ed at the court of Charles the Bold. Once again in his home, young
Alfred applied himself to his education. He became a marvel of courage
at the chase, proficient in the use of arms, excelled in athletic
sports, was zealous in his religious duties, and athirst for knowledge.
His accomplishments were many; and when the guests assembled in the
great hall to make the walls ring with their laughter over cups of mead
and ale, he could take his turn with the harpers and minstrels to
improvise one of those sturdy bold ballads that stir the blood to-day
with their stately rhythms and noble themes.

Ethelwulf died in 858, and eight years later only two sons, Ethelred and
Alfred, were left to cope with the Danish invaders. They won victory
after victory, upon which the old chroniclers love to dwell, pausing to
describe wild frays among the chalk-hills and dense forests, which
afforded convenient places to hide men and to bury spoils.

Ethelred died in 871, and the throne descended to Alfred. His kingdom
was in a terrible condition, for Wessex, Kent, Mercia, Sussex, and
Surrey lay at the mercy of the marauding enemy. "The land," says an old
writer, "was as the Garden of Eden before them, and behind them a
desolate wilderness." London was in ruins; the Danish standard, with its
black Raven, fluttered everywhere; and the forests were filled with
outposts and spies of the "pagan army." There was nothing for the King
to do but gather his men and dash into the fray to "let the hard steel
ring upon the high helmet." Time after time the Danes are overthrown,
but, like the heads of the fabled Hydra, they grow and flourish after
each attack. They have one advantage: they know how to command the sea,
and numerous as the waves that their vessels ride so proudly and well,
the invaders arrive and quickly land to plunder and slay.

Alfred, although but twenty-five, sees the need for a navy, and in 875
gathers a small fleet to meet the ships of the enemy, wins one prize,
and puts the rest to flight. The chroniclers now relate that he fell
into disaster and became a fugitive in Selwood Forest, while Guthrum and
his host were left free to ravage. From this period date the legends of
the King's visit in disguise to the hut of the neat-herd, and his
burning the bread he was set to watch; his penetrating into the camp of
the Danes and entertaining Guthrum by his minstrelsy while discovering
his plans and force; the vision of St. Cuthbert; and the fa