are to our eyes of a decided, measurable size;
so being in greater body, we at most could
only see their edges scintillate; and this we
can do sometimes through a telescope, but
scarcely with the naked eye.

In rainbows, light is both refracted and
reflected. You can only see a rainbow when
the sun is low, your own position being between
the rainbow and the sun. The rays of
light refracted by the shower into their
prismatic colours, are then reflected by the
shower back into your eye; and so, from the
principles we started with, it will be clear that
while a thousand people may see under the
same circumstances a rainbow of the same
intensity, no two people see precisely the
same object, but each man enjoys a rainbow
to himself.

Of halos, and of lunar rainbows, of double
suns, of the mirage, or any other extraordinary
things developed by the play of light
and air together, we did not intend to speak.
Our discussion was confined to such an
explanation of some every-day sights as may
lend aid to contemplation sometimes of an
autumn evening, when

· · · · · · · · · · · "the soft hour
Of walking comes: for him who lonely loves
To seek the distant hills, and there converse
With Nature."

Do you not think the man impenetrably
deaf who, professing to converse with Nature,
cannot hear the tale which Nature is for ever
telling?

       A CHILD'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.

                      CHAPTER IX.

HENRY PLANTAGENET, when he was but
twenty-one years old, quietly succeeded to the
throne of England, according to his agreement
made with the late King, at Winchester. Six
weeks after Stephen's death, he and his
Queen, Eleanor, were crowned in that city;
into which they rode on horseback in great
state, side by side, amidst much shouting
and rejoicing, and clashing of music, and
strewing of flowers.

The reign of King Henry the Second began
well. The King had great possessions, and
(what with his own rights, and what with
those of his wife) was lord of one third part
of France. He was a young man of vigor,
ability, and resolution, and immediately applied
himself to remove some of the evils
which had arisen in the last unhappy reign.
He revoked all the grants of land that had
been hastily made, on either side, during the
late struggles; he obliged numbers of disorderly
soldiers to depart from England; he
reclaimed all the castles belonging to the
Crown; and he forced the wicked nobles to
pull down their own castles, to the number
of eleven hundred, in which such dismal
cruelties had been inflicted on the people.

The King's brother, GEOFFREY, rose against
him in France, while he was so well employed,
and rendered it necessary for him to repair to
that country; where, after he had subdued
and made a friendly arrangement with his
brother (who did not live long), his ambition
to increase his possessions involved him in a
war with the French King, Louis, with whom
he had been on such friendly terms just
before, that to the French King's infant
daughter, then a baby in the cradle, he had
promised one of his little sons in marriage,
who was a child of five years old. However,
the war came to nothing at last, and the Pope
made the two Kings friends again.

Now, the clergy, in the troubles of the last
reign, had gone on very badly indeed. There
were all kinds of criminals among them—
murderers, thieves, and vagabonds—and the
worst of the matter was, that the good priests
would not give up the bad ones to justice,
when they committed crimes, but persisted in
sheltering and defending them. The King,
well knowing that there could be no peace or
rest in England while such things lasted,
resolved to reduce the power of the clergy;
and, when he had reigned seven years, found
(as he considered) a good opportunity for
doing so, in the death of the Archbishop of
Canterbury. " I will have for the new Archbishop,"
thought the King, " a friend in whom
I can trust, who will help me to humble these
rebellious priests, and to have them dealt
with, when they do wrong, as other men who
do wrong are dealt with." So, he resolved to
make his favorite the new Archbishop; and
this favorite was so extraordinary a man, and
his story is so curious, that I must tell you
all about him.

Once upon a time, a worthy merchant of
London, named GILBERT À BECKET, made a
pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and was taken
prisoner by a Saracen lord. This lord, who
treated him kindly and not like a slave, had
one fair daughter, who fell in love with the
merchant, and who told him that she wanted
to become a Christian, and was willing to
marry him if they could fly to a Christian
country. The merchant returned her love,
until he found an opportunity to escape, when
he did not trouble himself at all about the
Saracen lady, but escaped with his servant
Richard, who had been taken prisoner along
with him, and arrived in England and forgot
her. The Saracen lady, who was more loving
than the merchant, left her father's house
in disguise to follow him, and made her
way, under many hardships, to the seashore.
The merchant had taught her only
two English words (for I suppose he must
have learnt the Saracen tongue himself, and
made love in that language), of which LONDON
was one, and his own name, GILBERT,
the other. She went among the ships, saying,
"London! London!" over and over again,
until the sailors understood that she wanted
to find an English vessel that would carry her
there; so, they showed her such a ship, and