{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_21454/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_21454","id":"gutenberg_21454","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/21454","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Adventure","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Science-Fiction & Fantasy","Christian saints"],"text":"Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England\n\n\n\n\nThe Seven Champions of Christendom, by W H G Kingston.\n\n________________________________________________________________________\n\nA most unusual book, especially from this author, erudite though he is.\n\nThe seven champions are the Patron Saints of England, Scotland, Ireland,\nWales, France, Italy and Spain.  These rove about Europe and beyond,\nslaying Enchanters, Dragons, and other nuisances, accompanied by their\nSquires, who, although they put on weight and become obese, help as best\nthey can, and carry their masters' trophies for them.\n\nThat they all knew one another and were living at the same time is a\nnovel idea, but it all adds to quite a good story, however whimsical.\n\nIt is alleged that the book is no more than an edited transcription of a\nbook written at the end of the fifteen hundreds.  It may well be, but it\nstands quite well on its own for what it is--an amusement for the\nchildren: that, and no more.\n\n________________________________________________________________________\n\nTHE SEVEN CHAMPIONS OF CHRISTENDOM, BY W H G KINGSTON.\n\nThe following pages should not go forth into the world without due\nacknowledgment being made to that worthy old Dominie, Richard Johnson,\nto whose erudite but somewhat unreadable work the author is so largely\nindebted.  As he flourished at the end of the sixteenth century, and the\ncommencement of the seventeenth, great allowances should be made for his\nstyle, which is certainly not suited to the taste of this generation.\nIt is to be hoped that the present version, while much of his vivid\nimagery is retained, may be free from his more glaring errors.  And,\nthus quoting the Dominie's dedication:--\n\n\"To all courteous readers The Author wisheth encrease of vertuous\nknowledge.\n\n\"Gentle readers, in kindness accept my labours, and be not like the\nchattering cranes, nor Momus' mates, that carp at everything.  What the\nsimple say I care not; what the spightful speak I pass not; only the\ncensure of the conceited I stand unto; that is the mark I aym at; whose\ngood likings if I obtain, I have won my race; if not, I faint in the\nfirst attempt, and so lose the quiet of my happy goal.\n\n\"Yours in kindness and command,--\n\n\"R.J.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER ONE.\n\nTHE BIRTH OF SAINT GEORGE.\n\nWho has not heard of the Seven Champions of Christendom--of the\nwonderful adventures they went through--of the dangers they encountered,\nand the heroic deeds they performed?  Should any persons exist ignorant\nof the history of those noble knights, let them with attentive ears now\nlisten to my veracious chronicle.\n\nGallant and dauntless as were all those seven heroes, yet not one\nequalled in valour \"Saint George of Merrie England.\"  Many countries\nhave in consequence claimed him as their own especial Champion.\nPortugal, Germany, Greece, and Russia, for what is known to the\ncontrary, would be glad to have him; but we have proof undoubted that to\nEngland he alone belongs, even if we did not see him, on many a golden\nguinea, engaged in his desperate encounter with the most terribly\nterrific and greenest of green dragons.  Not only are his orders worn by\nnobles, but by British monarchs themselves, while, in memory of his\nheroic deeds, they lead forth their armies under his banner.  However,\nmany long years have passed away since he astonished the world by his\nprowess.  Of royal birth was his mother, the daughter of one of\nEngland's early kings; a Duke and High Steward of the realm was his\nfather.  Of the name of the king history is most mysteriously silent, or\nof the extent of his dominions; but there can be no doubt that the\nancient city of Coventry was situated within them, and that, if not the\nprincipal, it was one of the principal cities of the realm, and,\nmoreover, that a prison existed there on the silent system.  Thus, when\npeople are unfit to be spoken to, it is said, by a figure of speech,\nthat they are sent to Coventry.\n\nIn Coventry the Lord High Steward and his royal bride resided.  Now,\nsome time before the Princess was about to present her husband with a\nbabe, she dreamed a dream; it was enough to terrify her, for she dreamed\nthat, instead of a smiling infant, she should have to nurse a little\ngreen dragon.  To nurse a small crocodile or alligator, or even a young\nhippopotamus, would have been bad enough, but a green dragon, with claws\nand a long wriggling fork-pointed tail, was out of the question; the\nvery idea was enough to drive her distracted.  The Lord High Steward was\na man who always took the bull by the horns in a dilemma, and so he\nresolved forthwith to take steps to solve the mystery.  He had heard\nthat in the Black Forest in Germany there lived a powerful enchantress,\nKalyb by name, who would, without doubt, be able at once to give him all\nthe information he required.  Sir Albert, for that was the High\nSteward's name, instantly set off across the seas, accompanied only by\nhis faithful Squire, De Fistycuff.  They bore offerings of gold and\nsilver and precious stones with which to propitiate her.\n\nFor many days they voyaged, tossed by the stormy billows, and for many\ndays they travelled on till they arrived at the dreary precincts of the\nBlack Forest.  Boldly plunging into it, they reached a dense part of the\nwood, composed of withered, hollow, and distorted trees, whence\nproceeded sounds the most unearthly and terrific.  The dismal croaking\nof the night raven, the hissing of serpents, the hoarse bellowing of\nwild bulls, the roaring of lions, the laughing of hyenas, and other\nhideous cries of all sorts of savage beasts.  Some men would have stood\nastounded.  Not so Sir Albert and his faithful Squire.  On they went\ntill they found themselves in front of a dark and lofty rock, within\nwhich was seen a vast and gloomy cavern.  The entrance was secured by a\nmassive iron gate studded over with huge knots and bars of steel.  Near\nit hung a brazen trumpet, the use of which the Knight full readily\nguessed.  He blew a blast which rung through the vaulted cave, echoing\naway till the sounds were lost in the distance, while it made the very\nearth rock and tremble.  Scarcely had the echoes of the magic horn died\naway than a terrifically loud, discordant, hollow voice, proceeding out\nof the very depths of the cavern, inquired:--\"Mortal, what want you\nhere?\"  Sir Albert briefly told his errand, and said that he had brought\ngifts which he desired to offer to the famous Enchantress Kalyb, the\nlady of the Black Forest.\n\nAs he was a courteous knight, and had spoken the Enchantress fair, so he\nexpected a courteous and satisfactory reply.  What, then, was his\namazement when he heard these words proceeding from the cavern:--\n\n  \"Whatever must be--must be there's no doubt;\n  You've got an answer, and so turn about!\"\n\nIn vain he protested that such a reply was far from satisfactory; that\nhe should go back as wise as he came; that it would have been better had\nhe stayed at home; that he should have had all his pains for nothing.\nNo other answer could he get.  Though a courteous knight, he was yet\nsomewhat irascible; and this was an occasion to try the temper of a\nmilder man than a knight of those days.  He seized the trumpet, and blew\ntill it refused to give forth any further sound.  He handed it to De\nFistycuff, and told him to blow till he cracked his own cheeks or the\ntrumpet.  In vain the Squire puffed and puffed, not a sound could he\nproduce.  He holloed and shouted, and so did De Fistycuff; but to their\nunited voices no answer was returned.  Then Sir Albert began to shower\nabuse on the Enchantress; he told her some awkward truths, and called\nher some names which were far from complimentary; but the only answer he\nreceived was in shouts of hollow and mocking laughter which proceeded\nout of the recesses of the cavern.\n\nAt length Sir Albert turned his horse's head, and in high dudgeon rode\noff, followed by De Fistycuff, who first pocketed the gifts they had\nbrought to propitiate the Enchantress.  Dull and dreary was their\nhomeward journey; and, if truth must be told, the Lord High Steward\ncould not help feeling remarkably small at the result of their\nexpedition.  