2. But not only was this so within any one nation or tribe, but there was a sense of comradeship and mutual responsibility among those of various tribes and nations. When Beowulf the Geat hears in Gautland of the raids of Grendel upon Hart, he commands his folk to make ready a boat that he may fare across the sea to the help of Hrothgar, because 'he was lacking in warriors.' Beowulf's whole mission in Hart was the discharge of a solemn obligation of help from the strong to the weak. He announces to Hrothgar that he is come 'to cleanse Hart of ill,' and this he feels he must do. 'Woe is me if I preach not the gospel!' cried St. Paul. 'Woe is me if I help not the weak and cleanse not the demon-infested palace of my kinsman!' cried Beowulf. 'Weird goes as he willeth'; that is, Fate must be submitted to. And Fate hath willed that he should help the weak and 'cleanse the ill.' 3. Then there is the tremendous sense of loyalty on the part of the folk to their king or chieftain. The idea of the 'Comitatus' bound the folk to their leaders. Nothing more disgraceful could be conceived than the desertion of the leader. Terrible were the reproaches hurled at the trembling cowards who had hurried away into the woods, to save their own skins, whilst their King Beowulf wrestled with the dragon, the enemy of the people. 'Yea, death is better for any earl than a life of reproach.' Loyalty, a passionate loyalty to the King, was the greatest of virtues, and disloyalty and cowardice the greatest of vices. Society was an organic whole, bound together by the bands of loyalty and devotion to the common good. 4. There is, too, the fatalistic note heard all through the poem. Beowulf feels himself hard pressed by Fate. The Anglo-Saxon called Fate by the name 'Weird,' which has survived in modern English in the sense of something strange and mysterious. Weird was the God, or Goddess of Fate. Again and again in the poem we hear the solemn, minor, dirge-like refrain, 'Weird hath willed it'; 'Goeth Weird as she willeth' (chapter VI. p. 44). There is this perpetual overshadowing and almost crushing sense of some inscrutable and irresistible power that wieldeth all things and disposeth all things, which is, I believe, a pre-eminent characteristic of the Anglo-Saxon race, and accounts for the dare-devil courage of her sons upon the battle-field or on the high seas. We find it, too, in its morally less attractive form in the recrudescent pessimism of modern literature. Thomas Hardy is the lineal descendant in literature of the author of Beowulf when he says: 'Thus the President of the Immortals had finished his sport with poor Tess.' [2]