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that time his brothers were not children playing round their mother, but grown men and kings, and two of them, Æthelstan and Æthelbald, were dead. Moreover, in 861 Alfred's father, Æthelwulf, was dead, and his mother must have been dead also, as Æthelwulf married Judith in 856, when Alfred was only seven years old. If, then, any thing of the kind happened, it could not have been when Alfred was twelve years old, but before he was four. For in that year he went to Rome, and could never have seen his mother again, even if she were alive when he went. And for a child of four years old not to be able to read, is not so very wonderful a thing, even in our own time.*

In 871, on Æthelred's death, Alfred came to the crown, and he had at once to fight for his kingdom. The battle was at Wilton, near Salisbury, and does not seem to have been a very decisive one, as we read that the Danes were put to flight, and yet that they kept possession of the place of battle. And after the battle the Danes seem to have been tired: we read that they made peace with the West-Saxons, and there was peace, as far as Wessex was concerned, for a few years.

* I have seen in different books two attempts to get out of this difficulty, but I do not think either of them will do.

First, some suggest that Osburh was not dead when Æthelwulf married Judith, but that he had put her away, and that she might still have had her children about her. But of this there is no sort of proof, and when we read that a man, and especially a good man like Æthelwulf, married a second wife, we are bound to suppose that his first wife was dead, unless we have some clear proof that she was alive. And granting this, we still have the difficulty that, when Alfred was twelve years old, his brothers were not, as the story clearly implies, boys, but grown men and kings, and that some of them were dead.

Secondly, some suggest that the story really belongs, not to Alfred's mother, Osburh, but to his step-mother, Judith. Now it is really ridiculous to fancy that this young foreign girl would act as a careful mother to Æthelwulf's sons, some of whom must have been older than herself, and one of whom (Æthelbald) she was unprincipled enough to marry. Moreover, in 861 Æthelbald was already dead, and Judith had gone back into Gaul.

But they were all the while fighting and plundering and settling in other parts of Britain, and in 876 they came again into Wessex. We thus come to that part of Alfred's life which is at once the saddest and the brightest. It was the time when his luck was lowest and his spirit was highest. The army under Guthrum, the Danish king of East-Anglia, came suddenly to Wareham, in Dorsetshire. The "Chronicle" says that they "bestole "-that is, came secretly, or escapedfrom the West-Saxon army, which seems to have been waiting for them. This time Alfred made peace with the Danes, and they gave him some of their chief men for hostages, and they swore to go out of the land, but they did not keep their oath. . . .

And now we come to the terrible year 878, the greatest and saddest and most glorious in all Alfred's life. In the very beginning of the year, just after Twelfth-night, the Danish host again came suddenly-"bestole," as the Chronicle says-to Chippenham. Then "they rode through the WestSaxon's land, and there sat down, and mickle of the folk over sea they drove, and of the others the most deal they rode over, all but the King Alfred; he with a little band hardly fared (went) after the woods and on the moor-fastnesses." How can I tell you this better than in the words of the Chronicle itself, only altering some words into their modern shape, that you may the better understand them? But it is quite certain that this time of utter distress lasted only a very little while, for in a few months Alfred was again at the head of an army and able to fight against the Danes. It must have been at this time that the story of the cakes happened, if it ever happened at all. The tale is quite possible, but there is no proof of it being true. It is said that Alfred went and stayed in the hut of a neatherd or swineherd of his, who knew who he was, though his wife did not know him. One day the woman set some cakes to bake, and bade the king, who was sitting by the fire mending his bow and arrows, to

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tend them. Alfred thought more of his bow and arrows than he did of the cakes, and let them burn. Then the woman ran in, and cried out: "There, don't you see the cakes on fire? Then wherefore turn them not? You're glad enough to eat them when they're piping hot!"*

It is almost more strange when we are told by some that this swineherd or neatherd afterward became Bishop of Winchester. They say that his name was Denewulf, and that the king said that, though he was in so lowly a rank, he was naturally a very wise man. So he had him taught, and at last gave him the bishopric. But it is hard to believe this, especially as Denewulf, Bishop of Winchester, became bishop the very next year.

VI.

DUNSTAN, THE ECCLESIASTICAL STATESMAN.-GREEN. [The struggle with the Danes gave a new direction to the growth of Wessex. By the Treaty of Wedmore (878) England was divided between Alfred and the Danish leader. Wessex lost her external supremacy, but her immediate territory was largely increased. The impulse, thus given, continued under Alfred's son and grandsons, until, in the reign of Eadgar, the boundaries of Wessex became co-extensive with those of the kingdom of England. This result seems to have been largely due to the able administration of Archbishop Dunstan.]

THE Completion of the West-Saxon realm was, in fact, reserved for the hands, not of a king or warrior, but of a priest. Dunstan stands first in the line of ecclesiastical statesmen, who counted among them Lanfranc and Wolsey, and ended in Laud. He is still more remarkable in himself, in his own vivid personality, after eight centuries of revolution and change. He was born in the little hamlet of Glastonbury, the home of his father, Heorstan, a man of wealth and *The woman's speech is put into two Latin verses. Most likely the whole story comes from a ballad.

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