century from the time of Ethelbert's conversion, England, from north to south, had become Christian.

But the times of warfare and persecution were not over. At the close of the eighth century, the victories of the mighty Emperor of the West, Charlemagne, had pressed hard upon the Germanic races, and driven them back into their northern sea-coast boundaries; from whence they poured forth over the waters of the German Ocean to carry havoc and ruin to every neighbouring country. Landward and sea-ward they struck their terrible blows: but they were essentially maritime, the ship of the Viking, or pirate, was alike his tower of defence and his home. The sea was his chosen element. Of course the countries which lay nearest to his own coast were the earliest and oftenest assailed by him. The Saxon invaders of England became, in their turn the objects of fierce and terrible attacks: the Northmen ravaged Britain with fire and sword, committing every manner of cruel and horrible atrocity.

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If the history of the Danish invasions presents but one continual scene of carnage and flame, of monk and abbot slain on their own altars, of blazing Church and ruined homestead, left a heap of ashes slaked with blood,”—that of the Anglo-Saxon kings of the times preceding the reign of Alfred the Great is little else than a record of struggles for supremacy among the half-barbarous chieftains who divided the rule of the Heptarchy. It is perhaps scarcely correct to speak of the seven kingdoms of the Anglo-Saxons; for at one time, certainly, there were eight, each under its own ruler; while, at another, some two or three became united under one conqueror.

It was reserved for Egbert, the grandfather of Alfred, to unite that rule, at least nominally, in his own person. Egbert was the son of Alchmand, King of Kent; but it was not without fighting for it that he won the inheritance of his father's kingdom. By the conquest of Mexcia, and the submission of Kent and the neighbouring parts, he became master of all the country south of the Humber. He then led his soldiers to the conquest of Deira and Bermicia, or, as we now call them, Yorkshire and Northumberland.

The inhabitants of those regions, terrified at the superior strength of Egbert's army, submitted. Wales, too, was subdued: and he became, about A.D. 827, Bretwalda, or Lord of Britain.

It is not strictly true to say that this title implied, in Egbert's case, the real consolidation of the Anglo-Saxon power; for, in fact, each state continued to maintain its own legislature: there was no actual concentration under the Bretwalda's rule of the strength and resources of the common nation.

All outward circumstances tended to impress upon the Saxons the necessity, as well as the duty, of considerimg themselves as one

*This word ought not to be pronounced Vi-king, but Vick-ing, or Veek-ing; it is derived either from the Icelandic Vick (Danish, Vig,) a Bay of the sea, or from Vig, battle, slaughter.-Worsaae's "Danes and Norwegians."

united people, they had community of origin, they had one Faith, one Baptism, one language; they certainly ought to have regarded one another as brothers. They refused to do so, and were taught a stern lesson.

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Egbert," says the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, "reigned thirty-seven years and seven months, and Ethelwoolf the son of Egbert succeeded to the throne of the West Saxons; and he gave his son Athelstane the kingdom of the Kentish men, and of the East Saxons, and of the men of Surrey, and of the South Saxons." This partition was in accordance with the custom of the Saxon kings, who were wont to divide their dominions among their sons: so that it was by no means a thing of course that the eldest succeeded to his father's undivided throne, as a matter of right.

"This year" (855), continues the Chronicle, "the heathen men (meaning the Danes) remained over winter in Sheppy (in Kent); and the same year King Ethelwulf went to Rome in great state, and he dwelt there twelve months, and then returned home." Ethelwulf rebuilt the English School at Rome which had been founded by Ina, King of Wessex, at the beginning of the eighth century. Ethelwulf also gave a tenth part of his own lands to the support of the Church in his kingdom. This gift has been sometimes supposed to have been the beginning of tithes in England; but this is erroneous, as tithes were paid long before.* The Saxon Chronicle continues: "Then Ethelwulf's two sons succeeded to the kingdom of the West Saxons; and Ethelbert to the kingdom of the Kentish men and to the kingdom of the East Saxons, and to the kingdom of the South Saxons; and then Ethelbald reigned five years." In 860 Ethelbald died, and Ethelbert succeeded to the realm of his brother, and he held it in goodly concord and in great tranquility." So Ethelbert, whose reign lasted but six years, succeeded Ethelred. His was a stormy and troubled reign. It is impossible to imagine a country reduced to a state of greater wretchedness than was England in the middle of the ninth century. Our chronicles of that period contain but one melancholy, continuous record of the incursions of the Danes.

