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on many occasions; but they were not, and the conse. quence was the pressing the yoke the more tightly, by each unsuccessful effort, about their necks. Henry's visit was unacceptable. He came to fasten the yoke thrown over the natives by his bold adventurers, or rather by the disunion of their adversaries. No nation ever gave so many unmistakeable signs of the impatience with which that yoke was borne. It is, then, quite correct to say that there was a conquest. It is no misnomer, as Mr. Whiteside maintains. To say anything else is but an euphemism, the toning down, softening the harshness with which the word "conquest" grates on the ear. It is not willingly that five-sixths of the population at the present day submit to the laws as administered by English officials, Such was the case in the days of "Cambrensis" or Gerald Barry. With propriety, then, did the same Gerald write a book entitled the "Conquest of Ireland". Henry the Second then was conqueror. He gave the title of kings to the petty princes, because he could not help it, because his conquests extended only over three or four counties; nor, after many changes, now extended, now contracted, did they include a larger territory at the beginning of the sixteenth century.[1] But let us hear the amiable character drawn of this "no conqueror" by Mr. Whiteside. He pretends to take his colours from Gerald Barry, who came over to Ireland as tutor to Prince John:—"Henry the Second, King of England, was of a very good colour, but somewhat red; his head great and round, his eyes fiery, red, and grim, and his face very high-coloured; his voice or speech was tremulous, his neck short, his breast broad and big; strong-armed; his body was gross, and his belly somewhat big, which came to him rather by nature than by any gross feeding or surfeiting, for his diet was very temperate, and, to say the truth, thought to be more spare than comely; and yet, to abate his
- ↑ Liber munerum.
