington and Blücher, Europe had peace, which lasted for forty years.

Section 44: England’s Second War with America

While England was fighting Napoleon she unwisely engaged in a second war with the United States. When Napoleon had become master of Europe west of Spain, he attempted to bring England to terms by closing all ports of Europe to her ships. England retaliated by blockading these ports. At that time the United States was the rival of England in the carrying trade of the world. She suffered severely and often most unjustly by the seizure of her ships and cargoes.

Again England claimed the right to search American vessels for deserters on the ground that an English sailor could not lose his nationality, and so could be seized anywhere and made to perform service due the state. Sailors were in great demand, for England had large fleets of war vessels in service, and naturally the officers were not particular as to the nationality of the sailors whom they impressed. It is claimed that thousands of American sailors were forced to man English ships during the Napoleonic wars. After a bitter controversy war was declared (1812). On land it was waged about the Great Lakes for the most part, with much bloodshed but indifferent results. Washington was captured by the English and wantonly burned; but in her attempts upon New Orleans England suffered a terrible defeat. It was the battle of Bunker Hill repeated. Brave men charged across an open plain upon breastworks manned by men equally brave; but this time there was plenty of ammunition.

On the ocean the Americans were brilliantly successful in a series of great naval battles. Their ships were built on finer

lines and threw greater weight of metal than the English. On the Great Lakes, too, the Americans were easily victorious. This distressing war ended with the exhaustion of both parties and the tacit withdrawal on the part of England of the claim of her right to search American ships.

Section 45: Story of Spinning and Weaving

I. Hargreaves and the Spinning-Jenny.

In early days spinning and weaving were done in a very simple manner. The men would shear the sheep in June, and cleanse the wool in the streams. Then it would generally be put by till the long autumn and winter evenings, when the wife and daughters would take out their spinning-wheels, and make the rough wool into thread.

Then the husband at his loom would weave the threads into cloth. In various parts of England there were small factories, where many men and apprentices were busy. The cloth turned out was generally coarse, and it took a long time to make. Besides, the spinners or spinsters of a family could not make enough thread to keep one weaver going. So men set their wits to work to invent some contrivance which would get the spinning done more quickly.

Among the first to make any important advance was a Lancashire weaver named Hargreaves. His wife’s spinningwheel happened to be overturned, and he noticed that the wheel went on turning when it was in that position. He thought to himself, “Why should I not make a machine in which several wheels could turn in that way, and which could hold the pieces of wool and give them the twist which would make them into thread?”

Before long he made a machine (1767) which spun several threads more quickly and finely than his wife and daughter could do them. He called his machine a jenny, after

the name of his wife. But his neighbors were jealous. They broke into his cottage and destroyed his jenny. Then he removed to Nottingham and made another better than the first. After a few years he made one which would spin thirty threads at once, and his machine was found to be so useful that it was soon used even in the village where the first jenny had been destroyed. Hargreaves himself died a poor man in 1778.

II.The Story of Arkwright and Crompton.

Another man who improved the spinning of thread was Richard Arkwright. After being for some time a barber, he travelled about buying up hair, which he sold to wig-makers. In his travels he kept his eyes open to what was going on in other trades, and at that time there had been one or two attempts to make a spinning-machine. He knew little about this machinery at first, but he made friends with mechanics and persuaded one of them to make a model of a machine with improvements which he suggested.

He next removed to Nottingham, and after a long struggle with poverty he made a spinning-machine which was, in some respects, better than that of Hargreaves. In course of time he became a wealthy man and was knighted by George I.

Another man who did much to improve the spinningmachine was Samuel Crompton, the son of a farmer near Bolton, in Lancashire, a quiet, thoughtful lad; when he was spinning, he used to think of the way in which Hargreaves’s jenny could be improved. For a long time he worked secretly at his improvement. He succeeded in making a better machine than either Hargreaves or Arkwright, and as it had all the good points of both, Crompton called his invention the mule. It made thread finer and firmer than had ever been made before, so that Crompton was soon able to make in his own

land muslins better than those of India.

The prosperity of Lancashire dates from the time of Crompton; the industry centred there more and more, because the American cotton could be brought so readily to Liverpool. Instead of being one of the most backward of the counties, as it was in 1750, it quickly became the wealthiest and most thickly peopled county in Great Britain.

III. Cartwright and the Power-Loom .

It occurred to a clergyman, Dr. Cartwright, that he would try to make a machine which would weave cloth. At first he was laughed at, and was told that it was quite impossible for any machine to copy the movement of a weaver ’ s hand. But Cartwright persevered, and after long and patient labor, he constructed a machine which could weave patterns, and could accomplish the same result in much less time than handwork required.

In 1803 the new power-loom was first tried, and was found to answer well. Since that time it has been greatly improved in many ways, so that now there are very few handlooms to be found, except in remote parts of Scotland and Ireland. The power-loom does the work more evenly, more quickly, and more cheaply.

At first water-power was generally used to work the new spinning-machines and the power-looms; and many mills were built on swift-running rivers, like those of Derbyshire, Lancashire, Yorkshire, and Scotland. The cloth manufacture of the southern and eastern counties began to decay, because there are hardly any swift rivers in these parts.

But another change was beginning to take place. Steampower was found to be better than water-power, for the rivers would occasionally overflow and damage the mills, or in a dry summer there might not be enough water to work the

machinery. In the early years of this century, the steamengine became of more use than ever it had been before. You can always work a steam-engine if you can get plenty of coal; and, to get the coal cheaply, manufacturers began to make their factories and mills near the great coal-pits of Lancashire, Yorkshire, and the Midlands, and in the valley of the Clyde in Scotland.

That is the chief reason why the great manufacturing towns have grown up near the great coal-fields. To understand how this change came about, we must look at the work of the chief inventors of the steam-engine, Watt and Stephenson.

Section 46: The Story of the Steam-Engine and the Locomotive

I. James Watt and the Steam-Engine.

James Watt, who did so much to improve the steamengine, was born in 1736 at Greenock, a seaport at the mouth of the River Clyde. As a child, he was very fond of tools, and of trying to improve all his playthings. He early made many experiments, some of which were with chemicals; and, by helping his father with the ropes and sails and ship’s tackle, he grew to be ready with his hands.

It was decided that he should be a maker of instruments, such as compasses, parallel rulers, and the like. He went to Glasgow, and then to London, afterward returning to Glasgow, where he was employed in making instruments for the University. His skill soon gained him notice from the professors, and one of them set him to repair a model of the queer old steam-engines of those days. This set young Watt to thinking seriously about the many defects of this engine. Its greatest defect was the waste of steam, and he contrived a plan for making the steam do far more work than it did in the old engine.

The old engines had mostly been used for pumping water out of mines; and Watt, in 1775, went to the tin mines of Cornwall to improve the engines there. Later he made an engine to work a great hammer which would give three hundred blows a minute a thing never dreamed of before. After 1800 his steam-engine could be used by any one, and

many improvements were made in it; so that it began to be used more and more for working all kinds of machinery in the new large factories. Watt now gave his mind to the subject of making a steam-boat, and a steam-engine which would draw a carriage; but the honor of these inventions was to fall to others.

II.George Stephenson and the Locomotive.

George Stephenson was born in a humble cottage near Newcastle-on-Tyne in the year 1781. He was the second son of a fireman, who earned only three dollars a week. Little George had a hard time of it. He was ill-clad and poorly fed, and soon had to take care of his four younger brothers and sisters.

One of his chief duties was to keep them from being run over by the wagons of coal, which were drawn by horses on a railway just in front of their cottage. There was then no thought about getting the coal wagons drawn by a steamengine; for, as we have already learned, the steam-engine of those days was only used for pumping water out of mines. For a long time George’s father was the fireman who looked after the fires of the pumping-engine at the Wylam coal-mine.

The boy’s first employment was to look after some cows, for which he was paid four cents a day. He used his spare time in making clay models of the steam-engine, and with a friend even made a large model of the winding machine which drew loads up from the pit.

When he was fifteen years old, he was glad to be taken on as fireman at 25 cents a day. He at once began to study the working of his pumping-engine, so as to be able to do his work well. By this means he became a skilled workman, and had his, pay doubled. He also went to an evening-school, where he was taught to read and write.

STORIES OF THE BRITISH ISLES

He continued to throw all his energy into his work, and soon became well known as a repairer of pumping-engines. On one occasion the manager of a coal-mine came to him in despair, and said he would make him a man for life if he would pump the mine clear of water. Stephenson set the pumpingengines to rights, so that in two days it pumped all the water out, and the miners were able to go on again with their work.

In 1812 he was appointed engineer of the Killingworth coal-mine, with a salary of $500 a year, and he now began to study seriously the means of getting the coal wagons drawn by a steam-engine instead of by horses.

He felt sure that he could make an engine which would do its work cheaply and well. The chief owner of the mine, Lord Ravensworth, believed in him, and helped him to begin making a “travelling engine,” as it was called. He did his best; but his first engine (1814) was not a success.

Stephenson noticed what a waste of steam there was always from his engine; and he thought to himself, “If I can make that steam do more work, my engine will be more powerful.” He therefore let the steam escape up the smoke chimney. It drove out the smoke far more quickly, and gave a better draught to the furnace, which burnt more brightly and so made steam faster.

