danger. Realizing perfectly the appalling implications of an Anglo-Russian war, he was yet prepared to face even that eventuality if he could obtain his ends by no other method; but he believed that Russia in reality was still less desirous of a rupture, and that, if he played his game with sufficient boldness and adroitness, she would yield, when it came to the point, all that he required without a blow. It was clear that the course he had marked out for himself was full of hazard, and demanded an extraordinary nerve; a single false step, and either himself, or England, might be plunged in disaster. But nerve he had never lacked; he began his diplomatic egg-dance with high assurance; and then he discovered that, besides the Russian Government, besides the Liberals and Mr. Gladstone, there were two additional sources of perilous embarrassment with which he would have to reckon. In the first place there was a strong party in the Cabinet,,headed by Lord Derby, the Foreign Secretary, which was unwilling to take the risk of war; but his culminating anxiety was the Faery.

From the first, her attitude was uncompromising. The old hatred of Russia, which had been engendered by the Crimean War, surged up again within her; she remembered Albert's prolonged animosity; she felt the prickings of her own greatness; and she flung herself into the turmoil with passionate heat. Her indignation with the Opposition-with anyone who ventured to sympathize with the Russians in their quarrel with the Turks -was unbounded. When anti-Turkish meetings were held in London, presided over by the Duke of Westminster and Lord Shaftesbury, and attended by Mr. Gladstone and other prominent Radicals, she considered that "the Attorney-General ought to be set at these men"; "it can't," she exclaimed, "be constitutional." Never in her life, not even in the crisis

did she show herself a more furious partisan. But her displeasure was not reserved for the Radicals; the backsliding Conservatives equally felt its force. She was even discontented with Lord Beaconsfield himself. Failing entirely to appreciate the delicate complexity of his policy, she constantly assailed him with demands for vigorous action, interpreted each finesse as a sign of weakness, and was ready at every juncture to let slip the dogs of war. As the situation developed, her anxiety grew feverish. “The Queen," she wrote, "is feeling terribly anxious lest delay should cause us to be too late and lose our prestige for ever! It worries her night and day." "The Faery," Beaconsfield told Lady Bradford, "writes every day and telegraphs every hour; this is almost literally the case. She raged loudly against the Russians. "And the language," she cried, "the insulting language-used by the Russians against us! It makes the Queen's blood boil!" "Oh," she wrote a little later. "if the Queen were a man, she would like to go and give those Russians, whose word one cannot believe, such a beating! We shall never be friends again till we have it out. This the Queen feels sure of."

The unfortunate Prime Minister, urged on to violence by Victoria on one side, had to deal, on the other, with a Foreign Secretary who was fundamentally opposed to any policy of active interference at all. Between the Queen and Lord Derby he held a harassed course. He gained, indeed, some slight satisfaction in playing off the one against the other-in stimulating Lord Derby with the Queen's missives, and in appeasing the Queen by repudiating Lord Derby's opinions; on one occasion he actually went so far as to compose, at Victoria's request, a letter bitterly attacking his colleague, which Her Majesty forthwith signed, and sent, without_alteration, to the Foreign Secretary. But such devices only gave a temporary relief; and it soon became evident that Victoria's martial ardor was not to be side-tracked by hos

lities against Lord Derby; hostilities gainst Russia were what she wanted, hat she would, what she must, have. or now, casting aside the last relics of oderation, she began to attack her riend with a series of extraordinary hreats. Not once, not twice, but many imes she held over his head the foraidable menace of her imminent abdicaion. "If England," she wrote to Beaonsfield, "is to kiss Russia's feet, she will ot be a party to the humiliation of Engand and would lay down her crown,' nd she added that the Prime Minister night, if he thought fit, repeat her words o the Cabinet. "This delay," she ejacuated, "this uncertainty by which, abroad, ve are losing our prestige and our posiion, while Russia is advancing and will e before Constantinople in no time! Then the Government will be fearfully blamed and the Queen so humiliated that she thinks she would abdicate at once. Be bold!" "She feels," she reiterated, "she cannot, as she before said, remain the Sovereign of a country that is letting itself down to kiss the feet of the great barbarians, the retarders of all liberty and civilization that exists." When the Russians advanced to the outskirts of Constantinople she fired off three letters in a day demanding war; and when she learnt that the Cabinet had only decided to send the Fleet to Gallipoli she declared that "her first impulse" was "to lay down the thorny crown, which she feels little satisfaction in retaining if the position of this country is to remain as it is now." It is easy to imagine the agitating effect of such a correspondence upon Beaconsfield. This was no longer the Faery; it was a genie whom he had rashly called out of her bottle, and who was now intent upon showing her supernal power. More than once, perplexed, dispirited, shattered by illness, he had thoughts of withdrawing altogether from the game. One thing alone, he told Lady Bradford, with a wry smile, prevented him. "If I

could only," he wrote, "face the scene which would occur at headquarters if I resigned, I would do so at once."

