an only describe as an inexcusable insult,
to say what I have said." It was not difficult to show that Freeman's
four articles in The Contemporary Review contained worse blunders
than any he had attributed to Froude, as, for instance, the
allegation that Henry VIII., who founded bishoprics and organised the
defence of the country, squandered away all that men before his time
had agreed to respect. Easy also was it to disprove the charge of
"hatred towards the English Church at all times and under all
characters" by the mere mention of Cranmer, Latimer, Ridley, and
Hooper. The statement that Froude had been a "fanatical votary" of
the mediaeval Church was almost delicious in the extravagance of its
absurdity; and it would have been impossible better to retort the
wild charges of misrepresentation, in which it is hard to suppose
that even Freeman himself believed, than by the simple words, "It is
true that I substitute a story in English for a story in Latin, a
short story for a long one, and a story in a popular form for a story
in a scholastic one." In short, Froude wrote a style which every
scholar loves, and every pedant hates. With a light touch, but a
touch which had a sting, Froude disposed of the nonsense which made
him translate praedictae rationes "shortened rations" instead of "the
foregoing accounts," and in a graver tone he reminded the public that
his offer to test the accuracy of his extracts from unprinted
authorities had been refused. Graver still, and not without
indignation, is his reference to Freeman's suggestion that he thought
the Cathedral Church of St. Albans had been destroyed. Most people,
when they finished Froude's temperate but crushing refutation, must
have felt the opportunity for it should ever surprised that have
arisen.

Froude had done his work at last, and done it thoroughly. Freeman's
plight was not to be envied. If his offence had been rank, his
punishment had been tremendous. Even The Spectator, which had
hitherto upheld him through thick and thin, admonished him that he
had passed the bounds of decency and infringed the rules of
behaviour. Dreading a repetition of the penalty if he repeated the
offence, fearing that silence would imply acquiescence in charges of
persistent calumny, he blurted out a kind of awkward half-apology. He
confessed, in The Contemporary Review for May, 1879, that he had
criticised in The Saturday all the volumes of Froude's Elizabeth.
This self-constitute