arrived, and it was noised abroad how small was the force he had brought with him, the hearts of all his English partisans sunk; and those who were doubtful held back from a cause which seemed so feebly supported. The fate of Henry trembled in the balance; and had he not displayed at that moment a degree of firmness and decision which was sometimes wanting in after years, his cause most likely would have sunk never to rise again. Very few of the nobles of England joined him; and those who did so, were those only who had ever shown themselves the stedfast friends of his family, and who had nothing further to fear from the enmity of Stephen. Others, it would seem, who had given him the most positive promises of support, now failed to join his standard; and Henry found that the force with which he was to take the field was quite out of proportion with the magnitude of the occasion.

He did not suffer his courage to sink in the least, however, nor his confident demeanour to be changed. He called his friends to council; he spoke to them words of comfort and assurance; he held out to them the prospect of a speedy augmentation of their numbers, and he only demanded of them with what great action he had better commence the campaign. Such conduct renewed hope and expectation. It was determined to besiege Malmesbury, as the first step to relieving Wallingford, and thither Henry marched at once, receiving but small reinforcements by the way. He was never

theless successful; the town was speedily reduced, and the castle, with the exception of one tower, fell into his hands. This sudden and brilliant success, together with his unexpected appearance in England, when Stephen thought he had provided a sufficient diversion to keep him in Normandy, roused the King into activity, while it gave fresh hopes to the partisans of Henry.

Collecting an army in haste, Stephen marched to attack his adversary at Malmesbury; but Henry was strongly posted between the walls of the town and the river Avon, and remained in his camp till Stephen prepared to cross the river, and risk a battle. The elements, however, fought against the unfortunate usurper. As he approached to the attack, a violent storm of hail and snow dashed directly in the faces of his troops, while a cold and cutting wind benumbed the powers of men who were not accustomed to fight at that season of the year. À retreat was consequently inevitable; and discomfited and disheartened, Stephen left Henry to pursue his course, and retired to London.

Now, for the first time, a great accession of strength was gained by the Duke of Normandy. The Earl of Leicester, who had long been wavering, joined him; Warwick castle was given up to him, and thirty other places almost immediately fell into his hands. But Wallingford castle was already reduced to a terrible state of famine, by the forts which Stephen had built round it; no time.

was to be lost; and notwithstanding the inclemency of the weather, Henry marched to its relief, passed in arms through the midst of the enemy's forts, threw provisions into Wallingford, and then proceeded to lay siege to the principal castle which Stephen had built in the neighbourhood.

In the meanwhile, the King once more took the field; and accompanied by his son Eustace, by William of Ipres, and a large body of Brabançois, by the Earl of Arundel, and by many others of the English nobility, and outnumbering the army of Henry, notwithstanding all the accessions it had received, he marched towards Wallingford, with the firm determination of giving battle to his enemy. Henry, on his part, no sooner heard of the King's advance, than he determined to meet him in the field. Though he knew his own force to be inferior to that of Stephen, he judged well, that a display of valour and enterprise is never lost upon brave men. In order to open the passage across the river, he attacked and took by storm the fort which Stephen had built to command the bridge, and then marched out of his camp to meet his adversary, leaving, as if to mark his confidence in his own powers, a considerable body of his army to carry on the siege of Craumers.

The battle, which seemed inevitable, did not however take place. The Earl of Arundel, it would appear, had already opened a secret communication with the Bishop of Winchester, and with many

other nobles and prelates, regarding some means of terminating the civil contest which had so long desolated the land. The Earl himself was perhaps influenced by patriotic motives; but there is every reason to suppose that the Bishop of Winchester, and the persons with whom he was concerned, had no other views than those of so balancing the two contending parties in the kingdom, as to retain the real power in the hands of the Clergy, and to place the greater share in those of Henry of Winchester himself.

In the present instance, however, the Bishop did not appear in the transaction at all; but while Stephen was concerting the plan of the approaching battle with his son and the leaders of the mercenaries, the Earl of Arundel called the principal English noblemen in the camp together, and addressed them, we are told, with great eloquence. The exact words used by the Earl cannot of course be given; but Lord Lyttleton, from a comparison of various authorities, has composed a speech, which we may regard as substantially, though not actually, Arundel's address to the Barons of Stephen's army; and offering so masterly a picture of the evils of the times, that I cannot forbear giving a part, notwithstanding the length of the quotation.

"It is now about sixteen years," said the Earl, "that on a doubtful and disputed claim to the crown, the rage of civil war has almost continually infested this kingdom. During this melancholy period, how

much blood has been shed! What devastations and misery have been brought on the people! The laws have lost their force-the crown its authority; licentiousness and impurity have shaken all the foundations of public security. This great and noble nation has been delivered a prey to the basest of foreigners, the abominable scum of Flanders, Brabant, and Bretagne, robbers rather than soldiers, restrained by no laws, divine or human; tied to no country, subject to no prince, instruments of all tyranny, violence, and oppression. At the same time, our cruel neighbours, the Welsh and the Scotch, calling themselves allies or auxiliaries to the Empress, but in reality enemies and destroyers of England, have broken their bounds, ravaged our borders, and taken from us whole provinces, which we never can hope to recover: while, instead of employing our united force against them, we continue thus madly, without any care of our public safety or national honour, to turn our swords against our own bosoms. What benefit have we gained to compensate all these losses, or what do we expect? When Matilda was mistress of the kingdom, though her power was not yet confirmed, in what manner did she govern? Did she not make even those of her own faction and court regret the king? was not her pride more intolerable still than his levity? her rapine than his profuseness? Were any years of his reign so grievous to the people, so offensive to the nobles, as the first days of hers?