CONQUEST OF IRELAND: UNCOMFORTABLE EFFECTS FOLLOWING THE CULTIVATION OF AN ACQUISITORIAL PROPENSITY.

In 1173 occurred the conquest of Ireland, anciently called Hibernia. These people were similar to the Britons, but of their history prior to the year 400 A.D. little is known. Before Christ a race of men inhabited Ireland, however, who had their own literature, and who were advanced in the arts. This was before the introduction of the “early mass” whiskers, and prior to the days when the Orangemen had sent forth their defiant peal.

In the fifth century Ireland was converted by St. Patrick, and she became known as the Island of Saints and Scholars. To say that she has become the island of pugilists and policemen to-day would be unjust, and to say that she has more influence in America than in Ireland would be unkind. Surely her modern history is most pathetic.

For three centuries the island was harassed by the Danes and Northmen; but when the Marquis of Queensberry rules were adopted, the latter threw up the sponge. The finish fight occurred at Clontarf, near Dublin.

Henry had written permission from the Pope to conquer Ireland years and years before he cared to do it. Sometimes it rained, and at other times he did not feel like it, so that his permission got almost worn out by carrying it about with him.

In 1172, however, an Irish chief, or subordinate king, had trouble with his kingdom, doubtless because some rival monarch stepped in it and tracked it around over the other kingdoms, and so he called upon the Anglo-Normans under Strongbow (Richard de Clare), whose deClaration of Independence was the first thing of the kind known to civilization, for help. While assisting the Irish chief, Strongbow noticed a royal wink on the features of Henry, and acting upon it proceeded to gather in the other precincts of Ireland. Thus, in 1172, the island was placed under the rule of a viceroy sent there by England.

Henry now had trouble with three of his sons, Henry, Richard, and Geoffrey, who threatened that if the old gentleman did not divide up his kingdom among them they would go to Paris and go into the roue business. Henry himself was greatly talked about, and his name coupled with that of fair Rosamond Clifford, a rival of Queen Eleanor. The king refused to grant the request of his sons, and bade them go ahead with their roue enterprises so long as they did not enter into competition with him.

So they went to Paris, where their cuttings-up were not noticed. The queen took their side, as also did Louis of France and William, King of Scotland. With the Becket difficulty still keeping him awake of nights also, the king was in constant hot water, and for a time it seemed that he would have to seek other employment; but his masterly hit in making a barefooted pilgrimage to the tomb of Becket, thus securing absolution from the Archbishop of Canterbury, turned the tide.

William of Scotland was made a prisoner in 1174, and the confederacy against the king broken up. Thus, in 1175, the castle at Edinburgh came into the hands of the English, and roast beef was substituted for oats. Irish and Scotch whiskey were now introduced into the national policy, and bits of bright English humor, with foot-notes for the use of the Scots, were shipped to Edinburgh.

Henry had more trouble with his sons, however, and they embittered his life as the sons of a too-frolicsome father are apt to do. Henry Jr. died repentant; but Geoffrey perished in his sins in a tournament, although generally the tournament was supposed to be conducive to longevity. Richard was constitutionally a rebel, and at last compelled the old gentleman to yield to a humiliating treaty with the French in 1189. Finding in the list of the opposing forces the name of John, his young favorite son, the poor old battered monarch, in 1189, selected an unoccupied grave and took possession of same.

He cursed his sons and died miserably, deserted by his followers, who took such clothing as fitted them best, and would have pawned the throne had it not been out of style and unavailable for that purpose, beside being secured to the castle. His official life was creditable to a high degree, but his private life seemed to call loudly for a good, competent disinfectant.

Richard Kyur duh lé ong, as the French have it, or Richard I. of the lion heart, reigned in his father’s stead from 1189 to 1199. His reign opened with a disagreeable massacre. The Jews, who had brought him some presents to wear at his inaugural ball, were insulted by the populace, who believed that the king favored a massacre, and so many were put to death.

Richard and Philip of France organized a successful crusade against people who were not deemed orthodox, and succeeded in bagging a good many in Syria, where the woods were full of infidels.

Richard, however, was so overbearing that Philip could not get along with him, and they dissolved partnership; but Richard captured Ascalon after this. His army was too much reduced, however, to capture Jerusalem.

Saladin, the opposing sultan, was a great admirer of Richard, and when the lion-hearted king was ill, sent him fruits and even ice, so the historian says. Where the Saracens got their ice at that time we can only surmise.

Peace was established, and the pilgrims who desired to enter the holy city were unmolested. This matter was settled in 1192.

On his return Richard was compelled to go incog. through Germany, as the authorities were opposed to him. He was discovered and confined till a large ransom was paid.

Philip and John, the king’s brother, decided that Richard’s extremity was their opportunity, and so concluded to divide up his kingdom between them. At this dramatic moment Richard, having paid his sixty thousand pounds ransom and tipped his custodian, entered the English arena, and the jig was up. John was obliged to ask pardon, and Richard generously gave it, with the exclamation, “Oh, that I could forget his injuries as soon as he will my forgiveness!”

Richard never secured a peace with Philip, but died, in 1199, from the effects of a wound received in France, and when but forty-two years of age. The longevity among monarchs of the present day is indeed gratifying when one reads of the brief lives of these old reigners, for it surely demonstrates that royalty, when not carried to excess, is rather conducive to health than otherwise.

Richard died from the effects of an arrow wound, and all his foes in this engagement were hanged, except the young warrior who had given him his death wound. Doubtless this was done to encourage good marksmanship.

England got no benefit from Richard’s great daring and expensive picnics in Palestine; but of course he advertised Great Britain, and frightened foreign powers considerably. The taxation necessary to maintain an army in the Holy Land, where board was high, kept England poor; but every one was proud of Richard, because he feared not the face of clay.

John, the disagreeable brother, succeeded Richard, and reigned seventeen years, though his nephew, Arthur, the son of Geoffrey, was the rightful heir. Philip, who kept himself in pocket-money by starting one-horse rebellions against England, joined with Arthur long enough to effect a treaty, in 1200, which kept him in groceries several years, when he again brought Prince Arthur forward; but this was disastrous, for the young prince was captured and cruelly assassinated by request of his affectionate uncle, King John.

To be a relative of the king in those good old days was generally fatal. Let us rejoice that times have so greatly improved, and that the wicked monarch has learned to seat himself gingerly upon his bomb-infested throne.