proceeded to Canterbury with all that haste their bloody intentions required. Advancing directly to Becket's house, and entering his apartment, they reproached him very severely for the rashness and insolence of his conduct; as if they had been willing to enjoy his terrors before they destroyed him. Becket, however, was not in the least terrified; but vindicated his actions with that zeal and resolution, which nothing, probably, short of his consciousness of innocence could inspire. The conspirators felt the force of his replies; and were particularly enraged at a charge of ingratitude, which he objected to three of them, who had been formerly retained in his service.

During this altercation, the time approached for Becket to assist at Vespers, whither he went unguarded, the conspirators following, and preparing for their attempt. As soon as he had reached the altar, where it is just to think he aspired at the glory of martyrdom, they all fell upon him; and having cloven his head with repeated blows, he dropt down dead before the altar of St. Benedict, which was besmeared with his blood and brains.

CHAP. XXVII.

Of the Impression which Becket's Assassination made on the People.

THE circumstances of Becket's murder, the place where it was perpetrated, and the fortitude

with which the prelate resigned himself to his fate, made a most surprizing impression on the people. No sooner was his death known, than the people rushed into the church to see the body; and dipping their hands in his blood, croosed themselves with it, as with that of a saint.

The clergy, whose interest it was to have Becket considered as a saint, and perhaps who were sincere in their belief considering the times we treat of, did all that lay in their power to magnify his sanctity, to extol the merits of his martyrdom, and to hold him out as the fittest object for the veneration of the people. Their endeavors soon prevailed. Innumerable were the miracles said to be wrought at his tomb. It was not sufficient that his shrine had the power of restoring dead men to life; it restored also cows, dogs and horses. It was reported, and believed, that he rose from his coffin before he was buried, to light the tapers designed for his funeral; nor was he remiss when the funeral ceremony was over, in stretching forth his hands to give his benedic. tion to the people. Thus Becket became a saint; and the king was strongly suspected of having procured his assassination.

Nothing could exceed the king's consterna. tion upon receiving the first news of this prelate's catastrophe. He was instantly sensible that the murder would ultimately be imputed to him. He was apprized that his death would effect what his opposition could not do; and would procure those advantages to the church, which it had been the study of his whole reign to refuse. These considerations gave him the

most unfeigned concern. He shut himself up in darkness, refusing even the attendance of his domestics. He even refused, during three days, all nourishment. The courtiers dreading the effects of his regret, were obliged to break into his solitude; and induced him at last to be reconciled to a measure that he could not redress. The pope soon after being made sensible of the king's innocence, granted him his pardon; but upon condition that he would make every future submission, and perform every injunction that the holy see should require. All things being thus adjusted, the assassins who had murdered Becket, retired in safety to the enjoyment of their former dignities and honors; and the king, in order to diver the minds of the people to a dif. ferent object, undertook an expedition against Ireland, which he conquered and took possession of, A, D. 1172.

CHAP. XXVIII.

King John resigns his Crown into the Hands of the Pope's Nuncio, A. D. 1213.

JOHN had, several contests with the Pope, who excommunicated him, and absolved the people of England from their oath of allegiance. At last he informed him that he was resolved to deprive him of his kingdom, and to give it to Philip king of France. Accordingly, Philip levied a great army, and summoned all the vas

sals of the crown to attend him at Rouen, he collected a fleet of seventeen hundred vessels in the sea ports of Normandy and Picardy, already devouring in imagination the kingdom he was appointed to possess.

John, who, unsettled and apprehensive, scarce. ly knew where to turn, was still able to make an expiring effort to receive the enemy. All hated as he was, on account of his bad conduct, the natural enmity between the French and the English, the name of king which he still retained, and some remaining power, put him at the head of sixty thousand men, a sufficient number, indeed, but not to be relied on, and with these he advanced to Dover.

Europe now regarded the important preparations on both sides with impatience; and the decisive blow was expected in which the church was to triumph, or to be overthrown. But neither Philip nor John had ability equal to the pontiff by whom they were actuated. He appeared, on this occasion, too refined a politician for either. He only intended to make use of Philip's power to intimidate his refractory son, not to destroy him. He expected more advantage from his agreement with a prince, so abject both of character and fortune, than from his alliance with a great and victorious monarch; who, having nothing else left to conquer, might convert his power against his benefactor. He, therefore, secretly commissioned Pandulph, his legate, to admit of John's submission, in case it should be offered, and he dictated the terms which would be proper for him to impose. In

consequence of this, the legate passed through France, where he beheld Philip's great armament ready to set sail, and highly commended the monarch's zeal and expedition. From thence he went in person; or, as some say, sent over an envoy, to Dover, under pretence of negociating with the barons, and had a conference with John upon his arrival. He there represented to this forlorn prince, the number of his enemies, the hatred of his own subjects, and the secret confederacy there was in England against him. He intimated that there was but one way to secure him from impending danger; which was to put himself under the pope's protection, who was a merciful father, and still willing to receive a repentant sinner to his bosom.

John was too much intimidated by the manifest danger of his situation, not to embrace every means offered for his safety. He assented to the truth of the legate's remonstrances, and took an oath to perform whatever stipulations the pope should impose. Having thus sworn to the performance of an unknown command, the artful Italian so well managed the barons, and so effectually intimidated the king, that he persuaded him to take the most extraordinary oath in all the records of history, before all the people, upon his knees, and with his hands held up between those of the legate.

"I John, by the grace of God, king of England, and lord of Ireland, in order to expiate my sins, from my own free will, and the advice of my barons, give to the church of Rome, to Pope Innocent, and his successors, the kingdom of

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