Next year (1815) Stephenson made an engine which had this great improvement and several others. His new engine drew a heavy train of coal trucks at six miles an hour, and was found to do the work more cheaply than horses could do it. Shortly afterwards he made a railway in the county of Durham eight miles long.

In those times explosions of gas or fire-damp in the collieries were terribly frequent. No one had yet devised a safetylamp; and the miners worked with open lights at constant risk to their lives. For if an unguarded flame comes near to that dangerous gas, a frightful explosion takes place and all near it are killed. George Stephenson, after many experiments,

found out that a light might be safely used inside fine wirenetting; and he made a safety-lamp something like that which Sir Humphry Davy planned shortly after. The Davy lamp has some improvements on Stephenson’s; but Stephenson’s was invented first, and it has saved thousands of lives in the dangerous mines of the north of England.

In 1821 Mr. Pease of Darlington was planning a railway to take coal from the coal-mines near that town to the sea below Stockton-on-Tees. When Stephenson heard that the railway was about to be made, he and a friend went to call on Mr. Pease, and told him that the new engine at Killingworth colliery was worth fifty horses. His reasoning so convinced Mr. Pease, that it was decided that Stephenson’s engines should be used on the new railway.

Stephenson drove his new engine on the opening day, and it drew a long train at the rate of about twelve miles an hour, which was thought most wonderful. This railway was successful in carrying coal, but very few passengers travelled by it. Its only passenger carriages were two or three dark and uncomfortable vans which were drawn by horses. People still went generally by coach, even between Darlington and Stockton, and it was thought a great marvel when the train and the mail-coach had a race, and the train won by a hundred yards.

The business men of Manchester heard about the success of this railway, and wanted to have a line between Manchester and Liverpool, so as to travel by it and get their goods more quickly. They appointed George Stephenson as engineer for their railway, and he had the help of his well-trained son Robert. The courage and patience of the Stephensons conquered all the difficulties that were put in their way by those who opposed the undertaking.

There was a race on the line, to see which of the different engines was the best. Stephenson’s engine, the Rocket, was by far the best, for the others broke down more than once. The prize of $2500, offered by the directors to the maker of

the best engine, was therefore given to Stephenson; and at the opening of the line, in 1830, a passenger train was drawn at the speed of about thirty miles an hour. The world then knew that the patient Northumbrian was a really great man, and that his iron-horse was henceforth to be the king of the road. George Stephenson and his son had a share in making many other important railways. Among the great achievements of Robert Stephenson we may mention the high level bridge across the Tyne at Newcastle, the tubular bridges across the Conway River and the Menai Straits, and the immensely long tubular bridge across the river St. Lawrence at Montreal.

Section 47: The Great Reform Bill

Some of you have no doubt seen the change which has come over the life of a quiet old village when a great factory has been started there, or when a railway company has opened a station within easy reach of it. The steady-going village, with its humdrum ways, is rudely awakened. The whirr of machinery, or the rush of express trains, breaks the calm of rural life. The smoke of chimneys sullies the pure air, and lines of new cottages branch out on all sides.

Now that will show you, on a small scale, the change which has been taking place on a great scale in many parts of England and Scotland during the last hundred years. Before the time of Arkwright, Watt, and Stephenson, there were no factories driven by steam power; but after their time, it became more and more the custom to make great factories where coal was abundant. So people began to move away from the quiet towns and villages of the east and south of England to the new manufacturing towns which sprang up in the north and Midlands; for men have to move to the place where they can get work.

Thus there grew up rapidly in the years 1790-1830, a new, smoky, grimy, manufacturing England side by side with the old pastoral and agricultural England. And though the new towns of England and Scotland were growing large and prosperous, they had scarcely any voice in the government of the country: that is to say, hardly any of them could send members to Parliament, to make laws and to look after their interests. The old rural England still governed the new manufacturing England.

Once nearly all Englishmen had had votes and could take part in electing a member of Parliament; but by 1830 it had come to pass that most of them had no votes. In fact, many places which once had been prosperous, but had decayed, still had the right of electing members of Parliament. One place, Old Sarum, near Salisbury, was only a deserted green mound, yet it sent two members to Parliament. In Cornwall there were thirteen villages, each of which sent two members to Parliament. On the other hand, great towns like Birmingham, Blackburn, Bradford, Brighton, Greenwich, Leeds, Manchester, Oldham, Sheffield, Sunderland, Wolverhampton, and others, returned no member. It was high time that this absurd system should be reformed.

In 1830 King George IV. died. His brother William IV. came to the throne, and a new Parliament had to be elected. Then for the first time it was seen how strong was the wish for a reform of Parliament. Lord John Russell soon brought into the House of Commons a Bill by which he proposed to take members of Parliament away from all places oi less than two thousand inhabitants; and towns having more than two thousand but less than four thousand inhabitants were to have only one member. Large towns like those just named were now to return members to the House of Commons.

A great outcry was raised against this Reform Bill, and it was thrown out by the House of Commons. The king was at once advised to dissolve Parliament, so that there might be an appeal to the country whether it would have reform or not. He did so; and the whole land rang with the cry, “The Bill, the whole Bill, and nothing but the Bill.” In the new House of Commons there was a large majority of members favorable to reform; and the Bill easily passed the House of Commons, only to be thrown out by the House of Lords. Then there was intense indignation through the country, and riots broke out in many towns.

Again the Bill was brought into Parliament, and again was

STORIES OF THE BRITISH ISLES 416

rejected by the House of Lords. The reformers of Birmingham now threatened that they would march to London two hundred thousand strong, and compel the Lords to pass the bill. It was in vain that the Duke of Wellington tried to form a ministry and govern with a strong hand. He saw that it would lead to a civil war, and that it would be best to give way. He therefore advised the king to recall the Reform Ministry; and when the Bill, slightly altered, was again brought before Parliament, it became law (1832), after the most exciting struggle which the country had passed through since the coming of William of Orange.

Those who had feared that the measure would lead to mob rule were soon found to be quite mistaken. The Reform Bill took power away from many small and decayed towns, and gave it to the new and prosperous towns, which only wanted to have fair play from the government. England now had fewer members of Parliament than before, while more members were to be returned by large towns or counties in Scotland, Ireland, and Wales. The Bill also gave votes to more people in the counties, while in towns those who rented a house at $50 a year, or more, were to have the right of voting. This gave more political power to the middle classes, and to the more prosperous of the laboring classes, but it did not bring mob rule; on the contrary, it did much for the cause of order.

A great reduction was made in the number of days that an election might last. In former times elections used to go on as long as one voter an hour came to give his vote. Sometimes the voting went on for weeks, and large sums were paid for votes. After 1832 an election could not last more than two days for a county, or one day for a town. So business was not disturbed as it was before, and far less bribery and rioting took place.

The Reform Bills of 1867-1871 and 1 884-1885 have carried on the work begun in 1832, and now the House of

Commons may be said to really represent the people of Great Britain and Ireland.

Men of all classes, from the wealthiest landowners to the poorest workers in the factory or the field, can now vote, without fear or favor, for a member of the House of Commons, or for any of the town or county governments or school boards, and bribery and corruption are practically unknown. The government of England is chosen from the party which has a majority in the House of Commons, which is like our House of Representatives, and thus it is that England is today, though by methods slightly different from those employed by us, governed by the people, for the people. The reigning monarch really only registers the expression of their will.

Enormous changes have, as you see, come about in this matter since the days of James I. As in England, so in her colonies, no English monarch, no English aristocracy, now tries to force upon the people laws they do not like, but they are left to make their own laws. In a word, England lets them run alone and govern themselves, and they are far more loyal to her than if she attempted to govern them with a strong hand and in a selfish or tyrannical manner. Englishmen love freedom themselves, and have learned that what is good for them is good for their fellow-men.

Section 48: John Howard, the Reformer of the Jails

We are now to read about some noble men, who gave up a great part of their lives to serve their fellow-creatures, and to improve their condition. They are John Howard, who reformed the prison system; William Wilberforce, who did so much for the slaves in the English colonies; and David Livingstone, who gave his life for the cause of missions in Africa.

When Howard was in middle life his attention was called to the terrible condition of the prisons of England. He visited them and found them ill-kept and dirty, while the prisoners were herded together, the vilest and most hardened criminals along with less guilty offenders, so that the worse soon corrupted those who were more respectable. Later he made a tour of the chief prisons of France, the Netherlands, and parts of Germany.

Most of the Continental jails were as bad as those of England, but Howard found that the prisoners were set to work at some employment within the prison walls, or were even compelled to mend roads, while in England they were kept cooped up in miserable dens, and were left in complete idleness. It was only natural that they got into worse habits than before, and that they fell ill of the jail fever and died by hundreds. After seeing the prisons of Germany, Howard felt more and more strongly that the jail should be not merely a place of punishment, but a place of correction, where the prisoner might have a chance of breaking with the bad past, and of learning some honest employment, which would give

him a new start in life when he came out of prison.

Howard was not yet satisfied with his work, although he had already travelled more than thirteen thousand miles in order to inspect English and foreign prisons. He found that there were still some out-of-the-way prisons in his own land which he had not visited, and he travelled about to see them.

