During all this time Alfred was passing from his eighth to his twelfth year.  He was a very intelligent and observing boy, and had acquired much knowledge of the world and a great deal of general information in the journeys which he had taken with his father, both about England and also on the Continent, in France and Italy.  Judith had taken a great interest in his progress.  She talked with him, she encouraged his inquiries, she explained to him what he did not understand, and endeavored in every way to develop and strengthen his mental powers.  Alfred was a favorite, and, as such, was always very much indulged; but there was a certain conscientiousness and gentleness of spirit which marked his character even in these early years, and seemed to defend him from the injurious influences which indulgence and extreme attention and care often produce.  Alfred was considerate, quiet, and reflective; he improved the privileges which he enjoyed, and did not abuse the kindness and the favors which every one by whom he was known lavished upon him.

Alfred was very fond of the Anglo-Saxon poetry which abounded in those days.  The poems were legends, ballads, and tales, which described the exploits of heroes, and the adventures of pilgrims and wanderers of all kinds.  These poems were to Alfred what Homer’s poems were to Alexander.  He loved to listen to them, to hear them recited, and to commit them to memory.  In committing them to memory, he was obliged to depend upon hearing the poems repeated by others, for he himself could not read.

And yet he was now twelve years old.  It may surprise the reader, perhaps, to be thus told, after all that has been said of the attention paid to Alfred’s education, and of the progress which he had made, that he could not even read.  But reading, far from being then considered, as it is now, an essential attainment for all, and one which we are sure of finding possessed by all who have received any instruction whatever, was regarded in those days a sort of technical art, learned only by those who were to make some professional use of the acquisition.  Monks and clerks could always read, but generals, gentlemen, and kings very seldom.  And as they could not read, neither could they write.  They made a rude cross at the end of the writings which they wished to authenticate instead of signing their names—­a mode which remains to the present day, though it has descended to the very lowest and humblest classes of society.

In fact, even the upper classes of society could not generally learn to read in those days, for there were no books.  Every thing recorded was in manuscripts, the characters being written with great labor and care, usually on parchment, the captions and leading letters being often splendidly illuminated and adorned by gilded miniatures of heads, or figures, or landscapes, which enveloped or surrounded them.  Judith had such a manuscript of some Saxon poems.  She had learned the language while in France.  One day