tried to win you to the true cause you know only too well. But the time has come when we can no longer hold any terms with traitors. This Englishman is only a foreign enemyyou are a renegade, a deserter, a traitor; and your doom is death!" "Heavens, what a fury!" thought Laurence. Then he thrust his friend aside, and broke out into a regular oration addressed to the Amazon. It was a piece of impassioned de- | clamation blended with high forensic argument. Never had Laurence before known how eloquent he was, and how he had mastered all the principles of constitutional, international, and martial law. He was Erskine, Choate, Webster, and Jules Favre all in one. Utterly forgetting his principles and his nationality in the cause of his friend and client, the devoted advocate actually besought the JudgeAmazon not to sully the noble flag she had raised, not to bring dishonour on the great cause she represented, by violating the fundamental principles of honourable warfare. He thought he saw a softening expression on her features-nay, she actually did for a moment cover her mouth with her handkerchief, to hide her emotions no doubt-but she controlled herself and said, with some severity in her toneIn your zeal for your friend, sir, you for get yourself. You forget that we have no cause, no flag, no battle-field, no principlesnay, that there is no Fenianism, and that there are no Fenians!" "The court is against me," thought poor Laurence, sadly; and abandoning the high ground of argument, he was about to move simply in arrest of judgment, when the Fenian Chieftainess cut him short. "Spare your eloquence, sir. We have little time here for the making of speeches. Gerald Barrymore, you have until sunrise to-morrow morning to decide your fate. If then you join our ranks, and pledge your word of honour to serve us faithfully, you shall live. If not, you shall be shot at once as a traitor." "On my word, Gerald," exclaimed Laurence, "I do think you had better join these people. After all, you are an Irishman, you know; and I suppose it is somehow or other your national cause." "The Englishman," said the lady, with a sweet smile, "is an honourable enemy, and teaches a recreant Irishman his duty. Remove the prisoner! Mr. Spalding-that, I think, is your name?-you will do me the honour of dining with me. In my father's absence I am host and commandant." rence; "but my poor friend Barrymore! How can I leave him?" "My invitation, Mr. Spalding, is a command! We dine at seven. She bowed; one of his captors touched him on the arm and led him away. He was conducted to a small room in the castle. He passed armed men everywhere. At seven o'clock an armed escort came for him, and led him into a large dining-hall well set out and lighted. He was placed at the right hand of the hostess, who looked unspeakably lovely in her complete evening toilette. A large number of retainers, a few of whom were the hostess's women attendants, dined at the table. Laurence drank liberally of champagne, and grew into a condition of wonder and ecstasy such as he had not believed it possible this later age could bring to mortal. His hostess was fascinating, bewitching. Nothing could surpass her brilliancy and beauty-not even her condescending, encouraging, almost tender friendliness. Laurence's susceptible soul was melting under her sunny influence. A harper played during the dinner some delicious plain tive Irish airs, and sang Irish words to them. Laurence knew nothing of music, and did not understand a word, but he demanded an encore enthusiastically. The lady talked with him frankly and fervently of Fenianism, its strength and its hopes. She expressed utter amazement at the ignorance that prevailed on the subject in England. "I declare to you," said Laurence, “if I were to go back to-morrow, and tell people in London what I have actually seen here-seen with my own eyes-they would not believe me!" Extraordinary and infatuated people!' said the lady. "You shall return, Mr. Spalding, and endeavour to enlighten England. You shall go to-morrow if you will, if you are anxious to go. I will not detain you." And he thought he heard a faint sigh; and her eyes rested for a moment on his. Alas! by this time the thought of returning was hateful to Laurence's soul. 66 Not to-morrow-oh, not to-morrow!" he pleaded. In fact, you know, in order to do any good in England, I ought to see a little more of the strength of your movement. I had better wait-much better." "To-morrow," said the lady, with another half-sigh, "we hope for a decisive engagement. Should my father drive the enemy from the field, we push forward; should he fail, we defend this castle until each man and woman in it perishes amidst the ruins!" Laurence started. This exquisite creature end was a wicked practical joke to punish Laurence Spalding for his saucy sneer at Irish insurrection and the reality of Fenianism. The armed Fenians were the Barrymore tenantry and servants; the man with the sword who spoke French was a Barrymore cousin, and the Fenian Amazon was, of course, the charming Grace herself! to die, and by the weapons of his countrymen! | more! The whole affair from beginning to He began to think whether it would be utterly disgraceful for an Englishman to adopt the cause of Ireland. After all, did not the Geraldines do this; and who could be finer fellows than the Geraldines? Why, confound it all! what was Silken Thomas, of whom he had heard his friend Barrymore speak in moments of exaltation? And, by-the-way, there was Barrymore, whose awful situation he had al- Only fancy Laurence's feelings as he came most forgotten; of course, if he joined the down to breakfast next morning and met the Fenian ranks, Barrymore would do the same, laughing eyes of his hostess. But he had and his life would be saved! The only dis- taken heart of grace; he had risen to the agreeable thing would be, that perhaps Barry- height of the situation, and he appeared in the more might become too agreeable to the Chief-breakfast-room with the green ribbon adorning tainess! There certainly was a tender tone in his button-hole. her voice that day as she addressed poor Barrymore, even while she was pronouncing his death-sentence. "No, Mr. Spalding," said the lady, grace. fully rising from her seat, and looking at our hero with eyes of soft and melancholy expression. "You are a brave and generous enemy, and I cannot allow you to peril your life for no purpose in our dangers. Return to England-the life of your friend Barrymore shall be spared for your sake-return, and report us and our cause aright to the unsatisfied! You are free-you shall