When Howard at last published his book, The State of Prisons, it was eagerly read. Till then hardly any one had thought about prisoners; or, if people had thought about their miseries, they had only shrugged their shoulders, and said that men and women ought to take the more care to keep out of prison. And yet it was not so easy then as it is now to keep out of prison. Very many small offences were punished by long imprisonment. Men who set a haystack on fire, or who stole a horse, or goods to the value of ten shillings, were even hanged. Out of 678 persons hanged in London during the years between 1749 and 1771, as many as 606 were hanged for crimes which we do not now punish with death.

Howard’s book set men thinking on the evils of the whole system of punishment. They saw that the laws and the prisons, as they were then, only made men worse; and since Howard’s day the. laws have become more humane and just. Howard was now known all over Europe for his labors on behalf of prisoners, and in England he was often called the prisoner’s friend.

Elizabeth Fry, “the friend of women prisoners,” effected for this unfortunate class many of the reforms that Howard had first proposed for men.

Section 49: William Wilberforce, the Freer of the Slaves

In time past negro slaves had actually been sold in a slavemarket at Bristol and other English ports. That was no longer allowed, but the slave-trade was then carried on mostly by English ships. Negroes from the west coast of Africa were captured by English sailors. Often their villages were burnt and much blood was shed, before a sufficient number of negroes were captured to make a ship’s cargo. Then they were driven to the shore, were forced on board the boats, then on the ship, and had their arms and feet fastened by chains. They were packed as close as they could lie, and all the exercise they had was to get up and jump in their chains. This they were compelled to do, as it was thought to be a means of preserving their lives. But, as the voyage often lasted more than two months, a very large number of the poor prisoners generally died on the voyage, and their bodies were thrown overboard. Then, when the ship reached America or the West Indian Islands, the miserable survivors were sold as slaves to the planters, and were sent to work in the sugar plantations. This dreadful trade in human flesh brought in large gains to the ship-owners, and also to the planters, who got more work done by these negro slaves than could be done by white men under that burning sun. So, when Wilberforce and another good man named Clarkson began to urge the people to put a stop to this trade, there was a great outcry raised by ship-owners and sugar merchants.

Time after time Wilberforce brought into Parliament a Bill for putting a stop to these evils; but the Bill was thrown

out, sometimes by the House of Commons, sometimes by the House of Lords. The great war with France broke out, and William Pitt, who had begun to do something for the freeing of the slaves, was quite taken up by the war. But after Pitt’s death another great statesman, Charles James Fox, came into power. In 1806 he proposed a Bill for preventing British subjects from seizing and selling slaves, and it was carried by a very large majority. Since that time no British ships have been allowed to seize slaves, and every slave who sets foot on a British ship is a free man.

Though slaves might not be seized and sold, they were still allowed to be kept in the colonies. For twenty-seven years Wilberforce and his friends struggled hard to get them freed. At last, just at the time when Wilberforce was lying on his deathbed, Parliament voted that £20,000,000 should be given to the slave-owners in the colonies if they would free their slaves; and ever since Queen Victoria came to the throne there have been no slaves in any part of the British Empire.

Section 50: The Story of David Livingstone

David Livingstone came of a Highland family, one of whose members was slain at Culloden fighting for the Stuarts. He grew up to be a God-fearing and diligent young man; and in 1836 he determined to become a medical missionary, that is, he desired to heal the bodies of the heathen as well as teach the Christian religion. To gain the knowledge which would fit him for his work, he became a student at the University of Glasgow; and after each term was over he worked in a factory, so as to earn money for his expenses. In Glasgow he was much respected for his courage and strict sense of duty.

After further preparation in London, Livingstone set sail in 1840 for South Africa. That land was not then the flourishing colony which it now is. The white men were few and scattered, and the natives were despised and ill-treated by the Dutch settlers. After a time he made his way to the interior in a wagon drawn by bullocks. This long and tedious journey took him over vast and almost arid plains, peopled by very few settlers, and still haunted by the wild ostrich and the hyaena, or further north by the lion and the elephant On arriving at his destination, Livingstone spent a little time at a mission station, where most of the natives had become Christians. But he longed to go further north among the tribes which were still heathen savages. So he travelled away northwards, settled down in their midst, learned their language, and cured many of their sick by his medicines. Little by little he won their confidence, and some of them became Christians.

STORIES OF THE BRITISH ISLES

In course of time Livingstone married the daughter of Dr. Moffat, who had long been a missionary in Africa. His wife helped him in many ways, especially in training the young children of the natives at the settlement. But he felt it to be his duty to move on and found other mission-stations. He also wished to explore the country, to see if settlements could be made, and peaceful means used to improve it.

After long and weary travels, Livingstone made his way to the great river Zambesi. This broad and noble river flowed through richly wooded country, often among lofty hills. At one place it plunged down into a deep chasm, making one of the finest waterfalls in the world. These wonderful falls were called by Livingstone the Victoria Falls, in honor of Queen Victoria.

But though the scenery was grand and beautiful, the natives were fierce and degraded. At one place Livingstone saw them hack some prisoners in pieces, and cast their limbs into the river to be devoured by crocodiles. He was unable to stop this cruel act, and hurried away in horror. He travelled along up the course of the river, and came across a sight which saddened him even more than the last. He saw gangs of slaves, fastened together by long ropes, being taken off to the coast to be sold to the slave-dealers. He then made up his mind that he would do his best to bring honest trade into this fair country, and so put a stop to the traffic in human flesh.

At last, sick and weary, he came to the Atlantic coast; then, turning back, he made his way down the course of the Zambesi to its mouth in the Indian Ocean. This journey had been accomplished once previously, for a Portuguese officer with soldiers had travelled across Africa from ocean to ocean; but Livingstone made this great journey unprotected, save by some peaceful native attendants, and though he passed through fierce tribes, he never shed any blood. He always trusted to kindness to melt the hearts even of savage chiefs, and he kept up his peaceful attitude even when a club was

whirled over his head. For this reason, and for his splendid work in an unknown land, he received a warm welcome when he returned home for a time of rest.

Before Livingstone’s days the middle of Africa was thought to be a vast sandy desert where only camels and ostriches could exist. People were surprised to read in Livingstone’s description of his travels that it was a beautiful land, teeming with countless tribes and watered by noble rivers. So he was honored by the universities and by learned societies, as well as closely questioned by the merchants of Manchester about the prospects of trade.

Before long he returned to Africa, and made his way up the Zambesi and one of its tributaries. He was the first white man to see the great Lake Nyassa, on the banks of which he hoped to found a colony, and to open up a better sort of trade than the slave trade.

Then he set himself to find the sources of the great River Nile. He labored long and hard, and discovered two more large lakes. For some years he was quite alone in the heart of that dark continent. At last, when he was in the depths of distress, he was found and relieved by Mr. H. M. Stanley (1871). This adventurous traveller tells us that Livingstone looked pale, weak, and weary, and that his hair and beard were almost white: but Stanley also noticed that the natives reverenced him, and never passed his little hut without calling a blessing on his head.

The old explorer was overjoyed at hearing the English tongue again after having been alone in Africa for so many years; but he would not return home, because he felt that his work in Africa was not yet done. He wanted to make sure that the rivers which he had found were the sources of the Nile, and not of the Congo. But this last journey, made in 1873 across marshes and other fever-stricken parts, was too much for his weary frame, and he became weaker and weaker. He had one day’s severe illness, and then early next morning his

faithful native followers found him dead. He was kneeling as if in prayer. Thus he died, praying that Africa might be saved from the curse of the slave-trade. For that cause he had made his many travels, and for Africa he laid down his life. His native followers did what they could to preserve the body of their beloved master. They carried it reverently all the way to Zanzibar; and now the bones of Livingstone lie in Westminster Abbey, where Britain buries the greatest of her heroes.

Section 51: The Crimean War

The greatest war in which Great Britain has been engaged since Waterloo was the Crimean War, which arose chiefly from the following causes.

Centuries ago a fierce and warlike people called the Turks had crossed from Asia into the land which we call Turkey. They conquered the Christian peoples there, and were for a long time the terror of Europe. Gradually their power waned, and in the early years of this century they were twice conquered by the Russians. Russia hated the Turks because they were Mohammedans, and oppressed the Christian peoples of Turkey, who were of the same religion as the Russians. In 1853 the powerful Czar of Russia claimed the right to interfere between Turkey and her Christian subjects; and when Turkey refused to grant his claim, he sent troops into her territory.

France and England began to take sides with Turkey, because they did not want Russia to become master of the Turkish lands. In 1854 they declared war against Russia, and sent out great fleets and armies to Varna, a Turkish port on the Black Sea. But the Turks had already beaten the Russians on the Danube, and had caused them to withdraw from Turkish territory.

The allies were not satisfied with this, but said that the time had come to prevent Russia from becoming mistress of the Black Sea. So the English and French forces were landed in the Crimea, in order that they might destroy the great Russian port and fortress, Sevastopol. The allies marched to the south of the city, so as to get supplies from their ships in

the harbor of Balaclava. After some delays they began to attack Sevastopol and its forts. But by this time the Russians were strong enough to try to cut off the British army from its ships, and this led to the battle of Balaclava.