After having been tossed about for many days by a storm,\nand made very sick in the German Ocean, they at length reached Coventry.\nThe master of his household, his family physician, and a numerous\nassemblage of knights and ladies, rushed out of his castle to tell Sir\nAlbert the news.  Neither an hippopotamus nor an alligator had been born\nto him, but a right merry, rosy, bouncing infant.  Alas! however, there\nwas grief in store for the gallant knight, the partner of his joys and\ncares, his beautiful princess, was dead!  Deeply he mourned his loss,\nand then he inquired if any one could solve the mystery of the dream\nwhich had caused him so long a journey.  He found that had he waited\npatiently at home, like a wise man, all would have been known.  The\nsmiling infant was brought to him; and then, wonderful to relate, he\ndiscovered on its breast the portrait of a green dragon, just as his\nwife had described it to him; and, moreover, a blood-red cross marked on\nthe boy's right hand, and a golden garter below his knee on the left.\n\n\"He'll do something wonderful!\" exclaimed the proud father; and he was\nnot mistaken.\n\nThe name of George was given to the boy; and forthwith the Lord High\nSteward, retiring from the cares of state, bestowed on him all his\nthoughts and attention.  He selected three nurses to watch over him,\ncalled Prudence, Firmness, and Gentleness.  One to prepare his\nnourishment, another to feed him, and the last to lull him to sleep.\nAll would have gone well, but unhappily the boy's grandfather suggested\nthat another nurse was necessary, and Carelessness was introduced into\nthe household.\n\nIt should be known that all this time the wicked Enchantress Kalyb had\nbeen well aware who it was who had come to her cavern and blown so\nfuriously on her magic horn.  Every word the Knight had uttered, and\nevery opprobrious epithet which he had so lavishly bestowed, had been\nheard by her.  She nourished, in consequence, in her evil heart, a\nspirit of revenge, which she waited a convenient opportunity to gratify.\nOh, anger! oh, loss of temper! how blind art thou!  How dost thou make\nwise men become like the most foolish!  Revenge, too, how dost thou,\nmalignant spirit, fall into the trap thou hast thyself laid, as will be\nsoon seen!\n\nWicked Kalyb waited her time.  She knew of the young Prince's birth,\nshe knew how his father doated on him, and she resolved to carry him\noff; but when she heard of the three nurses appointed to guard over him\nshe despaired of succeeding in her object.  The boy grew and flourished.\nEvery day he became more beautiful, every day he gave proofs of a noble\nand gallant spirit.  Truly was he his father's pride; worthy was he of\nthe admiration of all the people of Coventry.  When, however, Kalyb\nfound out that Carelessness had become his nurse, instantly she hurried\nto the sea-shore; when, embarking in an egg-shell,--the shell, be it\nknown, of a huge roc's egg--she set sail for the shores of England.\nQuickly she spun over the ocean, round and round, faster than any\nordinary ship could sail, till she reached the land; and, arriving in\nthe neighbourhood of Coventry, she hid herself in a thick wood, till she\ncould pounce out on the young Prince and carry him off.\n\nHowever, she had long to wait.  Sometimes Prudence walked out with him,\nsometimes Gentleness, and sometimes Firmness; and all kept so careful a\nwatch over him that she had no opportunity of effecting her purpose.  At\nlength, Carelessness one fatal day had charge of him.  Kalyb immediately\nchanged herself into a lovely butterfly.  Off ran the boy with his\nvelvet cap to catch the fluttering insect.  Carelessness sat down on a\nbank and fell asleep.  Soon Kalyb led the boy into the recesses of the\nforest; then seizing him, in spite of his cries, she placed him in a\nchariot with ten fiery steeds which she had conjured up, and darting off\nlike a flash of lightning, reached the coast, embarked in her egg-shell,\nwhich whirled round and round as before, and then she travelled on till\nshe arrived once more, with her captive, at the magic cavern in the\nBlack Forest.  The massive gates flew asunder at a touch of her silver\nwand, and the Prince found himself among wonders which his imagination\nhad never before conceived, which far surpassed anything he had ever\nbeheld even in the beautiful city of Coventry.  He soon, however, grew\nweary of them, and longed to return to his fond father and careful\nnurses; but he found himself a prisoner, and no outlet could he discover\nby which he could make his escape from the cavern--the massive gates\nprevented all egress to any who had once entered within them.\n\nThe wicked Kalyb watched the sorrow of the boy, and knowing that his\nfather was still more sorrowful, rejoiced in her revenge.  She had\nnumerous attendants to do her will.  Among them was a dwarf, a\nmisshapen, ill-favoured creature.  To his care the boy was confided,\nwith directions to beat and teaze him whenever he had nothing else to\ndo.  The noble child bore every indignity with equanimity and good\nhumour, and, instead of harbouring revenge, took every opportunity of\ndoing a kindness to the poor dwarf, who was himself the peculiar object\nof the wicked Kalyb's ill-treatment.  Crumpleback was the dwarf's name.\nOften poor Crumpleback's body was black and blue with the pommelling he\nreceived from the furious Kalyb, while his cheeks were thin and haggard\nfrom want of food and rest.  One day Kalyb was absent when Crumpleback\naddressed the Prince:--\"Know,\" said he, \"kind boy, that I am a fairy in\ndisguise, and though less powerful than the fell Enchantress Kalyb, I\nmay yet circumvent her acts.  Your kindness and gentleness, and\nforgiveness of the injuries I was forced to do you, have won my heart.\nI have vowed to serve you to the best of my power.  Let not Kalyb know\nwhat has passed between us, but wait patiently, and see what will\nhappen.\"  The young Prince thanked the fairy, and his hopes of escaping\nonce more revived.  He had long to wait.  In the mean time, whenever\nKalyb was absent, the seeming dwarf gave him instructions in all the\narts which would fit him to become an accomplished knight.  Book\nlearning, though not much in vogue in those days, was not neglected.\nSometimes the fairy put a shining sword into his grasp, and showed him\nhow to wield it with a force no one could withstand; sometimes he was\nmounted on a fiery steed which few mortals could have bestrode, and with\nlance in hand he was taught to tilt against phantom knights, which, in\nthe most desperate encounters, he invariably overthrew.  Thus, by the\ntime he had attained to man's estate, no knight in Europe was so\naccomplished, while none surpassed him in virtue or valour.\n\nMeantime the Lord High Steward bitterly mourned the loss of his\npromising son.  In vain he sent messengers throughout the world to find\nhim, and at last, remembering the ancient proverb, \"Who wants goes, who\ndoes not want sends,\" he resolved to go in search of the boy himself.\nStoring himself with gold and precious jewels, he set off, attended only\nby his faithful De Fistycuff.  From place to place he wandered, year\nafter year, till his locks were turned to silvery grey, and his beard\nbecame like the down of a thistle.  One evening his heart fainting, and\nhis once firm knees trembling, he reached the gate of a monastery in\nBohemia.  Then he sunk down before even his Squire could ring the bell\nto summon the monks to his assistance.  When the porter opened the door,\nthe Lord High Steward of England had breathed his last, and poor De\nFistycuff was bewailing his loved master's death, and his own hard fate,\nin being thus left alone in a foreign land.  The monks buried Sir Albert\nhard by, and raised a monument, covered with some of his own jewels,\nover his grave, reserving the remainder to pay the expenses of his\nfuneral.  The worthy De Fistycuff they recommended to return to his\nnative land, unless he wished to become a monk; an honour he declined,\nhaving his faithful Grumculda waiting for him at home.  So, paying a\nfarewell visit to his master's tomb, the jewels on which he found had by\nenchantment been changed to glass, he set off on his journey.  Happily\nhe had, however, some of the presents intended for the wicked Kalyb in\nhis pockets; so, like an honest Briton, he was able to pay his way, and\nbe no discredit to his country.  Leaving him to pursue his toilsome\nperegrination, we return once more to the cavern of Kalyb.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWO.