have feigned on other occasions, he probably spoke with sincerity: "Necessity obliges me, in the lowly state to which I am reduced, to revisit my afflicted Church. I go, Sir, with your permission, perhaps to perish for its security, unless you protect me. But whether I live or die, yours I am, and yours I shall ever be, in the Lord. Whatever may befall me, may the blessing of God fall upon you and your children!"

Henry promised to meet him at the sea-coast, to supply him there with the stipulated pecuniary aid, and to accompany him to England; but failed in all these promises, and Becket was obliged to borrow 300l. for the payment of his debts and expenses, from the Archbishop of Rouen, and to embark under the superintendence of John of Oxford, with whom he had had a personal feud, and who was set over him as a spy.

Finding the king still so hostile, he determined to make the most vigorous use of the weapons now in his own power, and to maintain his independence and ascendency to the last extremity. The Pope, before he heard of the peace of Fereitville, had issued letters of excommunication against the Archbishop of York and the Bishops of London and Salisbury for officiating at the coronation of the King's son, contrary to the papal bull. Becket having received these letters, at first, for the sake of peace, had wisely resolved to suppress them; but in a fit of irritation he now dispatched them to England, before himself, by a trusty messenger, who had instructions to elude the search for bulls from Rome, now strictly made at all the outports, and who succeeded in publishing them at Canterbury, so as to give effect to them according to the canon law. The three excommunicated prelates inveighed against the Archbishop's implacable hatred of his opponents and unquenchable thirst for agitation; they denounced him to the young King as a person who was coming to tear the crown from his head; and they hastened to Normandy to inflame the resentment and to invoke the vengeance of Henry.

Becket being informed that it would be dangerous for him to land at Dover, where the castle was garrisoned by the King's troops, directed his ship to Sandwich, then a port belonging to his see, where he was sure of a good reception from his tenants. After he had disembarked he experienced some rudeness from the sheriff of Kent, who hastened to the spot with a band of soldiers, and without venturing to offer any violence to him, told him that he was entering the land with fire and sword, that he had excommunicated the Archbishop of York and two other prelates for merely doing their duty, and that unless he

took better counsel it would be safer for him to remain in foreign parts. The Archbishop boldly asserted his right to punish the prelates for disobedience to their canonical superiors, and, denying all treasonable intentions, expressed his resolu tion to defend the liberties of the Church.

His march to Canterbury was a triumphal procession. There, to honour his return, banquets of unexampled splendour were prepared; the cathedral was hung with silks and precious vestments, and as he walked up to take possession of his throne, the notes of the organ were drowned by the sound of trumpets, the ringing of bells, and the shouts of the multitude, thrown into all the raptures of religious enthusiasm. Encouraged by this expression of public feeling, he made a progress to London, intimating that, under his archiepiscopal and legatine powers, he there meant to begin his visitations on those ecclesiastics whose conduct had been uncanonical in his absence. The dignitaries of the church who had taken part against him, now, under great apprehensions, expostulated with him for disturbing the public tranquillity. He answered, "that the peace of sinners was no peace; that the Pope had sent a mandate ordering evil peace to be broken; that Jerusalem in her wealth and selfindulgence might think she was at peace, but that the Divine vengeance was hovering over her." He was every where greeted with the loudest acclamations of the multitude, who believed that he had been persecuted, and among whom a notion very generally prevailed that he had quarrelled with the King in standing up for the Saxon race. As he approached Southwark the metropolis was emptied of its inhabitants—the clergy, the laity, men and women of all ranks and ages pouring forth to meet him, and celebrating with hymns of joy his triumphant entrance.

He was very desirous of seeing Prince Henry, over whom, as his pupil, he hoped to exercise great influence; but the King's ministers, who carried on the government in the Prince's name, became alarmed, and sent a peremptory order to the Archbishop immediately to return to Canterbury, and not to march through any towns or castles on his way back. He obeyed-travelling privately in company with a few knights, to protect him from insult. When he arrived at Canterbury, meeting with many indignities from those connected with the government, he had a presentiment of his fate; he told his clergy that the quarrel could not now end without effusion of blood, and he wrote to the Pope that the sword of death hung over

him, but that he was ready to perish in the cause which, however unworthy, he had been called by Providence to support.

On Christmas day, celebrating high mass himself, and preaching to the people, he took occasion to say that one of their Archbishops had been a martyr, and that it was possible they might have another, but he should never flinch from his duty; and he concluded the service of this sacred anniversary with pronouncing the excommunication of the three prelates, with all the energy and fierceness which could be engendered by religious fanaticism and personal resentment.