A strange blunder of the English led to the famous charge of the Light Brigade. The officer in command mistook the meaning of an order from the commander-in-chief, and ordered his gallant riders to charge the Russian army, numbering some twenty-five thousand men. On swept the brave horsemen into the “valley of death.” The smoke of the enemy ’ s cannon and musketry fire closed around them. On they rode right into a Russian battery, put the gunners to the sword, and routed some Russian squadrons. But then the Light Brigade could do no more, and it had to ride back, breaking through the Russians who had formed in its rear. The enemy ’ s cannon again made many a brave horseman bite the dust, and out of six hundred and seventy men of the Light Brigade only one hundred and ninety-five rode back to the camp.

The Russians built strong earthworks to defend Sevastopol. During the winter of 1854 and spring of 1855 the English suffered frightfully from cold, want, and neglect in the trenches and hospitals. England was finally aroused, and the Government hurried forward supplies and sent the famous Florence Nightingale with a corps of trained nurses.

At last, in September, 1855, the French made a great effort and captured a strong Russian earthwork called the Malakoff; but the English failed to take the Redan, which was more difficult to hold against the Russian fire. But the Russians felt that they could hold out no longer in Sevastopol. So they burnt the few remaining ships, blew up their powder magazines, and in September, 1855, they left the great fortress which for nearly a year had defied the attacks of two armies.

Peace was soon made, but most of the results of the war have entirely vanished. The Sultan did not take advantage of

the opportunity then given of governing the Turkish Empire justly, and in 1876 many of his Christian subjects rose in revolt against the bad government. Russia recovered from her heavy losses in the Crimean War, and in 1877 she nearly succeeded in overthrowing the Turkish power. Turkey is now weaker than ever, and her government is as bad as ever it was; but many of her Christian subjects have gained independence from her control, and have formed the flourishing states Roumania, Servia, and Bulgaria.

Section 52: The Indian Mutiny

I. The Outbreak Relief of Lucknow.

After the exploits of Clive, Warren Hastings, and Wellington, the Indian possessions of Great Britain continued to increase, and the addition of several kingdoms formed the Indian provinces into a vast empire. When England was fighting Russia in the Crimea, the discontented rulers and classes in India thought it a good time to try to throw off the British yoke. Many of the sepoys in the service were annoyed by certain new rules, and a spark kindled the discontent into a devouring flame which nearly destroyed English dominion in India.

It happened in this way. A new musket was about to be distributed to the soldiers in India, and the cartridges were said to be smeared with the fat of the ox or the pig. Now, nearly all the sepoys were either Hindoos or Mohammedans. The former worship the ox as a sacred animal; the latter loathe the hog as unclean. For these reasons they refused to touch the cartridges; and when the news got about that they would have to use them, they began to mutiny.

The first serious outbreak was at Meerut (May, 1857), where they killed several of the British officers and even the women and children. Then they seized the great city and fortress of Delhi. The south and the extreme northwest remained faithful, but the revolt was general in the great district of the Ganges and its numerous tributaries.

At Lucknow a British garrison of nine hundred men and

seven hundred faithful native troops was cooped up in the walls of the Residency, a large building which had been made as strong as possible. Soon the place was besieged by crowds of mutineers. For eighty-seven days the defence was kept up with splendid courage by the little garrison. They held their own in spite of constant and fierce attacks — in spite of bad food, intense heat, cholera, and small-pox. At last, when all hope seemed to be gone, they heard the sound of distant firing.

It was Sir Henry Havelock and his brave troops, who had driven before them clouds of rebels, and amidst great difficulties were now forcing their way through the crowded streets of the city of Lucknow. Imagine the joy with which the weary and heroic garrison welcomed their deliverers.

II.Sir Colin Campbell Quells the Mutiny.

Meanwhile at Delhi there had been events almost as exciting as those at Lucknow. Delhi is a vast fortified city, and its walls extend in a circuit of more than five and one-half miles. It was held by forty thousand rebel sepoys, and the brave English could muster only nine thousand men for the siege. This small force at first made no serious attack, but occupied a ridge a mile or two from the city. There they were often attacked by the rebels, but they clung to that ridge through the heat of the summer.

The arrival of reinforcements gave energy to the English. They made a fierce assault upon the city and entered. Then there was fierce fighting inside the walls for a long time. The rebels fought desperately from street to street, and from house to house; but British pluck prevailed, even over terrible odds, and Delhi was at last won (September, 1857).

At Lucknow there was sharp fighting before the garrison could be completely rescued. The aid brought by Havelock

had not been sufficient, but more British troops were arriving from home, and they were led by the gallant Sir Colin Campbell to the second relief of Lucknow. With only five thousand men he drove aside large bodies of the rebels, and stormed some great buildings at Lucknow. One of these was captured by Captain Garnet Wolseley, who has since become a famous general.

After great difficulties the British garrison was rescued, and the men, women, and children were removed from the place which they had firmly held for six months (November, 1857).

The worst of the mutiny was now over, and by degrees the mutineers were beaten in Oude, and also in Central India. Other nations had quite expected that England would fail; but the struggle there showed the bravery of British soldiers, and proved that her men, even under that burning sun, never knew when they were beaten. That was one reason why they regained India, even when it seemed hopelessly lost. But another reason was that many of the peoples of India were contented with the rule, which they had discovered to be far better than that of their native princes.

Parliament now determined to make her government in India better than ever before, and decided that England’s dominions in India were too large to be ruled by the East India Company. The governing powers of that famous company have therefore since 1858 been wielded by the English government. Just laws have been made to satisfy the natives, great works have been carried out to make India more prosperous, and famines have been relieved. The peoples of India see that England is interested, and they know that it is only her rule which keeps them at peace one with another.

Section 53: Some Injustices Removed

I.Religious Tests Abolished — Free Education — Justice to Ireland.

One result of the bitter struggle between the Roman Catholics and the Protestants in the seventeenth century was the passage of “The Act of Supremacy,” which compelled every member of Parliament to acknowledge the English king or queen as Head of the Church of England. The Roman Catholics refused to do this, and so for more than three hundred years they could not sit in the House of Commons. This unjust law remained in force until 1830. Finally justice and good sense triumphed and the law was repealed. But Jews were still denied admission to the House of Commons.

In 1858 Baron Rothschild, the famous banker, was admitted, and a few years later all religious tests for admission to the House of Commons, or to the great Universities of Oxford and Cambridge, were removed. Tithes, too, are no longer directly collected for the support of the Established Church in England or Ireland.

While the great endowed or public schools of England such as Harrow, Eton, and Rugby, furnished an excellent education for the upper classes, and the denominational, private, and grammar or Latin schools did good work for the middle classes, the poor were left to charity schools, except in Scotland, where a sound elementary education was given to all. There the schoolhouse and the kirk stood side by side in

every village.

The ignorance of the common people of England, in the nineteenth century, is shown by the fact that forty per cent of the people, as late as 1840, could not sign their names to the parish register. To-day it is difficult to find an adult in the British Isles, under thirty years of age, who has not at least a fair elementary education.

But it was the people themselves who had to fight for free education. The aristocracy, many of the clergy, and the squires, or large landowners, bitterly opposed it for years. They claimed that if every one were taught to read and write, there would be no one to do the work needed to be done in the world, and when they were shown how stupid this idea was, they said that the common people ought only to be taught “the three r ’s,” by which they meant, reading, writing, and arithmetic.

At length, and not until 1870, the education of the English children was assured, and to-day it is not only free, but compulsory throughout the land, and all boys and girls who have intelligence and industry can work their way up from the primary school to the University.

During the first half of the nineteenth century men, women, and children in factories and the fields often worked for more than twelve hours a day. Gradually the hours of labor have been reduced, and now most factories only work nine hours a day; the government workshops only eight.

For a long time the writers in the newspapers in England were not allowed to speak out so freely as they can to-day. Men were often put in prison for saying things which were against the government, and much persecution of this kind was suffered. Moreover, newspapers had to pay a tax, which made them high-priced and prevented them from getting into the hands of the poorer people.

Since the reign of James I. there has always been discontent in Ireland, and with reason. A great deal of the land is

owned by Englishmen whose ancestors obtained it by repeated acts of confiscation because of rebellions during the reigns of James and Elizabeth, and the protectorate of Cromwell. The present tenants are mainly the descendants of those whose lands were so confiscated. The landlords are largely non-residents, who expect their agents to send them good rentals.

Owing to their love of home and the soil on which they were brought up, the tenants often promised to pay more than they could afford, and often when they made the land more productive, the landlords’ agents raised their rent. When crops failed they were unable to pay, and until recently were evicted, often under most cruel circumstances, thus losing the value of all the improvements they had made on the land. The law was always on the side of the landlord. This evil had gone on for many years, but with bitter complaining, when a period of distress came upon Ireland, between 1875 and 1879, owing to the failure of the potato crop.

The Irish Land League was then formed, which had for its ultimate object to secure for the peasantry of Ireland the title of the soil just as the French peasantry in great measure own the soil of France. The head of the League was Charles Stewart Parnell, whose mother was an American, and daughter of the distinguished naval officer, Admiral Charles Stewart.

The League extended throughout Ireland and wherever Irishmen were found, the wide world over. Immense sums of money were raised which were used to support evicted tenants, to pay the expenses of the members of the Land League who were in Parliament, and the other expenses of the campaign to secure justice for Ireland. The wrongs of the tenants were urged upon Parliament, which did take some action, but justice was doled out to the Irish with a grudging hand.