\n\nSAINT GEORGE RELEASES THE SIX CHAMPIONS.\n\nEven the Enchantress wondered at the progress in the arts and sciences\nher captive was making; but, as she knew that he was destined to become\na great man, she was aware that she could not hope to stop his progress.\nAll she could do was to keep him shut up till fate set him free.  One\nday the friendly fairy addressed the Prince:--\"Know,\" she said, \"the\nEnchantress sleeps once, and once only, for one week every hundred\nyears.  Her magic art depends on her silver wand, which on that occasion\nshe hides away so carefully that it is scarcely possible to discover it.\nStill, we will search.  For that opportunity I have long been waiting.\nIf we can possess ourselves of it, she will be completely in our power,\nand we can work our will within the magic cavern.  Know also that I am\nan English fairy, Sabrina by name.  I love you because you are kind to\nme, and because you come of an honest English stock.  If we can overcome\nthe Enchantress, I will enable you to commence that career of glory for\nwhich I know that your heart is even now thirsting.\"  The young Prince's\nheart beat high with joy and hope on hearing these words.\n\nAnxiously they watched the Enchantress, to try and discover where she\nwould place her silver wand.  Day after day they followed her through\nall the vast interminable recesses of her magic cavern.  Every day she\ngrew more drowsy and less inclined to speak; which is not surprising,\nconsidering how long she had been awake, and how sleepy she must have\nbecome.\n\nIn spite of all this vigilance, however, at last she appeared without\nher silver wand; and soon after they saw her sink down on a couch of\nrose-leaves she had prepared for herself in a sumptuous apartment,\nwhere, had it not been for her hideous countenance, where all the\nmalignant passions were portrayed, she would have looked like a\nsovereign resting on her bed of state.  The Prince was eager instantly\nto set off to look for the silver wand.\n\n\"Stay,\" whispered the Fairy Sabrina, \"she yet deeps with one eye open,\nlike a weasel; wait till she closes both, and snores.\"  Accordingly they\nwaited till both Kalyb's eyes were closed, and loud snores echoed along\nthe vaulted roof.  Then off they set.\n\n\"Nothing worth having can be gained without toil and trouble,\" observed\nthe Dwarf, as he parted from the Prince.  All the other attendants of\nthe Enchantress had taken the opportunity to go to sleep likewise; so\nsilence profound reigned throughout the cavern, broken only by her\nsnores.  The Prince searched and searched in every direction, under\nheaps of costly jewels and glittering robes, piles of gold and silver,\nand rich armour; but they had now no charms for him: the silver wand\nwhich was to set him free to commence his noble career was all he sought\nfor--that wand, the type of knowledge, which can only be obtained by\nstudy and perseverance.  Day after day he sought for it; but at the end\nof each day all he could say was that he believed he could tell where it\nwas not.  The Dwarf came back equally unsuccessful; but still numberless\nheaps had been turned over, intricate passages explored, profound depths\ndived into, and unthought of recesses in the cavern discovered.\n\nFive days had thus passed away; the Prince knew more about the cavern\nthan he had ever known before; the sixth day came, and that, too, ended.\nHe had added to his knowledge, but the silver wand had not been found.\nHe became anxious, as well he might.  On the seventh the Enchantress\nwould awake and resume her power.\n\nMore diligently than ever he searched about; the Dwarf seconded his\nefforts.  Before him appeared, as he wandered on, a golden door.  After\nmany a hearty shove he forced it open.  A steep flight of rugged stone\nsteps led winding upwards he knew not where.  Boldly he entered, and\nclimbed on, on, on.  Though rough and steep were the steps he did not\nweary or hesitate.  Sometimes the stair was spiral, and he went round\nand round, and sometimes it led him directly upwards.  Scarcely a\nglimmer of light enabled him to find his way; but the Dwarf was at his\nheels, encouraging him, and he recollected the silver wand of which he\nwas in search, and persevered.  Strong and healthy as he was he began to\ndraw his breath quickly, when the full light of the glorious sun burst\non him, and he found himself in a magnificent temple of alabaster, on\nthe summit of a lofty mountain.\n\nFrom the windows of the temple he could behold the whole surrounding\ncountry to a vast distance, far, far beyond the forest which grew round\nthe base of the mountain.  There were cities and palaces, and silvery\nstreams, and rich fields, and glowing orchards, and meadows full of\ncattle, and grassy downs covered with sheep--such a scene as he had not\nbeheld since his boyhood, when Kalyb first got possession of him.  He\nstood contemplating it with delight.  How long he might have stood it is\nimpossible to say, when the sound of a distant church-bell was wafted up\nto his ears.  It reminded him that the hour was approaching when the\ndreadful Kalyb would awake.\n\nHe thought to make his escape out of the temple, but that he found was\nimpossible; the walls of the tower in which he stood were a hundred feet\nhigh, with pointed iron spikes below, to catch any who might fall on\nthem.  Again must he sink into the power of the cruel Kalyb?  His brave\nheart rebelled at the thought; he would dare and do anything to avoid\nit.\n\nHe spoke aloud.  \"You are right,\" said the Dwarf; \"but look! what is\nthat?\"  He turned his head, and beheld before him, on a velvet cushion,\nwhich covered a marble table, the silver wand of which he had been so\nlong in search.  He grasped it eagerly.\n\n\"Follow me,\" said the Dwarf, hastening onward, \"no time is to be lost.\"\nDown the steps they sped.  \"No time is to be lost,\" cried the Dwarf\nagain.  Faster, faster went the Prince's feet.  On he rattled--on--on--\noften several steps at a time.  Nothing stopped him.  The bottom was\nreached; the massive door was closed; in vain he pushed against it.  He\ntouched it with his silver wand; open it flew.  Along the vaulted\npassages of the cavern he sped.  Many a hideous monster started up, but\na wave of the silver wand put them to flight.\n\nThe Prince and his attendant reached the chamber of the Enchantress.\nHer snoring had ceased.  She had begun to rub her eyes and move\nuneasily, with many a grunt and snort.  She was about to awake.  Who\ncould have told what mischief one glance of her evil eye would have\neffected.  \"Strike! strike!\" said the Fairy.  The Prince struck the bed.\nInstantly loud shrieks and groans, and cries most terrific, were heard\nfilling the air, and shouts most horrible of mocking laughter, and\nbellowings, and roarings, and hissings, and the walls of the chamber\nbegan to rock, and the bed began to sink, and flames burst forth, and\nstenches most overwhelming arose.  The horrible noises increased till\ndense lurid vapours concealed the spot where the Enchantress's chamber\nhad been, though her helpless cries were heard far, far down in the\ndepths of the earth; and the Prince found himself standing in the wild\ncavern, but, in the place of the Dwarf, there stood a beautiful Fairy by\nhis side.  \"I prepared you for a change,\" said the Fairy, with a smile;\n\"but come, we are not the only ones to be set free.  Let us not forget\nour companions in misfortune any more than those in our prosperity.\"\n\nThe Prince made the politest of bows, and said he was completely under\nthe Lady Sabrina's directions.  \"Then come with me,\" she said, and led\nthe way till they reached a vast castle of brass, with battlements and\ntowers glittering in the sun.  \"Within this castle lie imprisoned six\nvaliant knights, worthy champions of Christendom, bemoaning their hard\nfate, and longing to be free.  Had the vile Kalyb retained her power,\nyou would have been shut up there likewise.  But know, brave Prince, as\nby your perseverance, valour, and judgment you have overcome her and her\nenchantments, it is destined that you shall become the seventh and most\nrenowned of all, and so I hail you as `Saint George of Merrie England.'\nThus you shall be called for ages yet to come, wherever England's might\nand England's deeds throughout the world are known.\"  The roseate hue of\nmodesty suffused the cheek of the young knight as he heard these words,\nand he vowed that he would ever strive to prove worthy of the honourable\ntitle he had received.\n\nThen thrice he struck the gates of the brazen castle.  