sent on which conquest can be defended or desired. Again, could Ireland, on discovering like the Welsh that she was too 475 weak or too divided to encounter England in the field, have acquiesced, as the Welsh acquiesced, in the alternative of submission, there was not originally any one advantage which 480 England possessed which she was not willing and eager to share with her. If England was to become a great power, the annexation of Ireland was essential to her, if only to 485 prevent the presence there of an enemy; but she had everything to lose by treating her as a conquered province, seizing her lands and governing her by force; everything to gain 490 by conciliating the Irish people, extending to them the protection of her own laws, the privileges of her own higher civilisation, and assimilating them on every side, so far as 495 their temperament allowed, to her subjects at home. Yet Ireland would neither resist courageously, nor would she honourably submit. Her chiefs and leaders 500 had no real patriotism. In Scotland, though the nobles might quarrel among themselves, they buried their feuds and stood side by side when there was danger from the hereditary foe. 505 There was never a time when there was not an abundance of Irish who would make common cause with the English, when there was a chance of revenge upon a domestic enemy, 510 or a chance merely of spoil to be distributed. All alike, though they 63 would make no stand for liberty, as little could endure order or settled government. Their insurrections, which might have deserved sympathy had 515 they been honourable efforts to shake off an alien yoke, were disfigured with crimes which, on one memorable occasion at least, brought shame on their cause and name. When in- 520 surrection finally failed, they betook themselves to assassination and secret tribunals; and all this, while they were holding up themselves and their wrongs as if they were the victims 525 of the most abominable tyranny, and inviting the world to judge between them and their oppressors. - Nations are not permitted to achieve independence on these terms. Un- 530 happily, though unable to shake off the authority of England, they were able to irritate her into severities which gave their accusations some show of colour. Everything which 535 she most valued for herself her laws and liberties, her orderly and settled government, the most ample security for person and property England's first desire was to give 540 to Ireland in fullest measure. temper in which she was met exasperated her into harshness and at times to cruelty; and so followed in succession alternations of revolt and 545 punishment, severity provoked by rebellion, and breeding in turn fresh cause for mutiny, till it seemed at last as if no solution of the problem was possible save the expulsion or 550 destruction of a race which appeared incurable. EDWARD AUGUSTUS FREEMAN. DWARD AUGUSTUS FREEMAN (1823-1892) was born at Harborne, Staffordshire, and studied at Oxford. Having a sufficient income, he settled as a country-gentleman and student in the The neighbourhood of Wells, wrote much for the press, and took an active part in politics. For the last eight years of his life he held a professorship for Modern History at Oxford. He died, on a tour in Spain, at Alicante, where he was buried in the Protestant cemetery. Freeman was a voluminous writer on history, archæology, architecture, geography, and politics. His most important works are The History of the Norman Conquest (6 vols. 1867-79), Historical Essays (1871-92), and The History of Sicily (1891-94). As a historian he is more remarkable for learning and for accuracy of original research than for qualities of style. CORONATION OF WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR. From Berkhampstead to London, whatever was the amount of damage done by the way, William marched on without opposition. When all 5 that was needed to keep the city in subjection had been done, William drew near in readiness for the great rite which was to change the Conqueror into a King. As to the place 10 of the ceremony there could be no doubt. William was to be crowned in the church which had been reared by his kinsman and predecessor, and where his mortal remains, lifeless, 15 yet undecayed, and already displaying their wonder-working powers, lay as it were to welcome him. William was thus to be consecrated within the same temple where Harold had 20 been consecrated less than a year before. He was to be consecrated with the same rites and by the same hand. The sacramental rite itself was to 25 be performed by the hands of Ealdred. The Northern Primate was the only canonical Metropolitan in the realm, and he was the man who, as having been the leader of the embassy at 30 Berkhampstead, might be looked on as having been the first Englishman to take a formal part in making William King. The Primate of Northumberland had thus in one 35 year to anoint two Kings, the champion of England and her Conqueror. He had to anoint both far away from his own province, and to anoint both at a time when he could in no way pledge himself that the willing con- 40 sent of his province should confirm his own formal act. The Christmas morn at last came; and once more, as on the day of the Epiphany, a King-elect entered 45 the portals of the West Minster to receive his Crown. But now, unlike the day of the Epiphany, the approach to the church was kept by a guard of Norman horsemen. Other- 50 wise all was peaceful. Within the church all was in readiness; a new crown, rich with gems, was ready for the ceremony; a crowd of spectators of both nations filled the minster. 55 The great procession then swept on. A crowd of clergy bearing crosses marched first; then followed the Bishops; lastly, surrounded by the chief men of his own land and of 60 his new kingdom, came the renowned Duke himself, with Ealdred and Stigand on either side of him. Amid the shouts of the people, William the Conqueror passed on to the royal 65 seat before the high altar, there to go through the same solemn rites which had so lately been gone through on the same spot by his fallen rival. The Te Deum which had been sung 70 over Harold was now again sung over William. And now again, in ancient form, the crowd that thronged the minster was asked whether they would that the candidate who stood 75 before them should be crowned King over the land. But a new thing, unknown to the coronation of Eadward 05 or of Harold, had to mark the coro80 nation of William. A King was to be crowned who spake not our ancient tongue, and, with him, many who knew not the speech of England stood there to behold the rite. It was therefore not enough for Ealdred to demand in his native tongue whether the assembled crowd consented to the consecration of the Duke of the Normans. The question 90 had to be put a second time in French by Geoffrey, Bishop of Coutances, one of the prelates who had borne his part in those rites in the camp at Hastings which had ushered 