The Land League then forced the “boycott” against harsh landlords or agents. This word comes from the name of Captain Boycott an unpopular landlord’s agent. In 1881 the

people agreed among themselves to sell him nothing, to transport nothing to his house, to serve him in no way whatever, and so successfully did they do this that he and his family were reduced almost to starvation. This weapon of “boycotting” was afterwards often employed against unpopular men all over Ireland.

The more reckless sympathizers with the tenants mutilated cattle, burned farm buildings, shot landlords or agents, and perpetrated dynamite outrages. This culminated in the murder of Lord Cavendish, Chief Secretary of Ireland, and of Mr. Burke, a government official.

But Mr. Gladstone, in spite of these crimes, was determined to try to do justice to Ireland. So, in 1881, he secured the passage of a bill which is known as the “Three F’s”; Fair Rent, Fixity of Tenure, and Free Sale. By this law a Board of Land Commissioners may fix the rent of the tenant; he is secure in the possession of his farm for fifteen years; he can sell his tenancy.

About the same time the Established Church (Episcopal) of Ireland was disestablished, and it now depends upon voluntary support. Thus another cause of friction was removed, and a better feeling seems to be growing up in Ireland, especially since Mr. Gladstone’s further attempts to give to Ireland a measure of Home Rule. His efforts failed, but since his death, a system of local self-government has been introduced which it is hoped will pave the way for a complete settlement of the disputes between the two countries.

Section 54: The British Colonies I.The Dominion of Canada.

We shall now turn our attention to the growth of the chief groups of British colonies in North America, Australia, and South Africa.

The Indian empire cannot be called a colony. Its peoples have submitted to English rule; but that great land has not been colonized or peopled by Englishmen, and it never can be, because the heat is so intense that white men cannot live there all their lives.

A colony is a land peopled, wholly or in part from the nation which owns it; and this has happened in the colonies in North America, Australia, and South Africa.

In previous chapters we learned about England’s loss of her chief American colonies, which in 1776 called themselves the United States of America. Many of their people did not wish to be separated from the mother country, and soon moved across the border, and settled in parts of Canada and of Nova Scotia, so as to remain loyal to the British crown. About twenty thousand of them settled in a part of Nova Scotia, which was soon declared to be a separate British colony, and was called New Brunswick.

Others settled in Upper Canada, i.e. the parts above Montreal, on the great river St. Lawrence, and their coming made the British people far stronger in Canada than ever they had been before. The French, who form nearly all the population of Lower Canada, had remained loyal to the British

rule, even when the troops of the United States invaded their land and tempted them to revolt.

And yet the government in London long feared that Canada would revolt as the United States had done. To prevent any chance of that, Canada was divided into two provinces, which were kept as much apart as possible. But this plan worked badly. The French of Lower Canada were on bad terms with the British population of Upper Canada; and both provinces were discontented with their government.

In the first year of Queen Victoria’s reign, there was a revolt among the French. It was soon put down by the British; then the government decided to unite the two provinces, and let Canada manage its own affairs much more than before. From that time (1841) the British part of Canada has increased in population and prosperity more than the French part. The French cling to their old manner of life and of farming, while the English and Scotch of Upper Canada have shown great enterprise.

For instance, a great railway, called the Grand Trunk Railway, was opened; and in order to connect Montreal with the United States, a very expensive bridge was made over the St. Lawrence. It is a lofty tubular bridge, more than three thousand yards long, and rests on twenty-four huge stone buttresses, built so as to resist the pressure of the blocks of ice in spring.

Canada and the other British colonies in North America continued to thrive, but little was done to unite them till 1864. Then plans for uniting them were discussed, and thanks to Sir John MacDonald, all those colonies (except Newfoundland) agreed to form the Dominion of Canada, which includes all British North American colonies from Nova Scotia on the Atlantic to Vancouver Island on the far-off Pacific. Since then the Dominion of Canada has become more and more prosperous.

II. Australia.

There are great differences between the Dominion of Canada and Australia. Canada is merely the northern part of a great continent. Australia is a vast island in the southern sea. Canada is a land of great lakes and navigable rivers. The Australian lakes are merely useless swamps; the rivers are often mere marshy pools connected by a feeble trickle of water, but after heavy rains they rapidly swell into raging torrents. In Canada the winter is long and intensely cold, while Australia, except in its most southerly parts, has no winter. It has been wittily said that in Australia you may ladle your butter out in a spoon, while in Canada it often has to be chopped with a hatchet.

Yet in these very different countries Englishmen have prospered equally, and the population of Australia and New Zealand is nearly as large as that of the Dominion of Canada. At first the settlement in Australia was very small and feeble.

Captain Cook discovered the Pacific coast of Australia in 1769, and proclaimed it to be British land. It was not till 1787 that any point of it was settled. In that year 757 convicts were sent out to form a settlement at Botany Bay, on the coast of New South Wales. In the next year they were removed to Sydney a little farther north.

Later free settlers went from England, and by degrees roads were made over the mountains, and sheep and cattle began to increase enormously. An adventurous young explorer named Bass sailed through the straits called after him, and when it was thus proved that Van Diemen’s Land (now called Tasmania) was an island, convicts were sent there, and formed the second Australian colony (1804). A party of convicts was also sent to western Australia (1826), thus founding the third of those colonies. In 1834 a colony was founded in South Australia.

STORIES OF THE BRITISH ISLES

The youngest of those colonies are Victoria and Queensland, which after 1850 became independent of the mother colony, New South Wales. Just about the time when Victoria became a colony, gold was discovered there in large quantities, and a wild rush to it was made from all parts. In two or three years the craze was over and matters settled down.

Though gold-mining has been and is profitable, the chief wealth of Australia is in the rearing of sheep and the growth of wheat. Australian wheat and wool are among the best in the world. The vine and nearly all fruit-trees flourish in the fertile parts; and if the rainfall were more regular, Australia would be one of the richest lands in the world. But the long droughts often ruin the hopes of the farmer, and cause the death of thousands of sheep and cattle.

III. The Federation of the Australian Colonies.

The world has probably seen no greater “triumph of Democracy ” than the federation of the six Australian Colonies of Victoria, Queensland, New South Wales, West Australia, South Australia, and the Northern Territory, which have now become the Australian Commonwealth. Each colony has local self-government independent of that of the mother country of England, and yet it is as closely bound up with it and with each other as any state in the Union is bound up with our own Federal Government.

During the last few years of the nineteenth century there had been growing up among the Australians a sentiment in favor of the federation of the Australian colonies, and “free and united Australia,” which has been the dream of many a reformer and the theme of many a poet, has now become an accomplished fact. The inauguration of the Australian

Commonwealth took place with much pomp and ceremony at Sydney, New South Wales, on January 1, 1901. This is probably one of the most important events in the history of our race since the time when “the embattled farmers stood, and fired the shot heard round the world,” and we should notice carefully the difference between England’s action in the time of George III. at the end of the eighteenth century, and the action she took in the reign of Queen Victoria at the end of the nineteenth century.

In the reign of George III., a Tory Government and a tyrannical king, under whose sway no real liberty was enjoyed, either at home or abroad, so little understood the temper of the people as to provoke a war which lost to England the whole of the American colonies. In the last days of Queen Victoria’s reign, when the English people were living under what is practically the most democratic government in the world, a government which really governs by the people for the people, those great English colonies in the southern Pacific, which have led the way in some democratic reforms and government experiments that have benefited the world, have united to secure a larger measure of freedom in selfgovernment, and they have done so without sacrificing any of their loyalty and love to the mother land.

The new Commonwealth has framed its plan for selfgovernment largely upon the American Constitution. It has borrowed much from England’s experience with Canada, and there are many who think that this is the first step towards the federation of the British empire.

IV.Cape Colony and Natal.

The most important British colony in Africa is Cape Colony. It is so called from the Cape of Good Hope at the south-eastern tip of that great continent. The Portuguese

gave that name to the cape soon after they discovered it (1486), because, if they reached that cape, there was a good hope that they would reach India. In those days the Cape was the chief place at which ships called between Europe and India. After some time the Dutch East India Company took possession of it, and jealously kept out all other settlers and traders. Indeed many of their own settlers found the rules so irksome that they moved right away inland and formed other settlements.

At last the rule of the Dutch ceased. In 1795, an English fleet captured the settlement; and it has since belonged to England, except for a short interval. Though it was a British colony, the settlers were nearly all Dutch, until, in 1820, the government helped a large number of British settlers to go out there, most of whom settled at or near Port Elizabeth. There were many troubles with the natives, especially with the agile and warlike Kaffirs. At one time it seemed as though their hosts, armed with spears, would destroy all the colonists, but at last they were thoroughly beaten.

There were many troubles between the government and the Dutch settlers, who did not like having their slaves set free by order of the English law of 1834. In the following years nearly ten thousand of the Dutch farmers, called Boers, packed up their goods in wagons, and went away to the north of the Orange River, so as to be beyond English control. There they founded two independent states, the Transvaal and the Orange Free State, which touch Natal.