The portals flew\nopen, and he and the Fairy entering, found the six knights sitting\nlonely and sad in separate chambers, not knowing what had happened.\nThey started as they heard the voice of Sabrina mentioning their names.\n\n\"The first is Saint Denis of France,\" said she.  With many a bow he\nrapidly sprang forward and saluted Saint George.  The second, Saint\nJames of Spain, slowly stalked on, and lifting his casque bowed\nhaughtily.  The third, Saint Anthony of Italy, advanced more rapidly,\nand, with a flourish of his helmet, gave him an embrace.  Saint Andrew\nof Scotland, the fourth, rising from his couch, inquired whence he had\ncome, and whither he was going, and thanked him for the valour he had\ndisplayed; while Saint Patrick, the fifth, almost wrung off his hand, as\nhe expressed his delight in meeting so gallant a knight; and the sixth,\nSaint David of Wales, vowed that no pleasure could surpass what he felt\nat being thus set free by a knight second only to himself in all\nknightly accomplishments.\n\nBesides the knights, six faithful squires, who had followed their\nfortunes for many years, lay imprisoned in a separate dungeon.  These\nalso Saint George had the great satisfaction of setting free; when once\nmore they rejoined their beloved masters, and assisted, as was their\nwont, in preparing them for their journey.\n\nThen Saint George and all the knights, following Sabrina, led the way to\nthe stables of the castle, where stood, ready caparisoned, seven of the\nmost superb steeds mortal eye ever beheld.  \"Six of them are for those\nbrave knights,\" she said; \"the seventh, Bayard by name, is reserved for\nyou; while six other most excellent horses are for their six faithful\nsquires.\"\n\nThe knights, eager to be gone, mounted their steeds, as did their\nsquires theirs, while Sabrina conducted Saint George back to the castle,\nwhere, in a chamber, hung numberless suits of the most magnificent\narmour.  Choosing out the strongest corselet, Sabrina buckled it on his\nbreast; she laced on his helmet, and completely clothed him in\nglittering steel.  Then bringing forth a mighty falchion, she placed it\nin his hand, and said:--\"No monarch was ever clothed in richer armour.\nOf such strength and invincible power is your steed, that while you are\non his back no knight shall be able to conquer you.  Your armour is of\nsteel so pure that no battle-axe can bruise, no weapon pierce it.  Your\nsword, which is called Ascalon, was made by the Cyclops.  It will hew\nasunder the hardest flint, or cut the strongest steel, and in its pummel\nsuch magic virtue lies, that neither treason nor witchcraft can prevail\nagainst you, or any violence be offered as long as you wear it.\"\n\nThe good fairy thus having spoken, Saint George, fully caparisoned, went\nforth from the castle, and mounting Bayard, prepared with the other\nchampions to leave the Black Forest--Sabrina, in her own chariot, drawn\nby ten peacocks, leading the way.  Just then a stranger appeared in\nsight, sad and sorrowful, travelling on.\n\n\"De Fistycuff!\" exclaimed Saint George, in a cheerful voice, \"my honest\nparent's faithful squire.\"  De Fistycuff started, as well he might, and\nrushed forward.  He knew the voice, but whence it had come he could not\ntell.  Saint George tore off his corselet, and exposed to view the green\ndragon on his bosom.  Thus De Fistycuff knew who it was, and, embracing\nhim, burst into tears.  Having recovered himself, and once more buckled\non his young master's armour, De Fistycuff mounted his steed.\n\nThen the whole party set forward, and travelled on till they reached the\ncoast.  Then they took shipping, and, at Saint George's particular\nrequest, proceeded to his paternal castle, near the beautiful city of\nCoventry.  There having dwelt for the space of nine months, and erected\na sumptuous monument over the grave of the hapless princess, Saint\nGeorge's mother, they expressed their desire to set forth once more in\nsearch of those noble adventures to which they had devoted their lives.\nSaint George, nothing loath, promised to accompany them, and the\nfaithful De Fistycuff entreated that he might not be left behind; so,\nall accoutred, and lavishly supplied with everything they required, they\nset forth with their faithful squires, and travelled on till the time\narrived for their separating in different directions.  What then befell\nthem, and what wondrous deeds they performed, shall in course of time be\ntold.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THREE.\n\nTHE ADVENTURES OF SAINT GEORGE OF ENGLAND.\n\nThe Seven Champions having crossed the British Channel to France, and\ntraversed that lovely country, where they banqueted, to their heart's\ncontent, on fricassees and ragouts, washed down by huge draughts of\nBurgundy and claret, reached at length a broad plain where stood a\nbrazen pillar.  Here seven ways met, and here the noble knights, with\nmany a flourish of their spears and not a few in their speeches, though\nhistory does not record them, parted with expressions of mutual esteem,\nto follow out with their faithful squires their separate adventures.\n\nSaint George, accompanied only by the faithful De Fistycuff, at once\npassed over to the coast of Africa, knowing full well that in that\nunknown land of wonders he was more likely to meet with adventures\nworthy of his prowess than in any other part of the world.  He journeyed\non for many a mile over burning sands, his polished steel armour\nglittering in the sun, striking terror into all beholders, and almost\nblinding his poor squire, who, hot and panting, followed him wearily.\n\nFar across the plains of Africa he travelled till he reached the very\nancient, though little known kingdom of Timbuctoo.  King Bobadildo, the\nsable monarch of that empire, so wonderfully renowned in its own annals,\nif not in those of other countries, received him with all the courtesy\ndue to his rank as a British knight, and the renown which the faithful\nDe Fistycuff, who never lost an opportunity of putting in a good word\nfor his master, stated that he intended to acquire.\n\nThe Knight was feasted sumptuously, and magnificent shows were got up\nfor his entertainment, while the King, who had taken a great fancy to\nhim, from believing that he would be of great use in leading his\nwarriors to the fight against the enemies of his realm, pressed him to\nremain, hoping that by his falling in love with his lovely daughter he\nmight be induced to become his son-in-law.  The colour of the young\nprincess's complexion, which was of the most sable hue, shining\nlustrously with palm oil, although much admired in her native country,\nwas to the British knight an insuperable objection to a closer alliance\nthan that of the friendship he enjoyed, though he did not say so; but\nstated that he was anxious to go where glory awaited him, and that all\nmatrimonial arrangements he must defer till he had won that fame for\nwhich his heart panted.\n\nAccordingly, the next morning, followed by De Fistycuff, who had some\ndifficulty in buckling his belt after the good fare he had enjoyed, he\nset forth from the southern gate of the capital towards the unknown\nregions which lay beyond.  The sweet Princess looked out of a turret\nwindow, and waved her coal-black hand, while tears coursed each other\ndown her sable cheeks as she saw the Knight going away and leaving her\nall forlorn; for in her bright eyes not one of the neighbouring princes,\nnor any of her father's courtiers, could in any way be compared to the\ngallant Saint George.  Many other sweet princesses, at the various\ncourts he visited in his travels, held the same opinion--a circumstance\nwhich caused a considerable amount of perplexity to the gentle-hearted\nand gallant Knight.  As she gazed she sighed, and then she sang words to\nthe following effect:--\n\n\"Go away, go away, oh, hard-hearted knight, Go away to glory and fame;\nIf you ever come back You'll not find me slack To change my state and\nname!\"\n\nMuch relieved by the impromptu expressions of her feelings, she turned\nfrom the window, Saint George having disappeared among the distant\nsand-heaps, and went to attend her honoured sire at his matutinal meal.\n\nSaint George and his Squire travelled on day after day, mounting higher\nand higher till they reached a region where the heat was no longer so\noppressive as in the plains, and where scenes new and beautiful opened\non their enravished sight.\n\nThere were beautiful lakes of the clearest water, full of fish of\nstrange shapes and gorgeous hues, which swam up to the surface, and\ngazed with curious eyes at the strangers.  