95 in the day of Saint Calixtus. The assent of the assembled multitude of both nations was given in ancient form. The voices which on the Epiphany had shouted 'Yea, yea, King 100 Harold,' shouted at Christmas with no less of seeming zeal, 'Yea, yea, King William.' Men's hearts had not changed, but they had learned, through the events of that awful 105 year, to submit as cheerfully as might be to the doom which could not be escaped. The shout rang loud through the minster; it reached the ears of the Norman horsemen who kept watch 110 round the building. They had doubtless never before heard the mighty voice of an assembled people. They deemed, or professed to deem, that some evil was being done to the 115 newly chosen sovereign. But, instead of rushing in to his help, they hastened, with the strange instinct of their nation, to set fire to the buildings around the minster. At once all 120 was confusion; the glare was seen, the noise was heard, within the walls of the church. Men and women of all ranks rushed forth to quench the flames or to save their goods, some, 125 it is said, to seek for their chance of plunder in such a scene of terror. The King-elect, with the officiating prelates and clergy and the monks of the abbey, alone remained before the altar. They trembled, and, per- 130 haps for the first and the last time in his life, William trembled also. His heart had never failed him either in council or in battle, but here was a scene the like of which William 135 himself was not prepared to brave. But the rite went on; the trembling Duke took the oaths of an English King, the oaths to do justice and mercy to all within his realm, and 140 a special oath, devised seemingly to meet the case of a foreign King, an oath that, if his people proved loyal to him, he would rule them as well as the best of the Kings who had 145 gone before him. The prayers and litanies and hymns went on; the rite, hurried and maimed of its splendour, lacked nothing of sacramental virtue or of ecclesiastical significance. 150 All was done in order; while the flames were raging around, amid the uproar and the shouts which surrounded the holy place, Ealdred could still nerve himself to pour the holy 155 oil upon the royal head, to place the rod and the sceptre in the royal hands. In the presence of that small band of monks and bishops the great rite was brought to its end, and the 160 diadem with all its gleaming gems rested firmly on the brow of William, King of the English. The work of the Conquest was now formally completed; the Con- 165 queror sat in the royal seat of England. He had claimed the Crown of his kinsman; he had set forth his claim in the ears of Europe; he had maintained it on the field of 170 battle, and now it had been formally acknowledged by the nation over which he sought to rule. As far as words and outward rites went, nothing was now wanting; William was King, 175 chosen, crowned, and anointed. GREEN. JOHN RICHARD GREEN. RICHARD GREEN (1837-1883) | Was received his education. He entered the 605 published A Short History of the English PURITAN ENGLAND. and Coverdale. No history, no ro- cence. The disclosure of the older 60 mass of Hebrew literature wrought the revolution of the Reformation. But the one revolution was far deeper and wider in its effects than the other. No version could transfer to 65 another tongue the peculiar charm of language which gave their value to the authors of Greece and Rome. Classical letters, therefore, remained in the possession of the learned, that 70 is, of the few; and among these, with the exception of Colet and More, or of the pedants who revived a Pagan worship in the gardens of the Floren75 tine Academy, their direct influence was purely intellectual. But the tongue of the Hebrew, the idiom of the Hellenistic Greek, lent themselves with a curious felicity to the purso poses of translation. As a mere literary monument, the English version of the Bible remains the noblest example of the English tongue. Its perpetual use made it from the in85 stant of its appearance the standard of our language. But for the moment its literary effect was less than its social. The power of the book over the mass of Englishmen showed it90 self in a thousand superficial ways, and in none more conspicuously than in the influence it exerted on ordinary speech. It formed, we must repeat, the whole literature which 95 was practically accessible to ordinary Englishmen; and when we recall the number of common phrases which we owe to great authors, the bits of Shakspere, or Milton, or Dickens, or 100 Thackeray, which unconsciously interweave themselves in our ordinary talk, we shall better understand the strange mosaic of Biblical words and phrases which coloured English talk 105 two hundred years ago. The mass of picturesque allusion and illustration which we borrow from a thousand books, our fathers were forced to borrow from one; and the borrow110 ing was the easier and the more natural that the range of the Hebrew literature fitted it for the expression of every phase of feeling. Spenser poured forth his warmest 115 love-notes in the 'Epithalamion', he adopted the very words of the Psalmist, as he bade the gates open for the entrance of his bride. When CromIwell saw the mists break over the When hills of Dunbar, he hailed the sun 120 burst with the cry of David: 'Let God arise, and let his enemies be scattered. Like as the sun riseth, so shalt thou drive them away!' Even to common minds this familiarity 125 with grand poetic imagery in prophet and apocalypse gave a loftiness and ardour of expression, that with all its tendency to exaggeration and bombast we may prefer to the slipshod 130 vulgarisms of the shopkeeper of today. But far greater than its effect on literature or social phrase was the effect of the Bible on the character 135 of the people at large. Elizabeth might silence or tune the pulpits; but it was impossible for her to silence or tune the great preachers of justice, and mercy, and truth, who 140 spoke from the book which she had again opened for her people. The whole moral effect which is produced now-a-days by the religious newspaper, the tract, the essay, the lecture, 145 the missionary report, the sermon, was then produced by the Bible alone. And its effect in this way, however dispassionately we examine it, was simply amazing. The whole 150 temper of the nation was changed. A new conception of life and of man superseded the old. A new moral and religious impulse spread through every class. Literature re- 155 flected the general tendency of the time; and the dumpy little quartos of controversy and piety, which still crowd our older libraries, drove before them the classical translations 160 and Italian novelettes of the age of Elizabeth. 'Theology rules there,' said Grotius of England, only ten years after the Queen's death; and when Casaubon, the last of the great 165 scholars of the sixteenth century, was invited to England by King James, he found both King and people in |