The glimpses which we obtain, amidst the uncertainty of antiquity, of the early history of the Northmen, are nearly as perplexing as would be the attempt to depict the grim shapes of old Norway's vast cliffs through the darkness and indistinctness of the winter mist and tempest. Here and there, as the winds lift for a moment the heavy shroud of fog and gloom, there appears, dimly seen, some gigantic mass, whose outline we can but faintly realize before it is again hidden from us, and we discern nothing but the blinding storm. So, a name, a story, altering its aspect with the varying tales of old sagas, and the records of old traditions, comes out from the nearly total darkness of the early history of the Ancient North.

It is not till we come down to the fourth or fifth century that

* History of the Early English Church. By Churton.

these misty legends assume anything like a definite shape or reliable locality.

The character of a people must necessarily be influenced, in great measure, by the natural formation of the land in which they dwell. The following description of the physical features of Nordland, from the pen of a native writer, may serve to convince us that the race who dwelt there in the far times of pagan barbarism must have been of more than ordinary strength, ferocity, and hardihood. "For many months of the year, the inhabitants of Nordland are deprived of the light of the sun; the spirit of the north pole rules sternly over this region; the sea breaks on these coasts, against palisades of rocks, round which the polar birds swarm with loud cries and hootings. Storms alternate with thick fogs. The cliffs along the shore assume strange forms: now they rise into towers, now are they like animals, and now they represent the profiles of gigantic men. It is no marvel that the superstition of the people should see in these monsters and giants transformed into stone. Along the coast, among the rocks, and upon the hundred islands which lie along the shore, live a race who skim over the sea, rivalling the sea-gulls. Day and night, summer and winter, their boats swarm upon the waves; through the raging storm, over the foaming breakers, they glide fearlessly with their light sails. Many of these adventurous seamen are every year engulped in the waves: yet still the greater number contend with the elements, and conquer. In this constant struggle, great power is developed, many heroic deeds are performed. The people are hardened against all fear of danger or death; but they are hardened, too, to all thesofter charms of existence."

By the time that Ethelred had succeeded his brethren in their Anglo-Saxon dominions, the incursions of the Danes had become more frequent, more disastrous. Tradition gives us various versions of the cause to which the invasion of the year 866 was ascribed. There lived, it is said, in Denmark, a certain Jarl or sea-king, whose name was Regner Lodbroe. He was a fierce, adventurous pirate, who, with his sons, Hingwar, Hubba, and Halfdane, had become the pride of his own race, and the terror of all the adjacent peoples. He one day, it is said, embarked in a small boat, hawk on hand, for the purpose of catching sea-fowl. A storm came on; his boat was carried hither and thither by the waves, and at last wrecked on the coast of East Anglia. He was received with kindness by Edmund, King of the East Angles, in whose favour he quickly rose high, from his great skill in hunting and hawking. These sylvan accomplishments so aroused the jealousy of the King's chief huntsman, that he laid a plot to destroy Lodbroe. This design he put into effect: he waylaid Regner in a wild forest, where he overpowered and slew him. He buried the murdered man deep beneath the old trees of

*Miss Bremer.

KK

the wood, and persuaded himself that the foul deed was never likely to be brought to light.

The unfortunate Dane had been attended by his hounds on the day when he so fatally encountered the huntsman: all but one forsook their slain master, and followed the murderer home. But this one faithful dog laid him down upon the Jarl's grave, and kept a lonely, unheeded watch over his body. The next day King Edmund missed his favourite Lodbroe: the huntsman said he had parted from him in the forest.

Suddenly, while the King was speaking, Lodbroe's hound ran into the hall, and leapt upon the King. Food was given to him; but he soon disappeared. This was often repeated; but still he was never accompanied by his master. At length curiosity was aroused, mingled, perhaps, with some suspicion; the dog was followed: he led the way to the grave of the murdered Lodbroe. The tale was told to king Edmund; the truth was found out; the wicked huntsman was put into a boat without oars, and left to perish amid the raging waves of the German sea. But they bore him to the coast of Denmark, where he was thrown ashore, and brought before the sons of Regner, who with torture questioned him respecting the fate of their father. The murderer added lies and slander to his other sins, and told them that Regner had fallen into the hands of the King of East Anglia, who had caused him to be stung to death by vipers.