Natal was so called by the Portuguese who discovered it, because they sighted its coast in 1497 on Christmas Day, the natal day of Christ. It was not claimed by any Europeans till 1823, when a small band of Englishmen bought land from the Zulus and settled there. The little colony was often in danger from the attacks of the powerful and warlike Zulus, who also killed a great number of Dutchmen or Boers. Then, when these had conquered the Zulus, they attacked the English

settlers, but were at last driven back, and Natal became an English colony in 1843.

V.The Transvaal and the Orange Free State.

In 1869 the discovery of diamonds in Griqualand West drew a large number of settlers to the country, where in a short time the flourishing mining town of Kimberley arose. Griqualand became part of Cape Colony in 1871, and since then almost every year some new region has come under the British flag.

The continual discords between the Boers and the natives, the bankruptcy of the Boer government, and the desire of many of the Boers themselves, led Lord Beaconsfield in 1877 to place the Transvaal under British rule, and Great Britain was involved in war with the Zulus, a brave and warlike race with whom the Boers had quarrelled. The opening of the war was marked by the terrible disaster at Isandula, when the Zulus, under their king Cetewayo, cut to pieces the small British force opposed to them. But the Zulus were soon crushed and Zulu land became a British colony. The Prince Imperial of France, son of Napoleon and Eugenie, was at this time a military student in England. In a spirit of adventure he volunteered his services. While on a scout his party was suddenly attacked by the savages, the Prince was separated from his companions and slain, and thus the last hope of the Napoleonic family in the direct line in France was cut off.

The Zulu war was hardly concluded when the Boers revolted. They defeated small British forces in several battles, and the English government, at the suggestion of Mr. Gladstone, believing that the annexation of the Transvaal had been a mistake, with great generosity stopped the war and

restored their independence to the Boers, reserving to Great Britain the right to control their foreign relations.

The discovery of valuable gold deposits in the Transvaal perhaps the most extensive in the world caused a great migration of Englishmen to the mines. They were styled Outlanders by the Boers. They outnumbered the Boers, who were fiercely jealous of them and denied them all political rights, although they possessed most of the wealth, intelligence, and enterprise of the colony.

The people labored under these disadvantages and many others for years. The British government meanwhile tried to induce the Boers to give the Outlanders equal rights with them, but in vain. The Boers feared progress, as we understand it. They preferred farming and country life to that of the towns and cities, and they feared that the city dwellers, the miners, manufacturers, and capitalists, grown more numerous, and in possession of equal political rights with them, would outvote them. They therefore continued to insist upon taxing the Outlanders without allowing them to be politically represented. Many of these Outlanders had been invited to the country by the Boers themselves, where they had invested enormous sums of money, were carrying on mining and other industries which were heavily taxed, and had built beautiful cities which had also contributed largely to the revenue.

Unfortunately, while all this was being discussed, some Outlanders under Dr. Jamieson attempted to overthrow the Boer government, and depose President Kruger by force, by making a raid on Johannesburg. This took place towards the end of 1895. The attempt was however defeated, and Dr. Jamieson and his followers were punished.

The South African Chartered Company, which was responsible for the raid, agreed to pay the Transvaal Republic whatever sums had been expended in connection with the invasion. A bill was presented by the Boers for eight million dollars divided under two heads, material damages about

three millions, and moral and intellectual damages five millions. The claim for moral and intellectual damages was not considered by the English, and details of expenditure under the other heading were asked for. When they came to hand, many of the items were absurd; for example, nearly twelve thousand dollars was charged for shoeing horses, and twenty thousand dollars for carts and horses. The raid only occupied four days, and no account was taken of the fact that these supplies remained the property of the Republic. Then the English agreed to pay all expenses for which vouchers were produced. No vouchers were ever forwarded, and there the matter of compensation rests.

After this, although President Kruger promised to inquire into and remedy the grievances of the Outlanders, their lot grew worse and worse, and in March, 1899, twenty-five thousand of them appealed to the British government for aid. Fresh negotiations between the Boer and British governments began immediately, and continued for over six months; President Kruger and his government in the meanwhile continuing to arm themselves as rapidly as possible, as indeed they had been doing ever since the Jamieson raid. The British, meanwhile, strengthened their military forces in their South African possessions bordering on the Republics.

At length, however, in October, 1899, as the British government found itself unable to comply with certain demands of the Boers, war was begun by the latter, by the invasion of the colony of Natal. At first, owing to their ignorance of the geographical conditions of the country, their lack of preparation, and their clinging to old-fashioned methods in warfare, the British suffered severe defeats, although they fought with all the bravery for which the race has ever been famous. The Boers on their side were equally brave, and were frank in their admiration of the bravery of the British, who in turn heartily praised the bravery of the Boers. The latter displayed remarkable skill in the handling of their troops, adopting

tactics well suited to the nature of the country. After nearly two years fighting, the British have succeeded in getting possession of the Orange Free State and the Transvaal Republic, and the two Republics are now declared British Crown Colonies.

The British nation claims that it fought in South Africa for the same principle that the English in America fought for in the War of the Revolution against King George III., namely, that taxation and representation must always go together. While the Boers claim that they were defending their land against unjust invasion, that Great Britain had no right to fix the terms on which they should give the franchise to the Outlanders, that England had no suzerainty over the Transvaal Republics, and that therefore she had no right to interfere in their internal affairs.

The Germans and French have taken large tracts of the African continent under their rule or protection. Similar extensions of British territory have been made. Besides these possessions in the west and south of Africa, the British hold on the east the island and town of Zanzibar and considerable territory on the mainland.

Great trading companies are opening up the resources of British Africa, and at last the slave-trade, the curse of Africa for thousands of years, is nearing its end.

VI. Egypt.

In northeast Africa, circumstances have led to the garrisoning of Egypt by British troops and the rule of British officials. Through Egypt lies the shortest route to India, and it is very important that the country should not fall into the hands of rulers, unfriendly to Britain, especially as she possesses a very large number of shares in the Suez Canal which connects the Mediterranean with the Red Sea, and

through which nine-tenths of the traffic is carried on by British ships.

Egypt is nominally a part of the Turkish empire and is ruled under the Sultan of Turkey, by the Khedive. In 1879, the Khedive Ismail abdicated after a period of misrule and extravagance which almost ruined the country, and his successor was compelled to allow British and French officials to direct his government. Many of the native Egyptians resented this, and in 1882, an ambitious soldier, Arabi Pasha, raised an insurrection, and expelled the European officials.

England called upon France to help put down the rebellion, but she refused, and England was forced to act alone. Alexandria, which had been fortified by Arabi, and in which a massacre of Europeans had taken place, was bombarded by the British fleet, and Arabi was routed by Sir Garnet Wolseley at the fierce battle of Tel-el-Kebir (1882), which took place after a long, silent, march across the desert in the dead of night the army having only the light of the stars for its guide. Since that time, Britain has taken Egypt under her protection with great benefit to the country, which is now well governed for the first time in its later history.

In 1888, further troubles occurred. A fanatic, calling himself the Mahdi, raised a rebellion in the Soudan against the Egyptian government. The Egyptian garrisons were in danger of being destroyed, and an Egyptian force sent to their relief under an English officer, General Hicks, was cut to pieces. General Gordon, a brave officer who knew the country well and had done good work there before, was then sent out by the British government to withdraw the Egyptian garrisons. He took no troops with him, believing that his personal influence would enable him to accomplish the work safely.

On arriving at Khartoum; the capital of the Soudan, Gordon was surrounded by the Mahdi’s forces. He made a gallant defence against them, but finding it impossible to withdraw the Egyptian garrison without help, he sent to

London, asking for British troops. Months passed before his request was granted. Then Lord Wolseley was sent to Egypt with a small force. On arriving, he made the greatest possible haste towards Khartoum, taking his army up the Nile in boats, with the help of skilled Canadian boatmen, and marching rapidly across the arid deserts. At the battle of Abukela, the Mahdi’s forces were defeated, and the British pressed on, only to learn when within one hundred miles of Khartoum, that the city had been betrayed to the enemy, and that Gordon had been slain. The Soudan was then left to its fate, and England deeply mourned the loss of the general whose noble character and romantic career made him so interesting a figure.

But England never retraces a step taken in the right direction. She quietly organized an army of Soudanese and Egyptians, who were thoroughly drilled by English officers, supported by English regulars, and commanded by a man of iron will. Slowly they moved up the valley of the Nile towards Khartoum. A railway followed them, insuring supplies of all kinds. Before Khartoum, at Omdurman, the army of the Mahdi was met and annihilated; Khartoum was reoccupied and over the spot where Gordon fell, the Christian burial service was read in the presence of the English troops. The leader of this successful expedition has since been made Lord Kitchener, of Khartoum. A college has been built for the education of the Soudanese, and soon railroad and river will join Cairo and Capetown, connecting the English colonies, and carrying western civilization into the heart of Africa.