The trees and shrubs were of\nthe most gigantic proportions, the former towering high into the sky,\nand a single leaf affording ample shade to the Knight and Squire and\ntheir horses.  So luscious and luxuriant, too, was the grass that a few\ntufts were sufficient for a meal for the noble steeds, and put such\nstrength and spirit into them, that, in spite of the fatigues they\nunderwent, they were ever ready for any task they might be called on to\nperform.  Even the shrubs were so high that they could ride beneath some\nof them.  Others were covered with leaves of such thickness that a spear\ncould scarcely pierce them, while they were armed with spikes of length\nso formidable that it was dangerous to approach the branches, and\nimpossible to force a passage through them.  Strange, too, were the\nplants.  Some were like a mass of twisting serpents which wriggled about\nand hissed as the travellers passed, and though Saint George cut off\ntheir heads with his sword, they so quickly again grew up that he\nperceived that the attempt to destroy them was labour lost.\n\n\"So is it,\" he moralised, \"with vicious propensities; the nature of the\nplant must be changed, or the branches will spring forth, and evil fruit\nwill continually be produced.\"  Other plants of the most fantastic\nshapes and most lovely hues seemed endued with life.  One covering a\nwide circle of ground, and tinted with every colour of the rainbow, they\nstopped to admire.  Suddenly it darted forth feelers of great length\nhigh into the air, and drew back hundreds of gay-coloured butterflies,\nand moths, and beetles, which were flying near.\n\nNumerous birds also of the most gorgeous plumage, which darted down,\nattracted by the flies, were seized hold of and dragged within the\ncapacious mouth of the plant.\n\n\"On, on,\" cried Saint George, pricking forward his steed.  \"If we stop\nto admire all these separate wonders we shall never attain the great\nobjects of our expedition.\"  The Squire if he heard did not heed his\nmaster, for he kept gazing at the proceedings of the strange plant, and\ntrying to count the number of insects it gobbled up in a minute.\nThoughtlessly he drew closer and closer, till suddenly the monster plant\ndarted forth all its feelers and grasped him round the body.  He felt\nhimself dragged helplessly towards the capacious maw where he had\nalready seen so many creatures conveyed.  \"Oh, master, master! help,\nhelp!\" he shouted at the top of his voice, though a feeler getting round\nhis neck almost stopped his breath.\n\nSaint George, seeing what had occurred, spurred back in hot haste, and,\nslashing away with his trusty falchion, severed the feelers after vast\nexertions and rescued his frightened squire.\n\n\"If you had done as I told you this would not have happened,\" he\nobserved, as he freed him from the thick masses of sinew which\nsurrounded his body.  \"Oh, De Fistycuff, remember to do right and what\nyou are bid by those who know best what is for your good, and then don't\nfear the consequences; but never stand gazing at what is bad or\ndangerous, and fancy that you run no risk of being drawn into the snare\nlaid for you!\"\n\nThe Squire listened respectfully to his master's lecture, and then\nfollowed him at a humble distance, resolving to profit by his advice.\n\nNight with her sable wings was about to overspread the earth, and the\ntall woods resounded with strangest cries, and shrieks, and hisses of\nthe wonderful wild animals which roamed through them, when the Knight\nthought it high time to look about for some place of shelter, where,\nfree from their attacks, he and his squire might repose till the return\nof the rosy dawn would enable them to discern their foes, and face them\nbravely.\n\nA large rock appeared before them.  Within it was a cave with a rude\nporch in front.  In this rough habitation dwelt a hermit, whose voice\nthey heard bewailing the sad fate to which his country was doomed.  The\nKnight entered; a lamp stood on a table in the centre of the cave.  The\nhermit rose from his couch and welcomed Saint George and De Fistycuff.\nHe was a venerable man, with a long beard of silvery whiteness; and as\nhe tottered forward he seemed bowed almost to the ground with the weight\nof years.\n\n\"Gladly will I afford you shelter and such food as my cell can furnish,\nmost gallant Knight,\" he said; and, suiting the action to the word, he\nplaced a variety of provisions on the table.  \"I need not inquire to\nwhat country you belong, for I see by the arms of England engraven on\nyour burgonet whence you come.  I know the knights of that land are\nbrave and gallant, and ready to do battle in aid of the distressed.\nHere, then, you will find an opportunity for distinguishing yourself by\na deed which will make your name renowned throughout the world.\"\n\nSaint George pricked up his ears at this, and eagerly inquired what it\nwas.  \"This, you must understand, most noble Knight, is the renowned\nterritory of Bagabornabou, second to none in the world in importance in\nthe opinion of its inhabitants.  None was so prosperous, none so\nflourishing, when a most horrible misfortune befell the land, in the\nappearance of a terrific green dragon, of huge proportions, who ranges\nup and down the country, creating devastation and dismay in every\ndirection.  No corner of the land is safe from his ravages; no one can\nhope to escape the consequences of his appearance.  Every day his\ninsatiable maw must be fed with the body of a young maiden, while so\npestiferous is the breath which exhales from his throat that it causes a\nplague of a character so violent that whole districts have been\ndepopulated by it.  He commences his career of destruction at dawn every\nmorning, and till his victim is ready he continues to ravage the land.\nWhen he has swallowed his lamentable repast he remains asleep till next\nmorning, and then he proceeds as before.\n\n\"Many attempts have been made to capture him during the night, but they\nhave proved as fruitless as trying to catch a weasel (if you happen to\nhave heard of such an animal, Saint George, in your travels) asleep.\nFruitless I will not say to him, for he has invariably destroyed the\nbrave men who have gone out to attack him, and has swallowed them for\nhis supper.  For no less than twenty-four long years has this dreadful\ninfliction been suffered by our beloved country, till scarcely a maiden\nremains alive, nor does a brave man continue in it.  The most lovely and\nperfect of her sex, the King's only daughter, the charming Sabra, is to\nbe made an offering to the fell dragon to-morrow, unless a knight can be\nfound gallant and brave enough to risk his life in mortal combat with\nthe monster, and with skill and strength sufficient to destroy him.\n\n\"The King has promised, in his royal word, that, should such a knight\nappear and come off victorious, he will give him his daughter in\nmarriage and the crown of Bagabornabou at his decease.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" exclaimed the English Knight, his whole countenance beaming with\nsatisfaction, \"here is a deed to be done truly worthy of my prowess!\nWhat think you of that, reverend hermit?\"  And he bared his breast,\nexhibiting the portrait of the green dragon which had been marked there\nat his birth.\n\n\"A circumstance ominous of deep import,\" observed the Hermit, nodding\nhis head; \"either the green dragon will kill you, or you will kill the\ngreen dragon.\"\n\n\"Now, by my halidom, but I fully purpose to kill the dragon and rescue\nthe Princess,\" cried the Knight, in a cheerful voice.  \"Won't we, my\nbrave De Fistycuff?\"\n\n\"What men dare they can do,\" answered the Squire, nodding his head, for\nhe was very sleepy.\n\nAccordingly, the hermit having prepared couches of leaves, the Knight\nand his attendant rested till the cheerful cock, true messenger of day,\ngave notice that the sun was about to uprise from his sandy bed.  Then,\nspringing to his feet after a hurried meal, aided by his squire and the\ntrembling fingers of the hermit, he carefully buckled on his armour, and\nmounting his richly caparisoned steed, he declared himself ready for the\ncombat.  Followed by De Fistycuff, and preceded by the hermit on a mule,\nwho went to show the way, he proceeded to the valley where the dragon\nwas asleep, and where the King's daughter was to be offered up as a\nsacrifice.\n\nAs he came in sight of it his eyes rested on one of the sweetest and\nmost lovely maidens he had ever beheld, arrayed in pure white Arabian\nsilk, and led to the place of death by a numerous band of sage and\nmodest matrons, who mourned with bitter tears her hard fate.