He held on, however, to emerge victorious at last. The Queen was pacified; Lord Derby was replaced by Lord Salisbury; and at the Congress of Berlin der alte Jude' carried all before him. He returned to England in triumph, and assured the delighted Victoria that she would very soon be, if she was not already, the "Dictatress of Europe."

But soon there was an unexpected reverse. At the General Election of 1880 the country, mistrustful of the forward. policy of the Conservatives, and carried away by Mr. Gladstone's oratory, returned the Liberals to power. Victoria was horrified, but within a year she was to be yet more nearly hit. The grand romance had come to its conclusion. Lord Beaconsfield, worn out with age and maladies, but moving still, an assiduous. mummy, from dinner-party to dinnerparty, suddenly moved no longer. When she knew that the end was inevitable, she seemed, by a pathetic instinct, to divest herself of her royalty, and to shrink, with hushed gentleness, beside him, a woman and nothing more. "I send some Osborne primroses," she wrote to him with touching simplicity, "and I meant to pay you a little visit this week, but I thought it better you should be quite quiet and not speak. And I beg you will be very good and obey the doctors." She would see him, she said, "when we come back from Osborne, which won't be long." "Everyone is so distressed at your not being well," she added; and she was "Ever yours very aff❜ly, V. R. I." When the royal letter was given him, the strange old comedian, stretched on his bed of death, poised it in his hand, appeared to consider deeply, and then whispered to those about him, "This ought to be read to me by a Privy Councillor."

1"The old Jew" (Disraeli).

3.

History is a word to kindle the imagination. It suggests

-old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago;

the interminable strife among those crude stalwart peoples of the early centuries whom we almost blush to call our ancestors; the chivalry of the Middle Ages; the enthusiasm of the Renaissance; and the social, political, and scientific progress of modern times.

To the student, however, it means more than this colorful pageantry. The recounting of mighty deeds in accordance with the formula of Froissart's Chronicles is not sufficient for the modern historian. He must search for a meaning behind these events; he must delve into the causes upon which hang results, and discern the motives that lie back of actions. He must face the cruelty of that early individualistic period, the ignorance and hidebound dogmatism of medieval times, the lax morality and unsanitary municipal conditions of the years following the Revival of Learning, and the social corruption of our complex life of today.

While engaged upon this task, the historian must also take into account those great frictions that have played such an important rôle in the grouping of circumstances. First of all, there is what is often called the conflict between the sexes. This exists to-day just as surely as it did when Cleopatra wrecked Antony's career and changed the course of empire. Competition between man and woman in the field of business and politics is growing keener year by year, and the influence of woman is of far more practical value than in the palmy days of romance when a knight asked nothing better than to die in the lists wearing his lady's colors.

Strife between rulers and subjects has existed as long as there have been those

to rule and those to be ruled. The Magna Carta that was wrested from King John, the peasant revolt in Germany, the French Revolution, and our own struggle for independence are but a few phases of this great conflict. The causes, results, and implications of this eternal clash bulks large in world his tory.

The growth of industrialism has produced conditions in which a third con flict seems inevitable. At least, no one has yet offered the correct solution to the problem of reconciling Capital and Labor. The one holds to its creed of brain work, risk, and large profits; the other is continually harping upon the drudgery of manual labor, its indispensability to pub lic welfare, and oppression by the moneyed classes. As a result, a permanent program of equable hours, wages, and working principles has never been achieved.

In Autobiography, Exposition may or may not play a large part. If present to any great extent, it is usually directed toward the interpretation of conditions which the writer sees about him. The biographer must employ Exposition not only in treating background, but also in studying the personality of his subject. It is the modern historian, however, who must depend most of all upon Exposition. The critical method often places History more in the realm of Exposition than of Narration, for an intelligent reading public is demanding reasons for events which once were sufficient unto themselves. Now more than ever is it the duty of the historian to comprehend imaginatively the period he is to treat, to strip from his account all that is mere tradition or hearsay, and by illuminating the motives of men, the consciences of nations, and the underlying social, political, geographic, financial, and economic forces to suggest implicitly future policies and modes of thought and action.

THE English, who were drawn up in hree divisions, and seated on the ground, n seeing their enemies advance, rose unlauntedly up, and fell into their ranks. That of the prince' was the first to do o, whose archers were formed in the nanner of a portcullis, or harrow, and the men-at-arms in the rear. The earls of Northampton and Arundel, who comnanded the second division, had posted themselves in good order on his wing, to assist and succor the prince, if necessary.