be safely escorted to the English camp. If we triumph, you and I may meet again; if we fail, remember me sometimes as a friend. Leave us, and farewell!" "Never!" exclaimed Laurence, passionately. "I will stay by you-fight for you! I renounce everything for you! I am a Fenian for your sake; I will die for you, but I will not leave you!" She took, without speaking, a green ribbon from her corset, and passed it through his button-hole. At the same time she made a signal to one of her attendants. Laurence pressed the ribbon to his heart, then clasped her hand, bent over it, and touched it with his lips. A peal of laughter rent the air, and Laurence, looking up amazed and angry, saw Gerald Barrymore and several men whom he had met in Dublin standing around, and holding their sides in mirth as they pointed to poor Spalding and his green order of Fenianism. He spent a few delightful weeks with the Barrymores, and was well repaid with hospitality and friendliness for his droll humiliation. And the upshot of the whole affair is that he has turned the tables, that he has made a captive of his fair captor, and that she is to be Mrs. Laurence Spalding; and he vows that all his life through he will be proud of his wearing of the Green! THE FRIARS OF DIJON. BY THOMAS CAMPBELL. When honest men confess'd their sins, Lived jovially and freely. They march'd about from place to place, One friar was Father Boniface, And he ne'er knew disquiet, The other was lean Dominick, Whose slender form, and sallow, Albeit he tippled like a fish, Though not the same potation; Those saints without the shirts arrived, THE CRUSADERS AT ANTIOCH. BY EDWARD GIBBON. was supported by his magnanimous piety; Bohemond by ambition and interest; and Tancred declared, in the true spirit of chivalry, that as long as he was at the head of forty knights he would never relinquish the enterprise of Palestine. But the Count of Toulouse and Provence was suspected of a voluntary indisposition; the Duke of Normandy was recalled from the sea-shore by the censures of the Church; Hugh the Great, though he led the vanguard of the battle, embraced an ambiguous opportunity of returning to France; and Stephen, Count of Chartres, basely deserted the standard which he bore and the council in which he presided. The soldiers were discouraged by the flight of William, Viscount of Melun, surnamed the Carpenter, from the weighty strokes of his axe; and the saints were scandalized by the fall of Peter the Hermit, who, after arming Europe against Asia, attempted to escape from the penance of a necessary fast. Of the multitude of recreant warriors, the names (says an historian) are blotted from the book of life; and the opprobrious epithet of the rope-dancers was applied to the deserters who dropped in the night from the walls of Antioch. The Emperor Alexius, who seemed to advance to the succour of the Latins, was dismayed by the assurance of their hopeless condition. They expected their fate in silent despair; oaths and punishments were tried without effect; and to rouse the soldiers to the defence of the walls it was found necessary to set fire to their quarters. In the eventful period of the siege and defence of Antioch, the Crusaders were alter- | nately exalted by victory or sunk in despair either swelled with plenty or emaciated with hunger. A speculative reasoner might suppose that their faith had a strong and serious influence on their practice, and that the soldiers of the cross-the deliverers of the holy sepulchre -prepared themselves by a sober and virtuous life for the daily contemplation of martyrdom. Experience blows away this charitable illusion; and seldom does the history of profane war display such scenes of intemperance as were exhibited under the walls of Antioch. The grove of Daphne no longer flourished, but the Syrian air was still impregnated with the same vices; the Christians were seduced by every temptation that nature either prompts or reprobates; the authority of the chiefs was despised; and sermons and edicts were alike fruitless against those scandalous disorders, not less pernicious to military discipline than repugnant to evangelic purity. In the first days of the siege and the possession of Antioch the Franks consumed with wanton and thoughtless prodigality the frugal subsistence of weeks and months. The desolate country no longer yielded a supply; and from that country they were at length excluded by the arms of the besieging Turks. Disease, the faithful companion of want, was envenomed by the rains For their salvation and victory they were of the winter, the summer heats, unwholesome indebted to the same fanaticism which had led food, and the close imprisonment of multi- them to the brink of ruin. In such a cause, tudes. The pictures of famine and pestilence and in such an army, visions, prophecies, and are always the same, and always disgustful; miracles were frequent and familiar. In the and our imagination may suggest the nature distress of Antioch they were repeated with of their sufferings and their resources. The unusual energy and success. St. Ambrose remains of treasure or spoil were eagerly lav- had assured a pious ecclesiastic that two years ished in the purchase of the vilest nourish- of trial must precede the season of deliverance ment; and dreadful must have been the cala- and grace; the deserters were stopped by the mities of the poor, since, after paying three presence and reproaches of Christ himself; the marks of silver for a goat, and fifteen for a dead had promised to rise and combat with lean camel, the Count of Flanders was reduced their brethren; the Virgin had obtained the to beg a dinner, and Duke Godfrey to borrow pardon of their sins; and their confidence was a horse. 60,000 horses had been reviewed in relieved by a visible sign-the seasonable and the camp; before the end of the siege they splendid discovery of the HOLY LANCE. The were diminished to 2000, and scarcely 200 fit policy of their chiefs has on this occasion been for service could be mustered on the day of admired, and might surely be excused; but a battle. Weakness of body and terror of mind pious fraud is seldom produced by the cool extinguished the ardent enthusiasm of the conspiracy of many persons, and a voluntary pilgrims, and every motive of honour and impostor might depend on the support of the religion was subdued by the desire of life. wise and the credulity of the people. Of the Among the chiefs three heroes may be found diocese of Marseilles there was a priest of low without fear or reproach: Godfrey of Bouillon | cunning and loose manners, and his name was |