\n\nThis melancholy spectacle still further stimulated the overflowing\ncourage of the English Knight, so spurring on towards the mourning\ngroup, he assured the lovely maiden that he was prepared to battle\nbravely in her cause, and entreated her to return to her father's court\ntill the result of the coming contest became known.\n\n\"He'll do it if it is to be done,\" observed De Fistycuff, wishing to add\nhis mite of consolation to the ladies' hearts, and pointing to his\nmaster, who had ridden slowly on; and having thus delivered himself he\nspurred after him.\n\nThe daring Knight and his faithful squire now entered the valley where\nthe terrific green dragon had his abode.  No sooner did the fiery eyes\nof the hideous monster fall on the steel-clad warrior, instead of the\nfair maiden he expected to see, than from his leathern throat he sent\nforth a cry of rage louder and more tremendous than thunder, and\narousing himself he prepared for the contest about to occur.  As he\nreared up on his hind legs, with his wings outspread, and his long scaly\ntail, with a huge red fork, extending far away behind him, his sharp\nclaws wide open, each of the size of a large ship's anchor, his gaping\nmouth armed with double rows of huge teeth, between which appeared a\nfiery red tongue, and vast eyes blazing like burning coals, while his\nnostrils spouted forth fire, and the upper part of his body was covered\nwith glittering green scales brighter than polished silver, and harder\nthan brass, the under part being of a deep golden hue, his appearance\nmight well have made even one of the bravest of men unwilling to attack\nhim.\n\nSaint George trembled not, but thought of the lovely Sabra, and nerved\nhimself for the encounter.  De Fistycuff did not like his looks, and had\nhe been alone would have been tempted to beat a retreat, but his love\nfor his master kept him by his side.\n\n\"See,\" said the Hermit, who had come thus far, \"there is the dragon!  He\nis a monster huge and horrible; but I believe that, like other monsters,\nby bravery and skill he can be overcome.  See, the valley is full of\nfruit-trees!  Should he wound you, and should you faint, you will find\none bearing oranges of qualities so beneficial, that, should you be able\nto procure one plucked fresh from the tree, it will instantly revive\nyou.  Now, farewell!  See, the brute is approaching!\"\n\n\"Remember,\" cried Saint George, turning to De Fistycuff, \"this fight is\nto be all my own.  You stand by and see fair play.  Only, if I am down,\nand the brute dares to hit me, then rush in to my rescue.\"  The faithful\nsquire nodded his assent.\n\nOn came the monster dragon, flapping his wings, spouting fire from his\nnostrils, and roaring loudly with his mouth.  Saint George couched his\nsharp spear, and spurring his steed, dashed onward to the combat.  So\nterrific was the shock that the Knight was almost hurled from his\nsaddle, while his horse, driven back on his haunches, lay, almost\ncrushed, beneath the monster's superincumbent weight; but both man and\nsteed extricating themselves with marvellous agility, Saint George made\nanother thrust of his spear, with all his might, against the scaly\nbreast of the dragon.  He might as well have struck against a gate of\nbrass.\n\nIn a moment the stout spear was shivered into a thousand fragments, and\nthe dragon uttered a loud roar of derision.  At the same time, to show\nwhat he could do, he whisked round his venomous pointed tail with so\nrapid a movement that he brought both man and horse sorely bruised to\nthe ground.\n\nThere they lay, almost senseless from the blow, while the dragon\nretreated backward some hundred paces or more, with the intention of\ncoming back with greater force than before, and completing the victory\nhe had almost won.  Happily De Fistycuff divined the monster's purpose,\nand seeing one of the orange-trees of which the hermit had spoken, he\npicked an orange and hurried with it to his master.\n\nScarcely had the Knight tasted it than he felt his strength revive, and\nleaping to his feet, he gave the remainder of it to his trusty steed, on\nwhose back instantly mounting, he stood prepared, with his famous sword\nAscalon in his hand, to receive the furious charge which the dragon was\nabout to make.\n\nThough his spear had failed him at a pinch, his trusty falchion was true\nas ever; and making his horse spring forward, he struck the monster such\na blow on his golden-coloured breast that the point entered between the\nscales, inflicting a wound which made it roar with pain and rage.\n\nSlight, however, was the advantage which the Knight thereby gained, for\nthere issued forth from the wound so copious a stream of black gore,\nwith an odour so terrible, that it drove him back, almost drowning him\nand his brave steed, while the noxious fumes, entering their nostrils,\nbrought them both fainting and helpless to the ground.\n\nDe Fistycuff, mindful of his master's commands, narrowly eyed the\ndragon, to see what he was about to do.  Staunching his wound with a\ntouch of his fiery tail, he flapped his green wings, roaring hoarsely,\nand shook his vast body, preparatory to another attack on the Knight.\n\n\"Is that it?\" cried the Squire; and running to the orange-tree, whence\nhe plucked a couple of the golden fruit, he poured the juice of one down\nthe throat of his master, and of the other down that of Bayard.  Both\nrevived in an instant, and Saint George, springing on Bayard's back,\nfelt as fresh and ready for the fight as ever.  Both had learned the\nimportance of avoiding the dragon's tail, and when he whisked it on one\nside Bayard sprang to the other, and so on backwards and forwards,\nnimbly avoiding the blows aimed by the venomous instrument at him or his\nrider.\n\nAgain and again the dragon reared itself up, attempting to drop down and\ncrush his gallant assailant; but Bayard, with wonderful sagacity\ncomprehending exactly what was to be done, sprung backwards or aside\neach time the monster descended, and thus avoided the threatened\ncatastrophe.  Still the dragon appeared as able as ever to endure the\ncombat.  Saint George saw that a strenuous effort must be made, and\ntaking a fresh grasp of Ascalon, he spurred onward to meet the monster,\nwho once more advanced, with outstretched wings, with the full purpose\nof destroying him.  This time Saint George kept his spurs in the horse's\nflanks.  \"Death or victory must be the result of this charge,\" he\nshouted to De Fistycuff.\n\nWith Ascalon's bright point kept well before him, he drove directly at\nthe breast of the monster.  The sword struck him under the wing; through\nthe thick flesh it went, and nothing stopped it till it pierced the\nmonster's heart.  Uttering a loud groan, which resounded through the\nneighbouring woods and mountains, and made even the wild beasts tremble\nwith consternation, the furious green dragon fell over on its side, when\nSaint George, drawing his falchion from the wound, dashed on over the\nprostrate form of the monster, and, ere it could rise to revenge itself\non its destroyer, with many a blow he severed the head from the body.\nSo vast was the stream which flowed forth from the wound that the whole\nvalley speedily became a lake of blood, and the river which ran down\nfrom it first gave notice, by its sanguineous hue, to the inhabitants of\nthe neighbouring districts that the noble Champion of England had slain\ntheir long tormenting enemy.\n\nThe victorious Knight now refreshed himself and his steed with a couple\nof the oranges which De Fistycuff brought him, and which completely\nrestored them to the vigour with which they began the combat.  He then\nstuck the huge head of the once terrific dragon on a truncheon, which\nwas formed by his faithful Squire out of the handle of the spear, the\nhead of which had been shivered against the scaly sides of the monster\nat the commencement of the combat.\n\nHaving delivered the trophy of his prowess to De Fistycuff, to be borne\nbefore him, he rode on towards the capital of the kingdom, where he\nexpected to be welcomed by the lovely Sabra, to be received by the\nsovereign and his people as a conqueror, to have heard all the bells in\nthe empire ringing, and to have seen every house illuminated, and\nbonfires blazing in every street.  He had to learn the bitter lesson\nthat success frequently only creates enemies and detractors.\n\nNow, there was residing at the court of King Battabolo, the sovereign of\nBagabornabou, Almidor, the black King of Morocco, who had long in vain\nsought the hand of the Princess Sabra.  