You must know, that these kings, earls, barons and lords of France, did not advance in any regular order, but one after the other, or any way most pleasing to themselves. As soon as the king of France came in sight of the English his blood began to boil, and he cried out to his marshals, "Order the Genoese forward, and begin the battle, in the name of God and St. Denis." There were about fifteen thousand Genoese cross-bowmen; but they were quite fatigued, having marched on foot that day six leagues, completely armed, and with their crossbows. They told the constable, they were not in a fit condition to do any great things that day in battle. The earl of Alençon hearing this, said, "This is what one gets by employing such scoundrels, who fall off when there is any need for them." During this time a heavy rain fell, accompanied by thunder and a very terrible eclipse of the sun; and before this rain a great flight of crows hovered in the air over all those battalions, making a loud noise. Shortly afterwards

Edward, the Black Prince, then a lad of : fifteen.

1Philip VI.

it cleared up, and the sun shone very. bright; but the Frenchmen had it in their faces, and the English in their backs. When the Genoese were somewhat in order, and approached the English, they set up a loud shout, in order to frighten them; but they remained quite still, and did not seem to attend to it. They then set up a second shout, and advanced a little forward; but the English never moved.

They hooted a third time, advancing with their cross-bows presented, and began to shoot. The English archers then advanced one step forward and shot their arrows with such force and quickness, that it seemed as if it snowed. When the Genoese felt these arrows, which pierced their arms, heads, and through their armor, some of them cut the strings of their cross-bows, others flung them on the ground, and all turned about and retreated quite discomfited. The French had a large body of men-at-arms on horseback, richly dressed, to support the Genoese. The king of France, seeing them thus fall back, cried out, "Kill me those scoundrels; for they stop up our road, without any reason.' You would

then have seen the above-mentioned menat-arms lay about them, killing all they could of these runaways.

The English continued shooting as vigorously and quickly as before; some of their arrows fell among the horsemen, who were sumptuously equipped, and, killing and wounding many, made them caper and fall among the Genoese, so that they were in such confusion they could never rally again. In the English army there were some Cornish and Welshmen on foot, who had armed them

selves with large knives: these advancing through the ranks of the men-at-arms and archers, who made way for them, came upon the French when they were in this danger, and, falling upon earls, barons, knights and squires, slew many, at which the king of England' was afterwards much exasperated. The valiant king of Bohemia was slain there. He was called John of Luxembourg; for he was the son of the gallant king and emperor, Henry of Luxembourg: having heard the order of the battle, he inquired where his son, the lord Charles, was: his attendants answered, that they did not know, but believed he was fighting. The king said to them: "Gentlemen, you are all my people, my friends and brethren at arms this day therefore, as I am blind, I request of you to lead me so far into the engagement that I may strike one stroke with my sword." The knights replied, they would directly lead him forward; and in order that they might not lose him in the crowd, they fastened all the reins of their horses together, and put the king at their head, that he might gratify his wish, and advanced toward the enemy. The lord Charles of Bohemia, who already signed his name as king of Germany, and bore the arms, had come in good order to the engagement; but when he perceived that it was likely to turn out against the French, he departed, and I do not well know what road he took. The king, his father, had rode in among the enemy, and made good use of his sword; for he and his companions had fought most gallantly. They had advanced so far that they were all slain; and on the morrow they were found on the ground, with their horses all tied together.

The earl of Alençon advanced in regular order upon the English, to fight with them; as did the earl of Flanders, in another part. These two lords, with their detachments, coasting, as it were, the archers, came to the prince's battalion, where they fought valiantly for a length of time. The king of France was eager

1Edward III.

to march to the place where he saw their banners displayed, but there was a hedge of archers before him. He had that day made a present of a handsome black horse to sir John of Hainault, who had mounted on it a knight of his, called sir John de Fusselles, that bore his banner: which horse ran off with him, and forced his way through the English army, and, when about to return, stumbled and fell into a ditch and severely wounded him: he would have been dead, if his page had not followed him round the battalions, and found him unable to rise: he had not, however, any other hindrance than from his horse; for the English did not quit the ranks that day to make prisoners. The page alighted, and raised him up, but he did not return the way he came, as he would have found it difficult from the crowd. This battle, which was fought on the Saturday between La Broyes and Crécy, was very murderous and cruel; and many gallant deeds of arms were performed that were never known. Toward evening, many knights and squires of the French had lost their mas ters: they wandered up and down the plain, attacking the English in small parties: they were soon destroyed; for the English had determined that day to give no quarter, or hear of ransom from any one.

Early in the day, some French, Ger mans, and Savoyards, had broken through the archers of the prince's battalion, and had engaged with the men-at-arms; upon which the second battalion came to his aid, and it was time, for otherwise he would have been hard pressed. The first division, seeing the danger they were in, sent a knight in great haste to the king of England, who was posted upon an eminence, near a windmill. On the knight's arrival he said, “Sir, the earl of Warwick, the lord Reginald Cobham, and the others who are about your son, are vigorously attacked by the French; and they entreat that you would come to their assistance with your battalion, for, if their numbers should increase, they fear he will have too much to do." The king replied, "Is my son dead, unhorsed,