hem swift to his heart: he bethinks him that probably
this feeble, fearless, hoary Figure has in it something of the
Most High God; that probably he shall be damned if he meddle
with it,--that, on the whole, he had better not. He plunges, the
rough savage, from his warhorse, down to his knees; embraces the
feet of old Anselm: he too begs his blessing; orders men to
escort him, guard him from being robbed, and under dread
penalties see him safe on his way. _Per os Dei,_ as his Majesty
was wont to ejaculate!

Neither is this quarrel of Rufus and Anselm, of Henry and Becket,
uninstructive to us. It was, at bottom, a great quarrel. For,
admitting that Anselm was full of divine blessing, he by no means
included in him all forms of divine blessing:--there were far
other forms withal, which he little dreamed of; and William
Redbeard was unconsciously the representative and spokesman of
these. In truth, could your divine Anselm, your divine Pope
Gregory have had their way, the results had been very notable.
Our Western World had all become a European Thibet, with one
Grand Lama sitting at Rome; our one honourable business that of
singing mass, all day and all night. Which would not in the
least have suited us! The Supreme Powers willed it not so.

It was as if King Redbeard unconsciously, addressing Anselm,
Becket and the others, had said: "Right Reverend, your Theory of
the Universe is indisputable by man or devil. To the core of our
heart we feel that this divine thing, which you call Mother
Church, does fill the whole world hitherto known, and is and
shall be all our salvation and all our desire. And yet--and yet
--Behold, though it is an unspoken secret, the world is _wider_
than any of us think, Right Reverend! Behold, there are yet
other immeasurable Sacrednesses in this that you call Heathenism,
Secularity! On the whole I, in an obscure but most rooted
manner, feel that I cannot comply with you. Western Thibet and
perpetual mass-chanting,--No. I am, so to speak, in the family-
way; with child, of I know not what,--certainly of something far
different from this! I have--_Per os Dei,_ I have Manchester
Cotton-trades, Bromwicham Iron-trades, American Commonwealths,
Indian Empires, Steam Mechanisms and Shakspeare Dramas, in my
belly; and cannot do it, Right Reverend!"--So accordingly it was
decided: and Saxon Becket spilt his life in Canterbury Cathedral,
as Scottish Wallace did on Tower-Hill, and