who sowed the red cross on their royal robes, thousands of perfect knights renowned for valor, courtesy, and every martial grace, went forth, to fight the Pagans in the name of God, St. George, and St. Michael the Archangel. A regiment of tender boys, armed with crossbows, took a brave part in the siege of Antioch. From the banks of the Rhine came a troop of Amazons in the attitude and armor of men, following a leader who, from her gilt spurs and buskins, was surnamed the Golden footed Dame. The subordinate hosts were remarkable for the variety of their languages and customs, for their wild enthusiasm which wrung victory even from despair, and for numbers, such as never even in oriental despotisms had been collected into a regular army. Beneath the golden banner of St. Peter were represented all the nations who acknowledged the Roman faith. From the extreme East, Tancred, the great hero of Tasso's epic, led on the armies of Tarentum. From the extreme West, the English yeomanry proudly shouted the war-cry of Richard the Lion-hearted, whose very name was a terror to Syrian mothers for many successive generations. From the intermediate forests of the North crowded hordes of terrible strangers, whom the Arabian chroniclers described as an iron race of gigantic stature, who darted fire from their eyes and spat blood like water upon the ground. Not less romantic were the hopes by which the enthusiasm of the Crusaders was excited. Their armies were the hosts of God's elect. Their great war cry, translated into unnumbered languages, was, "Deus Vult," "Deus Vult." They were marching as the ancient Israelities had marched out to the destruction of God's enemies. They fondly hoped that they too should be guided by signs and wonders; that for them the rock should be rent and the manna fall from Heaven; that again the sun should stand still, to give them time for the destruction of the infidels. To the hopes of Divine interposition, were added those excited by dreams of Oriental fertility and magnificence. For many years the enthusiastic pilgrims had brought back wild stories of a land still flowing with milk and honey, of mountains gleaming with diamonds, of waters teeming with pearls, of sacred groves that wept odorous gums and balms, of mighty palaces and temples built of jasper, lined with cedar and paved with gold. The causes of the Crusades are simple and obvious. Setting aside the influence of curiosity, avarice, and the love of freedom, their great efficient causes were superstition and chivalry. preceding the Crusades was the nadir of the human mind, The century dominion, while it had desolated Europe, had nevertheless conferred upon the conquered nations the blessing of the Roman arts. But the fierce Northern hordes, who for 200 years wrestled with the imperial giant, at last inherited the Roman power without her civilization. They were gradually baptized into the Roman faith. But though they changed the object, they changed not the spirit of their religious worship. The savage tribes, who amid the icebergs of Scandinavia, had sacrificed. human victims to Zanesbrock, Thor and Woden, still thought that the sacrifice most acceptable to God, was the slaughter of heretics and the sack of Pagan cities. The Papal policy assiduously fostered this error. The doctrines of Confession and Penance were the great secret of the Romish supremacy. But in that age of crime, the regular Penances, if faithfully carried out, would have multiplied into centuries of punishment. Bankrupt sinners supplied the deficit by large sums of money, and by vicarious flagellation and mortification. By a fantastic arithmetic, a year of Penance was taxed at 3000 lashes, and such was the skill and patience of a famous monk, St. Dominic of the Iron Cuirass, that in six days he could discharge an entire century by a whipping of 300,000 stripes. At length an indulgence was granted to all who should undertake a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. This easy method of salvation was eagerly accepted by great multitudes of transgressors, who hastened to kneel upon the brow of Calvary and wash away their sins in the waters of the Jordan. Then, at the close of the tenth century, came a wild and terrible superstition, whose influence can be partially realized by us, who have witnessed the effects of the Millerite fanaticism. It was believed that the thousand years spoken of in the Apocalypse were ended. The great dragon should be loosed for a season. The world should be destroyed by fire, and Christ descend to reward his saints upon the mountains of Jerusalem. Finally, when Pope Urban openly declared the first Crusade, Plenary Indulgence was granted to all who should enlist beneath the standard of the Blessed Virgin; and all who perished by the way, or fell in battle with the Saracens, were solemnly invested with the crowns of sainthood and martyrdom. Intimately connected with these causes was the institution of chivalry. The characteristics of the true knight were valor, courtesy, and honor. Above all he was distinguished by a restless spirit of adventure. The feeble light of ancient learning was glimmering only in convents and monasteries. The mariner's compass was not yet invented, and com merce groped doubtfully along the shores of the Mediterranean like the sightless Polyphemus. All the channels in which the energies of man are most successfully directed were closed up. But every gentleman might become a knight. He might summon to his saintly banner, his faithful squire and band of archers, and go forth to win the smiles of beauty and the approbation of the Church, as the champion of Christ on earth. Before the introduction of artillery, personal prowess could often stay the adverse fate of battle, and in the records of the times, we often meet with deeds of heroic strength and valor, which call to mind the fabled achievements of Hercules and Ajax. To such spirits as these the wars of Palestine opened a splendid pathway. Therefore we need not wonder that the Templars, the knights of St. John, and kindred orders were the first to enter, and the last to leave the great battle-field of the Church. Such was the state of society, when Peter the Hermit returned from his pilgrimage to the Holy city. The nations seemed like a vast host of warriors, panting for the signal of battle. Peter