ON

THE SPANISH ARMADA.

SUCCESSFUL CLARK PRIZE ORATION.

Na bright May morning, three hundred years ago, a magnificent spectacle in the harbor of Lisbon attracted the gaze of Christendom. The Invincible Armada was about to loose from its moorings and begin a voyage of conquest that would turn the course of history into new channels and revolutionize the world. The red cross of the crusade gleamed from the sails of a hundred and thirty ships, whose size and strength astonished the nations. Two thousand cannon of brass and iron, the finest product of Spanish arsenals, were to make these vessels besoms of destruction. Thirty thousand seamen and soldiers, animated by the fiercest religious enthusiasm, were embarking on a holy mission.

What was the object of this mighty expedition? That fair land, coveted by the nations since the days when the legions of Cæsar claimed her, England,-" whose rocky shore beats back the envious rage of Neptune" and all other tyrannies, was the prize which Roman Catholic despotism longed to grasp.

In 1588 England was the only Protestant power in the world. In the preceding thirty years, the re-action against the Reformation had been rapid and decisive. Despairing

Protestantism looked to England in this fearful hour. Rome's pontiff, Sextus V, had been striving to remove the only barrier to complete papal sway. Through Mary, Queen of Scots, through Jesuit missionaries and now, at last, through Philip II, the Catholic bigot of Spain, he had been endeavoring to bring the island kingdom under his control.

And what incentives Philip had for this mission of conquest! If he could bring England under popish rule, the faithful, through all succeeding ages, would adore him scarcely less than Hildebrand and St. Peter. A conquest of England would be a long stride towards annexing to the Spanish domain all the goodly places of the earth, and of establishing a globe-encircling empire. Mary Stuart had been beheaded, and, therefore, upon Philip's arrival in England, English Catholics would certainly flock to his standard and English Protestants would fall an easy prey to Philip II, Universal Emperor.

Such was the plot. What would be the outcome? Pope and king anxiously awaited the result. Castilian chivalry, which had given its noblest youth to the crusade, besought heaven for favoring winds. The brave Netherlands, struggling for civil and religious liberty, besought heaven for destruction to Spanish power. The exiled Huguenots, recalling vividly the horrors of St. Bartholomew's day, looked eagerly on. The most unconcerned spectator of this great drama was the Queen of England, who hopped and skipped and wrangled over her money-bags as if the Spanish fleet were a dream.

But what of the English people? A new life had stirred within them. The Renaissance had made the Englishman realize that he was only a little lower than the angels. A period of grand self-assertion and development had begun. Was this glad, awakened, reformed England to be plunged back into the degradation of the dark ages? Was her beloved faith to be renounced for the vicious dogmas of Romanism?

The Armada was slowly but surely approaching. On the afternoon of July 30th the lookout men on the cliffs of Devon, straining eager eyes into the distance, saw within

the offing's hazy veils a dim crescent line coming up over the rim of the sea, always coming nearer, ever growing clearer, until at last the whole immense armament, stretched, an awful reality, before them. Then the beacons flashed the news through England's shires, that the dreaded foe was at hand.

The foe was at hand and so were the mariners of England. Safely sheltered in the harbor of Plymouth, the little fleet of forty sail under Lord Howard was ready for action. Sir Francis Drake, who had more than once singed King Philip's beard, was there with his western privateers; Sir John Hawkins, the famous buccaneer, was there with his strong, swift sailing vessels, built after new and original models. Above all there were the English seamen, ill paid and half starved, but loving their country, and hating the Spaniard with all the intensity of their stout, warm hearts.

During the following week of conflict in the channel, the Spaniard learned with bitter dismay that his ponderous galleons were no match for the light, easily managed English vessels, nor were the sluggish forces of southern luxuriousness able to cope with the rapid, persistent work of northern energy. Above the roar and din of battle the finely-hearing ear could distinguish the clashing of world-important principles. Here was the struggle between Romish absolutism and modern liberty, between the servile life of the past and the fresh, progressive spirit of the Renaissance, between ecclesiastical corruption and free religion.