For many reasons she could not\nabide him; and now, when he heard of the successful combat of Saint\nGeorge with the dragon, he knew that he should have less chance than\never of winning her love.  With baseness unparalleled he resolved to\nmake one desperate effort to gain her.  Accordingly, he, by the most\nextensive promises, engaged the services of twelve warriors of renown to\nwaylay the British Champion, in order to deprive him of his trophy and\nof his life, intending to present himself before the fair Sabra, and to\nboast that he had himself destroyed the dragon.\n\nPassing through a narrow defile, Saint George beheld the twelve African\nknights flourishing their swords, and prepared to intercept his\nprogress.\n\n\"Take charge of Bayard,\" quoth he to De Fistycuff; \"I'll meet these\nrecreants sword in hand on foot.\"  Thus speaking, he drew Ascalon from\nthe scabbard, and advanced towards his foes.  From the narrowness of the\ndefile only three could engage in the fight at once.  Sharply clashed\nthe steel.  Loud rang their swords upon his polished armour; but Ascalon\nsoon found an entrance through their coats of mail, and one after the\nother fell breathless to the ground.  Three more then came on; but\nstanding on the bodies of the prostrate steeds, he with one stroke of\nhis falchion severed their heads from their bodies, which rolled over in\nthe ensanguined dust.  With three equal downward strokes he cut in two,\nfrom the crown to the saddle, the next three which advanced, while the\nremainder turning to fly, he pierced them with Ascalon ignominiously\nthrough the back.\n\nAlmidor had all the time stood on the summit of a mountain hard by to\nwitness the defeat of the British Champion; but when he saw that instead\nhe remained victor of the field, he hastened back to the city to\nannounce the death of the dragon by the sword of the strange Knight.\nPen might fail to do justice to the magnificent preparations made to do\nhonour to the brave Champion who had conquered the Green Dragon.  As he\napproached the city he was met by a sumptuous chariot of massive gold,\ndrawn by fifty milk-white steeds; the wheels were of the purest ebony,\nand the covering was of silk embossed with gold.  On either side rode a\nhundred of the noblest peers of Bagabornabou, attired in crimson velvet,\nand mounted on chargers of the same pure colour as those which drew the\nchariot.  Stepping into the chariot, while De Fistycuff led Bayard with\none hand, and carried aloft the dragon's head with the other, he entered\nthe city amid strains of delicious and martial music, and beneath\nbanners and embroidered tapestry and rich arras waving from every\nwindow, from which looked down thousands of bright eyes to admire him.\nBut none were so bright as those of the beauteous Sabra, who welcomed\nhim in a rich pavilion prepared for his reception, where he laid at her\nfeet the trophies of his prowess; and as she gazed at the dragon's\nmonstrous jaws she shuddered to think that she might have had to go down\nthem, and felt her gratitude and eke a warmer feeling increase for the\ngallant stranger who had preserved her from a fate so terrible.\n\nHere all the first physicians in the land stood around with precious\nsalves to dress his wounds, and administer specifics against the effects\nof the dragon's poisonous breath and venom.  The Knight, having\nrequested that they might all be left by his bed-side, and that he might\nbe left alone, aided by De Fistycuff, emptied them all out of the\nwindow, and having declared himself next morning infinitely better,\nthereby gained immense popularity among the disciples of Aesculapius,\nwho each rested under the pleasing belief that his own nostrum had\nworked the cure.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER FOUR.\n\nTHE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF SAINT GEORGE.\n\nNo sooner had the blushing morn displayed her beauties in the east, and\ngilded with her radiant beams the mountain tops, than Sabra repaired to\nthe Champion's pavilion, and presented him with a diamond ring of\ninestimable value, which she prayed him to wear on his finger, not only\nas an ornament, but because it was endued with many excellent and occult\nvirtues.\n\nThat day the British Champion was entertained with one of the most\nmagnificent banquets that had ever taken place in Africa.  Ample justice\nwas done to it by all present, especially by De Fistycuff, who eat away\nmost heartily, and quaffed down huge beakers of rosy wine--all, as he\ndeclared, for the honour of Old England.  Ere the feast was ended,\nAlmidor, the black King of Morocco, under pretence of doing honour to\nthe Christian Knight, rose from his seat, and presented him with a bowl\nof Samian wine.  The noble Champion took it, thoughtless of treachery;\nbut as he lifted it to his lips the magic ring touched the rim, when, to\nthe astonishment of all present, it shivered into a thousand fragments.\nThe Princess Sabra shrieked out that some vile treachery was intended;\nbut so firm was the confidence of the King, her father, in the honour of\nAlmidor, that he refused to credit the accusation.\n\nThus a second time was Saint George saved from the machinations of his\nenemy.  Like a lynx, however, Almidor watched for another opportunity of\ngratifying his hatred.\n\nIn tournaments, dances, and other heroic exercises, the Champion passed\nhis time, until the faithful De Fistycuff reminded him that he was sadly\nwasting it, if he wished to gain a name to be handed down to posterity.\n\"You are right, my faithful monitor,\" he answered, \"I'll bid farewell to\nthe Princess, and be gone.\"\n\nThe Knight found out Sabra seated in a bower of jessamine.  He told her\nhis errand.  \"Refuse not,\" she replied, \"my dear, loved lord of England,\nher who, for thy sake, would leave parents, country, and the inheritance\nof the crown of Bagabornabou, and would follow thee as a pilgrim through\nthe wide world.  The sun shall sooner lose his splendour, the pale moon\ndrop from her orb, the sea forget to ebb and flow, and all things change\ntheir course, than Sabra prove inconstant to Saint George of England.\nLet, then, the priest of Hymen knit that gordian knot, the knot of\nwedlock, which death alone has power to untie.\"\n\nThe Champion, suddenly recollecting that it was leap year, and delighted\nwith the maiden who had so ably put in a word in her own favour, allowed\nhis heart, which had never before beat with any other passion but that\nof arms, to yield to the tender one of love.  Yet, willing to try her\nlonger, he replied--\"Sweet Princess, not content that I have risked my\nlife to preserve yours, would you have me sacrifice my honour, give over\nthe chase of dazzling glory, lay all my warlike trophies in a woman's\nlap, and change my truncheon for a distaff?  No, Sabra, George of\nEngland was born in a country where true chivalry is nourished, and hath\nsworn to see the world, as far as the lamp of heaven can lend him light,\nbefore he is fettered in the golden chains of wedlock.  Why decline the\nsuit of King Almidor, fit consort for one of your high rank?\"\n\n\"Because,\" she replied, with a curl of her lip, \"the fell King of\nMorocco is more bloody-minded than a crocodile, but thou gentle as a\nlamb; his tongue more ominous of ill than that of a screeching\nnight-owl, but thine sweeter than the morning lark; his touch more\nodious than that of a venomous serpent, but thine more pleasant than\nthat of the curling vine.\"\n\n\"But stay, Princess,\" put in Saint George; \"I am a Christian--you a\nPagan.\"\n\n\"I've thought of that,\" she replied.  \"I will forsake my country's gods,\nand, like you, become a Christian.\"  Saying this she broke a golden\nring, giving, as a pledge of her love, one-half to the Knight, and\nkeeping the other herself.\n\nThereon Saint George, resisting no longer, owned his love, and promised,\non his knightly word, to come back when he had achieved a few more\nheroic deeds and wed her.\n\nThe treacherous Almidor, hiding behind the jessamine bower, had\noverheard all the uncomplimentary references to himself, and, burning\nwith a desire of vengeance, hastened to the King, and told him that his\ndaughter intended quitting the faith of her ancestors and flying with\nthe Christian Knight.  This so enraged the King that, yielding to the\nsuggestions of the wicked Almidor, he agreed to send him, with\ntreacherous intent, to the court of Egypt, as bearer of a sealed letter,\nin which document he entreated King Ptolemy to take an early opportunity\nof destroying one who was a despiser and uprooter of their ancient\nbelief.  