boldly grasped the trumpet, and its blast was answered by the voice of Europe. Concerning the early history of Peter the Hermit little can now be definitely known. The few details which we possess sufficiently mark the enthusiasm of his character. He was a native of the province of Picardy in France, and had in his youth been bred to the profession of arms. But he soon renounced the sword for the crucifix, and repudiated a high born wife that he might woo the Church for his passionless bride. He at length withdrew to a hermitage, where he remained until his pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Bodily modification produced its usual effects upon an excitable temperament. He saw visions of unearthly glory. Christ appeared to him in person. A letter from Heaven fell down at his feet. He held frequent converse with the holy Apostles, and the martyrs St. George and St. Maurice. He believed himself divinely commissioned to proclaim the wrongs which the Christian pilgrims received at the hands of the Turks. As soon as he told his burning story he was welcomed as a prophet. Vanity fanned the flame of fanaticism, and now he set about his mission with that fierce energy which is ever the herald of success. What that success was, we all know. Let us, then, for a moment inquire into the nature of that eloquence which brought about such wonderful results. It is as an orator alone that the Hermit won his world-wide fame. In the military capacity without skill, without even upon which he afterwards ventured, he was the common merit of personal courage. In the first passage through 1 Hungary, he and his followers were routed almost without a struggle, and the inspired prophet fled from the field with as much fear and trembling as did the poet Horace upon a similar occasion. In his last appearance at the siege of Antioch he withdrew from the privations of the beleaguered city with a precipitancy which left his sanctity in very poor repute. We will therefore speak of his peculiar character as an orator. The two secrets of his eloquence were, earnestness and adaptation. Whatever he felt he saw, and what he saw he spoke. He was assisted by none of the advantages of learning, of stately figure, or of graceful action. Although his eye was keen and lustrous, his stature was small and his appearance unprepossessing. But when he began his exhortation his whole frame was convulsed, tears streamed from his eyes, his want of art was compensated by sighs and ejaculations, and as he stood with uplifted crucifix, appealing to Heaven to attest the genuineness of his mission, he never failed to infuse into the rude multitudes around him, some portion of the enthusiasm which in his own bosom was flaming like sacrifical fire. Equally conspicuous was the skill with which he adapted his oratory to his audience. He was preaching to men devoid of learning, and unused to thought. Therefore, he entertained them with no long disquisitions on theology and homiletics. He delivered them no hydra-headed sermons dry as the dry bones in the valley of Ezekiel, like those with which the monks were wont to put their audiences asleep. He depicted in simple but vivid language the scenes of persecution of which he had been an eye-witness and a sharer. He detailed the miseries endured by their brethren in the Holy Land-how the plains of Palestine were desolated by the outrageous heathen, who with the sword and firebrand carried wailing in the dwellings and flames into the possessions of the faithfulhow Christian wives and daughters were defiled by Pagan lust-how the altars of the true God were desecrated, and the relics of the saints trodden under foot. As he proceeded, every heart was melted, and when at length the orator concluded with a vehement appeal to rescue the true cross from the hands of the idolaters, the whole multitude shouted with a joyful noise, and stamping the sacred emblem upon their garments or on their naked breasts, they earnestly prayed for the deliverance of Mount Zion, and went forth singing the martial psalm, "Let the Lord arise, and let his enemies be scattered." Such were the chief traits of the prime actor in the great drama of the Crusades. In his general character, Peter was a fanatic if not a monomaniac. As a soldier he was unworthy of the name. As an orator he touched the chords of sympathy and action, with a success equaled only by a few great masters. The glories and disasters of two eventful centuries were the witnesses of the Hermit's eloquence-of the mighty power with which God has endowed human speech-making it the arbiter of nations, and the truest earthly emblem of His own omnipo tence. J. M. H. The Witches' Ride. THOMAS JONES had been out courting. There was no great sin in that, or if there was, he shared it with a great number of his fellow men, as it is well known that there is no habit in which young men so universally indulge. I mention the fact that he had been engaged in this delightful occupation, in order to ward off any suspicions of his sobriety which the latter part of my story might awaken. The night was bitter cold, and Tom hurried on his way home, but as he came in sight of the little red school-house, he perceived that it was brightly illuminated. "Bless me!" said Tom to himself, "what is the matter! It is altogether too late for decent people to be holding a meeting. I guess the old school house must be afire." Thereupon he immediately started upon a run for the building. As he passed the window he glanced in, and the sight he saw there, made his blood run cold and his hair rise with horror. A queerer congregation than was assembled in that old school-house never greeted a mortal's vision. In the chair behind the old desk sat a duskey fiddler, playing on a sheet iron fiddle with metal strings. The bow was of brass, strung with fine copper wire; and, instead of rosin, a huge roll of brimstone lay by his side on the desk. There he sat and played while his foot beat time with an ominous clump, and behind the chair his tail waved gracefully to and fro. Tom needed only this glance to assure him that the fiddler was an individual not mentioned in polite society, playfully denominated Old Nick. The music he played was such as never blessed Tom's ears before. It was wild, strange, weird like, now rising into strains of supernatural |