Of Wallace himself, of his life or temper, we know little or nothing; the very traditions of his gigantic stature and enormous strength are dim and unhistorical.  But the instinct of the Scotch people has guided it aright in choosing him for its national hero.  He was the first to assert freedom as a national birthright, and amidst the despair of nobles and priests to call the people itself to arms.  At the head of an army drawn principally from the coast districts north of the Tay, which were inhabited by a population of the same blood as that of the Lowlands, Wallace in September 1297 encamped near Stirling, the pass between the north and the south, and awaited the English advance.  It was here that he was found by the English army.  The offers of John of Warenne were scornfully rejected:  “We have come,” said the Scottish leader, “not to make peace, but to free our country.”  The position of Wallace behind a loop of Forth was in fact chosen with consummate skill.  The one bridge which crossed the river was only broad enough to admit two horsemen abreast; and though the English army had been passing from daybreak but half its force was across at noon when Wallace closed on it and cut it after a short combat to pieces in sight of its comrades.  The retreat of the Earl of Surrey over the border left Wallace head of the country he had freed, and for a few months he acted as “Guardian of the Realm” in Balliol’s name, and headed a wild foray into Northumberland in which the barbarous cruelties of his men left a bitter hatred behind them which was to wreak its vengeance in the later bloodshed of the war.  His reduction of Stirling Castle at last called Edward to the field.  In the spring of 1298 the king’s diplomacy had at last wrung a truce for two years from Philip the Fair; and he at once returned to England to face the troubles in Scotland.  Marching northward with a larger host than had ever followed his banner, he was enabled by treachery to surprise Wallace as he fell back to avoid an engagement, and to force him on the twenty-second of July to battle near Falkirk.  The Scotch force consisted almost wholly of foot, and Wallace drew up his spearmen in four great hollow circles or squares, the outer ranks kneeling and the whole supported by bowmen within, while a small force of horse were drawn up as a reserve in the rear.  It was the formation of Waterloo, the first appearance in our history since the day of Senlac of “that unconquerable British infantry” before which chivalry was destined to go down.  For a moment it had all Waterloo’s success.  “I have brought you to the ring, hop (dance) if you can,” are words of rough humour that reveal the very soul of the patriot leader, and the serried ranks answered well to his appeal.  The Bishop of Durham who led the English van shrank wisely from the look of the squares.  “Back to your mass, Bishop,” shouted the reckless knights behind him, but the body of horse dashed itself vainly on the wall of spears.  Terror spread through