Section 55: The Story of Queen Victoria

The beginning of the twentieth century marked the end of the long reign of Queen Victoria. She reigned for sixty-four years, longer than any monarch that ever sat on the English or any other throne. When she ascended the throne the news took four weeks to reach America. The four words “The Queen is dead,” were flashed around the world in less than half an hour. She was born on May 4, 1819, and died January 22, 1901. She was the granddaughter of King George III., a good man, perhaps, but stupid and obstinate, for it was his stupidity and obstinacy, and the bad advice of his Tory ministers that provoked the war of the American Revolution. Victoria was very carefully educated, for it was soon seen that she, standing in direct line of succession to the throne, was destined to occupy it at no very distant day. When she was about twelve years old she had gradually learned that she was some day to be queen, and instead of the prospect flattering her vanity, she trembled at her coming responsibilities, and was very unhappy at the thought of the weight of care she would have to carry. But young as she was, she determined to do all that she could to qualify herself for the high position she was one day destined to fill. George IV. had succeeded to George III., and King William had followed him, dying in 1837. His successor was sleeping soundly at Kensington Palace on the night of June 19-20 of that year, when the Lord Chamberlain and the Archbishop of Canterbury came with the news that roused the maiden, who had gone to sleep a princess and awoke a queen. She slipped out of bed, threw a shawl round her shoulders, and with her long bright hair

falling over her shoulders, she came into the room, and listened with tearful eyes to the news they had to tell. Her first thought was not for herself, but for her Aunt Adelaide, the queen of William III., now left a widow. When the Archbishop and the Lord Chamberlain had left her, the queen ’ s first act was to sit down and write a letter of sympathy to her widowed aunt. At eleven o’clock on June 20, the Council of State was called to receive the young queen. Lord Beaconsfield, describing the scene, says:

“There are assembled the prelates and captains and chief men of her realm. A hum of half-suppressed conversation fills that brilliant assemblage, a sea of plumes, and glittering stars, and gorgeous dresses. Hush! The portals open she comes. The silence is as deep as that of a noontide forest. Attended for a moment by her royal mother and the ladies of her court, who bow and then retire, Victoria ascends her throne alone, and for the first time amid an assembly of men. ”

On the tenth of February, 1840, Queen Victoria was married to her cousin, Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg, a man of noble character and great learning and accomplishments. One of the most notable events of the early part of her reign was the great exhibition of 1 851, which was held in Hyde Park. The conception of this is said to have been entirely that of Prince Albert, and every boy and girl knows how popular the idea has since become. Almost every nation now has its International Exhibition at intervals of five or ten years. The glass building, which was erected in Hyde Park for this exhibition in 1851, was subsequently removed to a suburb of London where it now stands, and is known as the Crystal Palace.

The Princess Royal, the queen ’ s oldest daughter, who afterwards became Empress of Germany and mother of the present emperor of that country, was born in 1840, and a year later the Prince of Wales, who is now King Edward the VII., was born. During her long life she knew what it was to lose

many of her loved ones, but the greatest blow of all was the death of the Prince Consort in November, 1861, after twentytwo years of a happy married life, such as is rarely the lot of any one, whether prince or pauper.

A most remarkable display of national feeling took place during the illness of the Prince of Wales in 1872, and the devout side of the queen ’ s character was very prominently shown when the national thanksgiving took place for his recovery. In this connection it has been told of the queen that when asked by a foreign potentate the secret of England’s greatness, she pointed to the Bible.

The leading public events of Queen Victoria’s reign have been dealt with in the preceding chapters (all these great happenings were matters of immediate personal concern to her), and her declining years were much saddened by the unfortunate war with the Boers.

The queen was always fortunate in her advisers. Her first minister was Lord Melbourne, upon whom she relied much until her marriage with Prince Albert. While she always had a clear judgment and a strong will of her own, she did not fail to profit by the wisdom and experience of the successive Prime Ministers who came into power during her reign. Her influence was always for peace, and for the good of her people, but above all, Queen Victoria is entitled to the rank as the Mother Queen of History. She had a large family of sons and daughters, all of whom were carefully brought up with a view to their filling the high positions which they would one day have to occupy.

She did not escape the dangers at the hands of fanatics to which all royalties seem to be exposed. Several times in the course of her long reign her life was attempted, but the wouldbe assassins in no case succeeded in wounding her.

She took the keenest interest in the world’s doings, and followed current events with much closeness. She was a widely read woman, and had sound literary tastes. Her books

revealed the domestic side of her character in a very complete, simple, and pleasant way. She had some skill as a musician, and at one time devoted considerable attention to painting. She was an accomplished linguist, speaking several European languages, and after she was created Empress of India, by Lord Beaconsfield in 1876, she set herself to learn Hindustanee in order to be able more fully to enter into the thoughts of the people of the vast empire of India.

During her reign the first great example was given to the world of settling disputes between nations without righting in the case of the Alabama a ship which was fitted out in England to help the South during the Civil War in the United States. This vessel, as well as the Florida and the Shenandoah, which either had come from British ports or had used them to refit or revictual, caused great damage to Northern shipping, and America was naturally indignant with the English in consequence. An angry dispute went on for six years after the Civil War was over. At length it was referred to a court which sat at Geneva, in Switzerland; and after the most able and learned lawyers on both sides had argued the case it was decided that, although the English government did not wish to let the ships go from, or use, her ports, she ought to have taken greater care to prevent them from doing so, and must therefore pay for the consequences of her want of oversight, so Great Britain had to pay America the sum of $17,250,000, and thus the dispute was settled.

This great example has been followed not only by those who set it, but by other nations of the world, and although it may be long before war will entirely cease to be the means of settling disputes between the nations, there is still hope that we may go on in the path of freedom

“Till the war drum throbs no longer, and the battle flags are furled

In the Parliament of man, the Federation of the

world.”

Her power was always exercised in the direction of social reform and for the moral well-being of her people. Under her reign more was done for their benefit than under any other. We have spoken in other chapters of some of the changes that were made: popular education, recreation grounds for the people, Saturday half-holidays, the bank holidays, and the growth of the public library system were all movements which had her warm sympathy and hearty support. The protection of children and animals also was a subject in which she was keenly interested, and it is to her influence, no doubt, that so much has been done to improve a condition of things which in the early days of the century was a disgrace to England.

Section 56: Edward VII

The education and experience of the Prince of Wales have especially fitted him to carry on the work of a constitutional monarch, that is, a king whose powers and duties are very much the same as those of the President of the United States.

He has travelled all over the world, and has become familiar with men and affairs. He is loyal to the better traditions of Englishmen, while being thoroughly in harmony with the onward movements of the present day, and he has always shown that he has the welfare of the people at heart.

He acceded to the throne on the 22d of January, 1901, and addressing the people the next day said: “My constant endeavor will be always to walk in her (the Queen’s) footsteps… I am fully determined to be a constitutional sovereign…and…to work for the good and amelioration of my people,” and his actions have thus far been in accordance with this promise.

A Brief Introduction to Early Irish History

Taken from True Stories from the History of Ireland

By John James McGregor

Ancient Ireland

Inhabitants — Government — Military/ Force — Laws — Manners — Religion

The ancient history of Ireland is so full of fable, that I can give you but a hasty glance at it. Many different races of men are said to have inhabited the country before the Danonians, who, we are told, came from Norway and Sweden about thirteen hundred years previous to the birth of our Savior. We know so little about this people, that I should not have mentioned them, but to tell you an old tradition of the Laigh Fail, or Stone of Destiny. The Danonians are said to have brought this famous stone into Ireland, on which our ancient monarchs were crowned, till Fergus the Great, having conquered Scotland, removed it into that country, relying on an old prediction, which has been thus translated.

Or Fate’s belied, or where this stone is found, A prince of Scottish race shall there be crowned.

This stone was preserved in the Abbey of Scone with the regalia of Scotland, till the year 1296, when Edward I conveyed it to Westminster Abbey; and the Kings of Great Britain, who are lineally descended from our old Irish Kings, have been crowned on it ever since. We are told that King Fergus, in his expedition to Scotland, displayed a banner, on which was portrayed a red lion rampant in a field of gold, with thunder and stars; and it has been fancied, that from this circumstance originated the lion in the royal arms of England. The Milesians, a Spanish colony, are said to have arrived in this country about eleven hundred years before the birth of our Savior. — Some celebrated writers have doubts

respecting this Milesian colony, but as their existence is the most generally received opinion, we shall not here dispute it. They were under the guidance of two brothers, Heber and Heremon, who were the progenitors of a long line of kings that ruled for many centuries in different parts of the island. The country, however, appears to have been during that time in such a continual state of distraction, that more than a hundred Irish monarchs are recorded to have perished in battle or by assassination; nor will you wonder at this when you are made acquainted with the nature of the government that then existed.

Ireland, for many hundred years before the English invaded the island, was divided into a pentarchy, or five different kingdoms, viz. Munster, (which being the largest, was again divided into two. North and South,) Leinster, Ulster, Connaught, and Meath. One of the kings always held the dignity of Supreme Monarch, and each had under him various orders of petty chieftains, every one of whom exercised royal power in his own territory. Now you may reasonably suppose, that having so small a country divided into so many little states, must have created endless disorder and confusion among the people, as it was very difficult to prevent them from encroaching on the rights of each other; and what greatly increased the distractions that then prevailed was, that when a king or chief died, he was not succeeded, as in our times, by his eldest son, but the new ruler was elected by the subordinate chieftains from among the relatives of the deceased prince. These elections often occasioned bitter feuds, which caused great destruction of life and property.