On the fourth day afterwards, about two in the afternoon, enA.D. 1170, tered abruptly the Archbishop's apartment the four Dec. 29. knights whose names have become so famous in the martyrdom of St. Thomas-Reginald Fitzurse, William Tracy, Hugh de Morville, and Richard Brito. They had been present at the court of Henry in Normandy when, on the arrival of the three excommunicated prelates and their account of Becket's insolent proceedings in England, the King had exclaimed—“ Of the cowards who eat my bread, is there not one who will free me from this turbulent priest?"-Construing this expression into a royal licence, or recommendation, or command, they bound themselves by oath to return to England and avenge their Sovereign. To avoid suspicion they travelled by separate routes; and they met at Saltwood, near Canterbury, the residence of Robert de Broc, a baron included in the excommunication, to arrange their operations. Henry was not aware of their departure, and sent other messengers to arrest Becket. The four knights, however, having collected a large military force from the neighbouring castles, entered the city of Canterbury, and ordered the mayor to arm the citizens and have them ready for the King's service. He hesitated, suspecting their design, when he was commanded, as he valued his own safety, to keep all quiet within the walls, whatever might happen.

They were unarmed when they appeared before the Archbishop, and seating themselves without saluting him, they first tried to gain his submission by intimidations, and in the King's name ordered him forthwith to absolve the excommunicated prelates. With the greatest calmness and intrepidity he replied, that the Pope alone could decide the case of the Archbishop of York; but that he himself would absolve the others, on condition that they previously took the accustomed oath of submitting to the determination of the Church. 'From whom had you

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your archbishopric?" demanded Reginald. "Its temporals from the King," said Becket, "its spirituals from God and the Pope." The barons murmured, and gnashed their teeth. Becket, still undaunted, said to them,-"In vain you menace me. If all the swords in England were brandishing over my head, your terrors could not move me. Foot to foot, you would find me fighting the battle of the Lord." It so happened that three of them had been in his service when he was Chancellor, and had sworn allegiance to him. Alluding to this eircumstance, he added, in a tone of tenderness, "Knowing what has passed between you and me, I wonder that you should threaten me in my own house." "We will do more than threaten,” cried Reginald, fiercely, and with his accomplices left the apartment. They then rushed through the hall to the fore-court, where was stationed the band that had accompanied them, and called "To arms!" Reginald having put on his mail, seized an axe, and began to batter the gate which had been shut against them.

The Archbishop's attendants were in an agony of alarm; but he, neither in look, tone, nor gesture, betrayed the slightest symptom of apprehension. In this moment of suspense, the voices of the monks singing vespers in the adjoining choir were heard, and it being suggested that the church offered the best chance of safety, Becket agreed to join the worshippers there, thinking that, at all events, if he were murdered before the altar, his death would be more glorious, and his memory would be held in greater veneration by after ages. He then ordered the cross of Canterbury to be carried before him, and slowly followed his friends through the cloister. He entered the church by the north transept, and hearing the gates barred behind him, he ordered them to be re-opened, saying, that the temple of God was not to be fortified like a castle. ascending the steps of the choir when the four knights, with twelve companions, all in complete armour, burst into the church, their leader calling out, "Hither, to me, ye servants of the King!"

He was

As it was now dusk the Archbishop might have retreated and concealed himself, for a time at least, among the crypts and secret passages of the building, with which he was well acquainted; but, undismayed, he turned to meet the assassins, followed by his cross-bearer, the only one of his attendants who had not fled. A voice was heard-"Where is the traitor?" Silence for a moment prevailed; but when Fitzurse demanded

"Where is the Archbishop?" he replied, "Here I am; the Archbishop, but no traitor! Reginald, I have granted thee many favours. What is thy object now? If you seek my life, let that suffice; and I command you, in the name of God, not to touch one of my people."

Being again told that he must instantly absolve the prelates, he answered, "Till they make satisfaction I will not absolve them." "Then die," said Tracy. The blow aimed at his head only slightly wounded him, as it was warded off by the faithful cross-bearer, whose arm was broken by its force. The Archbishop, feeling the blood trickle down his face, joined his hands and bowed his head, saying, “In the name of Christ, and for the defence of his Church, I am ready to die." To mitigate the sacrilege, they wished to remove him from the church before they dispatched him; but he declared he should there meet his fate, and retaining the same posture, desired them to execute their intentions or their orders, and, uttering his last words, he said, "I humbly commend my spirit to God, who gave it." He had hardly finished this prayer when a second stroke quickly threw him on his knees, and a third laid him prostrate on the floor, at the foot of the altar. There he received many blows from each of the conspirators, and his brains were strewed upon the pavement.

Thus perished, in the fifty-third year of his age, the man who, of all English Chancellors since the foundation of the monarchy, was of the loftiest ambition, of the greatest firmness of purpose, and the most capable of making every sacrifice to a sense of duty or for the acquisition of renown.

To the general historian it belongs to narrate the escape of the conspirators and their subsequent destiny,-the indignation and horror of the whole Christian world when the deed was made public,-the remorse of Henry, and the humiliations to which he submitted by way of penance and atonement,-together with the permanent consequences of this memorable controversy upon religion and the state. I must content myself with a short notice of subsequent occurrences connected personally with Becket, and an attempt at a fair estimation of his character.

The government tried to justify or palliate the murder. The Archbishop of York likened Thomas à Becket to Pharaoh, who died by the Divine vengeance, as a punishment for his hardness of heart; and a proclamation was issued, forbidding any one to speak of Thomas of Canterbury as a martyr: but the