factor in a nation's growth. The site of the capital is decided by its natural advantages; but the use made of the site, the ideas which it is made to express—these are a permanent element in the national life, which somehow responds to the demands made upon it by an outward symbol of its dignity and greatness.
If this be so, I think we must recognise the Abbey and Palace of Westminster as the group of buildings which, with their surroundings, are the most expressive monument of England's life in the past, and of its aspirations in the present. They rank, and will rank for ever, with the Acropolis of Athens or the Capitol of Rome: not, it may be, so distinctive, not so clearly cut—for that is not England's characteristic—but equally expressive. It is natural for us to commemorate the man who first gave this site its definite form, and impressed upon it the character which it has ever since retained. He certainly has an imperishable claim upon our remembrance, like all men who devised great things, even though they could not know the greatness which the future had in store. That posterity should have followed in their steps is at least a sign of their foresight and of their just judgment.
We are, I think, further justified in separating men's permanent achievements from all else they did or were, and in interpreting their lives by reference to these, and not to what they might have done. I cannot hold up Edward as a great figure in our national history. He was not fitted for the times in which his lot was cast; he had neither the strong will nor the strong arm needful for a ruler. If he be measured by