The winds of heaven came to aid the cause of freedom. The Spanish ships dipping so heavily to leeward, their guns were directed harmlessly above the English vessels, while their own huge hulks were exposed to the English fire.

"And where," thought the Spanish admiral, "are the English Catholics, and when are their forces to join mine?" He could not know that, to them, country was more than creed, that

"Papists met with English laughter,
The Popish bans and messages malign,
And Papist halls; from rush to rafter,

Echoed with Queen's men first and Pope's men after."

Protestant and Catholic nobles and squires came hurrying forth in every available fishing smack and pinnace, bringing such inspiration to the half-starved English crews that every common seaman became an individual hero. What mattered it to the sailors if their drink was sour and their bread musty or even if the miserable supply should fail? A united England was depending upon them for aid and "come the three corners of the world in arms" they would defend her.

But now a crisis was approaching. Lord Howard could not suffer the enemy to lie idly at anchor in Calais harbor. Provisions and ammunition were fast failing. Act he must and act quickly. The Spanish fleet must be dispersed, for a southern wind might any hour drive it across the narrow strait. About midnight on August seventh the Spanish watchmen saw floating down upon them with the tide eight dark, mysterious objects. Suddenly they shot up into pyramids of flame. "The fire of Antwerp! The fire of Antwerp !” rang through the Spanish fleet, telling that the fire-ships were approaching. In a moment all was panic and consternation on the Armada. "Cut your cables and fly for the open sea" was the signal from the commander's ship. The galleons fled, the ever baffling wind driving them along the Flemish coast. Morning light showed the English their opportunity and nobly did they seize it. They attacked the Spaniards with a ferocity against which stout timbers and naval skill could not stand. The holds, where the troops were packed, became slaughter-pens. Blood flowed from their scuppers. One by one their guns were silenced, and, driven like shuddering herds of hunted kine, the Pope's anointed band fled for the terrible, unknown northern seas.

And now, a force mightier than English patriotism took up the work of destruction. Starvation and thirst made havoc among the Spanish crews. Storms smote the fleet with a fury against which stout timbers and naval skill could avail nothing. The crews that cleared the coast of Scotland and hoped to find succor among their co-religionists in Ireland reached that island only to perish on the rocks or be murdered for plunder. Toward the last of September there came straggling back to an angry king and a mourning

nation, a miserable remnant of that which could now, only in terrible irony, be called the Invincible Armada.

"The kings of the earth set themselves and the rulers take counsel together against the Lord and against His anointed, but He that sitteth in the heavens shall laugh, the Lord shall have them in derision."

Oh! what rapturous outbursts of thanksgiving surged throughout England when she found that the awful danger was past, that the power was stricken down which had "Presumed to lay its hand upon the ark,

Of her magnificent and awful cause."

This collision with Spain developed in England a deep Protestant enthusiasm. The Pope had proved himself to be her foe and, henceforth, there was to be no Protestant party and no Catholic party but they all were to be Englishmen. No nation was ever so completely welded together. The new consciousness of unified national life raised the people to the highest pitch of national enthusiasm. This joyous transport entered poetry and gave us Shakspere; it entered philosophy and we received the Novum Organum; it entered exploration and colonization and the Virginias were the result; it entered religion and behold "the isles of the sca, the uttermost parts of the earth, join in proclaiming that the Lord God of Hosts, He is God and there is none like Him." FREDERICK PERKINS, '89.

JUNIOR DISCUSSION.

RESOLVED, THAT THE PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE GIVES PROMISE OF STABILITY.

AFFIRMATIVE.

THE present year marks the one hundredth anniversary of the struggle for liberty in France. From a century of strange vicissitudes she comes forth to-day with renewed vigor, enriched by the fertility of her soil, the industry, skill and thrift of her inhabitants, and with a form of government settled, to all appearances, on a firm and durable basis.