The Supreme Monarch, who was also generally King of Meath, resided at Tarah, in that county, where historians inform us the greatest hospitality and magnificence were displayed. The palace of Eamania, of which some traces still remain near Armagh, was the royal seat of the Kings of Ulster. The chief residence of the Munster Kings, in early ages, was

the city of Cashel; but in later times they removed to Limerick, and some remains of Kinkora, the palace of the famous Brian Boiromhe, are still to be seen near Killaloe, in the county of Clare. The Sovereigns of Connaught had their royal residence at Cruachain, not far from Boyle, in the county of Roscommon, and the Kings of Lieinster, at Ferns, in the county of Wexford.

Not only the principal sovereigns, but the petty chiefs, derived their revenue from the contributions of their vassals, which were usually delivered in corn or cattle. Justice was administered in the open air by a certain description of lawyers, called Brehons; and one of these judgment-seats, called the Brehon’s Chair, is still shown on the hill of Kyle, in the Queen’s county. Few crimes were at that time punished with death, but by fines proportioned to the offence, which were given to the injured party. The general affairs of the nation were regulated by an assembly, which was held every third year at Tarah. The military force of the country consisted of a militia composed of horse and foot. The former were armed with arrows and javelins, and the latter with darts, long swords, pole-axes, and a kind of knives called skeyns. They had but too many occasions to exhibit their bravery, and who has not heard of the exploits of the Irish militia under Fionn MacCumhail, as recorded by the Poet Ossian, and our ancient historians?

These writers also inform as, that this band of heroes which might be called the Irish standing army, consisted of nine thousand men during peace, and twenty-one thousand in time of war, and that the following qualifications were required to be possessed by every candidate for admission into it: he should have a poetical genius be able to leap over a tree as high as his forehead, and stoop easily under another as low as his knees should be charitable to the poor, never do violence to a woman, or turn his back upon nine men of any other nation! They had subsistence allowed them only in the

winter half-year. In the summer months they were encamped in the fields, and lived by hunting and fishing; and the husbandman is said still frequently to discover marks of their fires. The other troops consisted of the vassals of the crown and of the petty chieftains, who were bound to follow their leader to the field; and they always rushed to the fight to the sound of martial music, and the martial cry of Farrah! Farrah! that is. Fall on! Fail on! In later times the war-cry of the different septs or clans, terminated with the word abo! or Huzza! with the name of their leader or his crest prefixed thus the O’Neill’s cry was Lamh-deargh-abo! Huzza for Red Hand! and that of the Butlers’, Butler-aho! Huzza for Butler!

You may now be curious to know how the people generally lived in those days. As the cultivation of corn was then little attended to, the food of the peasantry mostly consisted of milk, wild vegetables, and the flesh of animals taken in hunting, whose skins also furnished them with clothing, before they learned the art of manufacturing woollen and linen cloth. The higher orders enjoyed the luxury of bread usually baked under the embers, and their entertainments exhibited a degree of hospitality which would not shame their descendants of the present day, though not attended with the same accompaniments of magnificent apartments, or splendid furniture. Three-legged tables were covered with mllk-meats, bread, and a variety of flesh and fish, dressed in different ways, round which the guests sat on rushes or beds of grass, instead of chairs or benches; while the attendants served them, in cups of wood, horn, or brass, with mead, a strong drink called curmi, extracted from barley or milk, and sometimes with Poitou wine, which the Irish received from France in exchange for the skins of animals. At these entertainments, bards or minstrels always attended, and sang the praises of their heroes to the music of the harp.

The religion that existed in Ireland before the establishment of Christianity was similar to that which then prevailed

in England and many other countries. It was called the Druidical religion, and its priests appear to have acquired great authority in directing the affairs of the state. They had no temples, but celebrated their mysteries in groves of oak, where they worshipped the sun, moon, and other celestial luminaries. We are left very much in the dark as to the opinions and practices of the Druids; for while some writers assert that they had neither idols or sacrifices; others, and particularly Julius Caesar, state, that they sometimes made images of osier of a monstrous size, which they filled with living men, and then setting them on fire, burned the enclosed victims to death.

We have also very imperfect accounts of the Irish kings while Paganism prevailed in the country. A few, however, have been celebrated for their wisdom and bravery. Amongst these was Ollamh Fodhla, the celebrated law-giver of Ireland, who flourished about eight hundred years before the Christian era. Hugony, Crimthan, and other kings, distinguished themselves in after times by assisting the Scots and Picts against the Romans, and they frequently returned with rich trophies of their prowess. Nial (surnamed of the Nine Hostages) carried his arms both into England and France, but he perished by assassination A. D. 370, on the banks of the Loire. There is little doubt that the Irish of that period were as distinguished for their valor as they have been in later times.

Introduction of Christianity St.

Patrick.

By whom Christianity was first introduced into this country is as uncertain as many other particulars of our early history. It is, however, undoubted that some Christian churches were established, particularly in the South, before the arrival of St. Patrick. This great and good man, who is called the Apostle of Ireland, was born in Scotland, in the year 373. When only sixteen years old, he was taken prisoner by Irish pirates, or, as some say, by the troops of Niall of the Nine Hostages, and was kept six years in slavery by an Ulster prince. At the end of that period he escaped, and spent many years under the tuition of his uncle, who was bishop of Tours in France. He afterwards entered the church, and continued in France and Italy till he had attained his sixtieth year, when, accompanied by more than thirty assistants, men of great piety and learning, he undertook the mission for the conversion of the Irish, a people by whom he had been so cruelly treated in his youth. He first landed at Wicklow, and converted a prince named Sinell to Christianity; but being greatly opposed by other Pagan chieftains, he was compelled to return to his ship, and directed his course to that part of the North of Ireland where he had formerly been a captive.

I am sure you must feel greatly interested in the future success of our patron saint, as he is called, whose memory is annually celebrated on the 17th of March; not indeed in the manner which the good man, were he now alive, would approve of, as drunkenness and debauchery are very much opposed to the religion which he taught. St. Patrick’s first

convert in the North was a prince of Down, named Dichu, who immediately erected a church to the true God, near the bay of Dundram, which was afterwards called the Abbey of Saul; so that this was the first Christian church in the North of Ireland. After this, he and his companions preached the Gospel with great success in other parts of the North, and in the following year, that is A. D. 433, St. Patrick repaired to Tarah in the county of Meath, where Leogair, then the Supreme Monarch, resided, and at a time when the Grand Convention or Parliament was assembled; and he preached before them with such powerful effect, that the king, the queen, and a great number of the nobility, embraced Christianity; and their example was soon followed by multitudes of the common people. He was equally successful in Dublin, where he baptized King Alphin, with a vast number of his subjects, in a fountain, (from this called St. Patrick’s Well,) which the learned Archbishop Usher tells us, stood near the present cathedral church of St. Patrick, and that he saw it in the year 1639, but that soon after it was shut up and enclosed within a private house. Connaught was next blessed by his labors, and St. Patrick spent sixteen years in planting and establishing churches in the three provinces. During this time he founded the city and cathedral of Armagh, and made it the primatial or head see of Ireland. You may be somewhat surprised that our faithful and zealous Apostle had not, in all this time, visited the great kingdom of Munster; but he knew that some good missionaries had arrived in that quarter, as I told you before, who had for many years been preaching the doctrines of Christianity. They had obtained considerable success among the poor and the middle ranks of the people, but very few of the princes or great men paid any attention to them. St Patrick, therefore, found it necessary at length to go himself to Munster, hoping that through the blessing of God, he might effect their conversion. And he succeeded according to his wish; for soon after he

began his ministry in Cashel, the royal seat of Aengus, king of Munster, that sovereign and all the nobles of his court became obedient to the faith. St. Patrick then made the four missionaries who had arrived in Munster before him, whose names were Ailbe, Declan, Kiaran, and Ibar, bishops, and placed the church in that kingdom on a regular footing. After spending seven years in travelling about that part of the country, he resigned the government of the see of Armagh, and passed the remaining thirty years of his life in retirement at the abbey of Saul, where he died A. D. 402, aged one hundred and twenty, and was buried in Downpatrick.

All the kings of Ireland with their subjects now openly professed the Christian religion, yet it appears to have produced little effect on their general character and conduct, though no doubt some good men were occasionally to be found amongst them. The perpetual quarrels between the numerous independent chieftains, and their thirst for military glory, rendered our island during the sixth and seventh centuries a frightful picture of intestine war. The great men, however, evinced much ardor in the building of churches and colleges; and it is very probable that from this circumstance rather than from any superiority in the practice of piety, Ireland got the name of the Island of Saints. You are not, however, to suppose, that it was at that time in a worse state with regard to religion than the neighboring nations; for it is too evident from history, that in all countries during what are called the dark ages, the form was too often substituted for the substance of religion; and that while men were building churches and endowing monasteries in honor of their Maker, they indulged the most brutal passions, and practiced every vice in opposition to his most sacred prohibitions. There can, however, be little doubt, that learning at that time flourished more in Ireland than in any other country in Europe. This is proved by the magnificent colleges that existed at Armagh, Lismore, (where the great king Alfred is said to have studied,)

Clonard, and other places, to which students resorted from many foreign kingdoms, and from the fact that some of the highest offices of the Church in France, Italy, and Germany, were filled by Irishmen. Yet notwithstanding the apparently flourishing state of religion and learning at this time, the Irish historians tell as, that out of twenty-three monarchs who reigned in the sixth and seventh centuries, not less than twenty perished by violent deaths, and many thousands of their subjects experienced a similar fate.