His

How far this legendary tale throws light upon the cause of the Danish invasion of 866, it is difficult to pronounce. But about the defeat and martyrdom of Edmund of East Anglia there seems no room for doubt. He was cruelly slain by the heathen chiefs, Hingwar and Hubba, to avenge the murder of their father ascribed to him by his treacherous huntsman. Refusing to renounce the Christian faith, Edmund was bound to a tree, and shot with arrows. body was buried at a place called "Bedrie's Dwelling," now known as St. Edmundsbury. According to another traditionary story, Lodbroe, ambitious to outdo all former Vikings, and regardless of the remonstrances of his wiser wife, Aslauga, had caused vessels to be built, greater in bulk than any that had before adventured upon the rough waters of the Northern Ocean. He did not reflect that his sailors were wholly inexperienced in the management of such unwieldy craft. His fleet was wrecked upon the northern coast of England, and he cast ashore with only a few followers. With these men he rashly commenced plundering the inhabitants. But Ella, King of that part of the country, marched against and overcame him; and to Ella, according to this version of the story, is to be ascribed the horrible act of throwing Regner Lodbroe into the vipers' cave. To the fact of this invasion, whatever might be the immediate cause of it, the Chronicle before quoted bears witness. "This year, (867) the army (of the Danes) went from East Anglia over the mouth of the Humber to York. This year (868) the same army went into

Mercia, and took up their winter quarters. And Burhred, king of the Mercians, and his witan begged of Ethelred, king of the West Saxons, and of Alfred his brother, that they would help them, that they might fight against the army. This year (870) the army rode across Mercia into East Anglia, and the same winter King Edmund fought against them, and the Danes got the victory, and slew the King, and subdued all the land, and destroyed all the minsters which they came to."

It was in this same disastrous year of 870, that the destruction of Bardsey Abbey, in Lincolnshire, by these terrible Northmen, took place every monk belonging to it was slain. The brave Algar, Earl, or Ealderman of Hoyland, strove to save his country from the ravages of these invaders. For this purpose he called together the young men of his land, with others who came from the Monastery of Croyland or Crowland. Three hundred more joined them from other parts; and also a large number headed by the Sheriff of Lincolnshire. On the 22nd of September they attacked and defeated the Danes. Three of the kings of the Northmen fell in this battle, and were buried in a place afterwards called “ Trekynghame"-—the Three Kings' Home. This victory inspirited the English for a while; but the foe being strengthened by a large reinforcement under the chief, Guthrum, the Danes then far exceeded the English troops in number. A panic spread through the ranks of the Anglo-Saxons : many fled in dismay. Some nobler spirits, however, still were left among them, resolved to spend their last strength for their freedom and their faith. In the early morning, Divine Service and the Holy Communion were celebrated: then the Saxons went forth to do battle with the heathen enemy. Notwithstanding the comparative smallness of their numbers, they were enabled to keep their ground during the whole day; but their own imprudence finally ruined them. The Northmen feigned flight: in spite of the commands of their leaders, the English rushed in headlong haste in pursuit. The Danes, seeing that their stratagem had succeeded, suddenly turned, the Saxons were overpowered at once, the slaughter was terrible. The commanders of the English, seeing that their army was being cut down, withdrew with very few men to a rising ground in the neighbourhood; where they fell, fighting desperately. Some young men, the sole survivors of the Anglo-Saxon army, made their escape to the Monastery of Croyland, bearing with them the lamentable tidings of the total defeat of the Christian host.

Great was the consternation among the Brethren of Croyland. They came to the singular resolution of sending away from the Abbey all the younger monks; retaining within its walls only those whose age and helplessness, it was hoped, might move even the heathen to pity. In haste and trembling these poor old men endeavoured to conceal the sacred treasures of their House. Ten chalices, and a precious silver table, a king's gift, were thrown into the well which supplied the Abbey with water. But from the great