Summoning Saint George, with expressions of great esteem, while\nAlmidor stood at his right hand, glancing unutterable hatred from his\nlarge eyes, the King informed him that to do him honour he would send\nhim as an ambassador to the court of the magnificent Sovereign of Egypt,\na country in which he was sure to meet with adventures worthy of his\narms.\n\nThe true-hearted Knight fell into the trap, and, dazzled with the\nthought of fresh adventures, agreed to set forth.  Summoning De\nFistycuff, he buckled on his armour, and set out towards the rising of\nthe sun.  Many adventures he met with; many monsters he slew.  On\napproaching the famed river Nile, De Fistycuff, weary with the heat, sat\nhimself down on what he took to be the trunk of a large tree, fastening\nthe bridle of his steed to, as he believed, one of the branches, while\nhis master was scouring over the plain after a troop of tawny lions,\nwhich had been committing great depredations in the neighbouring lands.\nSleep overtook the Squire.  He slept he knew not how long, when he was\nawoke by the loud snorts and cries of his steed, and by finding himself\nborne along in a most uneasy manner.  What was his horror, on opening\nhis eyes, to discover a huge head, with terrific jaws, projecting from\nthe seeming log before him, snapping at everything as it moved swiftly\ntowards the broad stream of the Nile, while his horse, frantic with\nterror, was tugging at the bridle behind, in vain attempting to get\nloose, or stop the progress of the monster, which was one of the largest\nof the crocodiles of that famed stream, and held in especial reverence\nby the heathen priests of that district!  The Squire dared not jump off,\nfor fear of being trampled on by the hind feet of the brute, nor could\nhe, for reasons into which most stout squires will enter, leap on to his\nhorse's back and cut the bridle, so he sat still, waving and shouting to\nSaint George to come to his assistance.  At last, Saint George, having\nkilled a dozen of the lions, beheld the peril of his faithful follower,\nand spurred onward to his aid.  Charging with a new spear, which had\nbeen presented to him by the matrons of Bagabornabou, as a mark of their\nadmiration of his prowess in having slain the dragon, he bore down upon\nthe crocodile.  He charged directly at its mouth, and inflicted a deep\nwound in its throat.  The monster snapped its jaws, hoping to bite off\nthe spear-head; but the Knight was too quick for him, and again had his\nspear ready for another thrust.  Again he charged, putting out the\nbrute's right eye; and the third time he charged the left was driven in.\nAll the time the crocodile was wriggling his tail, greatly to the\nterror of the horse and the discomfort of De Fistycuff, who found\nhimself every moment borne nearer and nearer to the Nile.  \"One charge\nmore, and you shall be safe,\" cried the Knight; and, true to his word,\nhis spear entered the monster's heart, and it rolled over, very nearly,\nhowever, crushing the faithful Squire by its weight.  Scarcely had De\nFistycuff been liberated by his kind master's aid, and set on his steed,\nthan there sallied forth from a heathen temple hard by a procession of\npriests, some walking under silk or velvet canopies of crimson or\nyellow, or blue and gold; others swinging censers of incense; and others\nbearing aloft on platforms large images of white bulls and apes, and\nsnakes and crocodiles, while gay banners floated in the air.  When they\nbeheld the huge monster just slain they all set up loud lamentations,\nbitterly cursing whoever had destroyed this their god.\n\n\"Now, by my halidom, this is more than I can bear!\" cried Saint George.\n\"On, De Fistycuff, on!  Down with the infidels!\"\n\nWith this shout he and his Squire rode in among them, overthrowing their\ncanopies and images, tearing down their banner, and putting the priests\nand their followers to flight.\n\nKing Ptolemy, having heard of this deed, sent forth a hundred of his\nbest warriors, to bring before him in chains the audacious strangers;\nbut Saint George treated them much the same as he did the knights of\nBagabornabou, and not one returned alive to tell of their defeat.\n\nThen he rode on to the city of Memphis, to deliver his letter.  Weary\nand faint from his fatigues, instead of meeting with the reception he\nhad a right to expect, he and his Squire found themselves surrounded by\nthe whole populace of the city, set on by the King and his ministers.\nThe gates were shut.  Brickbats and tiles came showering down on their\nheads.  In vain they charged right and left.\n\nAided by a thousand warriors, clad in chain armour, the infuriated\npopulace, threatening vengeance on the despisers of their religion,\nhemmed them in.  De Fistycuff was torn from his horse.  Saint George,\nafter performing feats of unheard-of valour, was ignominiously dragged\nfrom his, and borne, faint and bleeding, into the presence of the King.\n\n\"Is this the way you treat strangers?\" exclaimed he, indignantly.  \"I\ncame to your country as an ambassador.  Here are my credentials;\" and,\ndrawing the letter from the lining of his helmet, he presented it in due\nform.\n\n\"Ah! ah! what you are your deeds and this letter show,\" cried King\nPtolemy, stamping with rage.  \"You despise our ancient religion, and\nwould make converts of our people.  Bear him and his attendant off to\nprison.\"\n\nThe King pondered all night how he should destroy the strangers, and he\nresolved to make them join in combat with a hundred of the fiercest\nlions ever collected, to make sport for his subjects.  The day arrived\nwhen the dreadful combat was to take place, and thousands of people\nassembled in the vast amphitheatre built for the purpose, to which even\nthe huge pyramids seemed as pismires' nests.\n\nSaint George claimed the right of having his sword and steed; and the\nKing, little dreaming of the courage and sagacity of Bayard, and the\nvirtues which existed in Ascalon, and believing that, although a few\nlions might be killed thereby, greater sport would be afforded to his\npeople, as he had no doubt the rest would easily tear him from his\nhorse, and crush him in his armour, granted his request.\n\nWith a flourish of trumpets the Knight and his Squire entered the arena.\nDe Fistycuff kept carefully behind his master.  With terrific roars the\nhundred lions rushed in at once, amidst the loud plaudits of the\nspectators.  On they bounded towards the Knight.  Ascalon was in his\nhand.  One after the other their heads fell, severed from their tawny\nbodies by the trusty steel.  The Squire's chief labour was to keep them\noff Bayard's tail, lest, when he flung his heels out behind, the\nChampion's aim might be less certain.  The plaudits of the spectators\nwere changed to groans of rage when they saw the carcasses of their\nfavourite lions, who had already swallowed so many thousand slaves,\nstrewing the wide arena.  They shouted loudly to have an end put to the\npleasant pastime.\n\n\"Fair play!\" cried De Fistycuff, in return brandishing his sword.  \"In\nthe name of my noble master, I demand fair play!\"\n\nAnd Saint George went on riding round and round, and slashing away with\nAscalon, till he had slain every one of the hundred lions.\n\nThe treacherous King, fearing what might occur should so brave a\nchampion wander freely through his dominions, had, in the meantime,\nsummoned five thousand chosen warriors, and charged them to bring the\nKnight, dead or alive, bound before him.  Scarcely was the last lion\nkilled than they rushed into the arena, and before he and his squire had\ntime to offer any effectual resistance, they had borne him to the\nground.  Then, throwing chains of steel around him, they carried him,\nhelpless as an infant, before the King.  Thence, without form of trial,\nhe was cast into a dungeon, so massive that no strength could break\nthrough it.  There, guarded night and day by lynx-eyed warders, he\nlanguished for many long years, his only companion being the faithful De\nFistycuff; their chief subject of conversation being the deeds that they\nhad done, and the wonders they had seen, and the deeds they would do,\nand the wonders they hoped to see.\n\nThere we must leave them, to tell what became of the Princess Sabra.  In\nvain she waited and pined for the return of her gallant and true knight,\nSaint George.  He came not, because, as has been seen, he could not,\nwhile the black King of Morocco, with every art he could devise,\nprosecuted his hateful suit.  Whether or not he might have succeeded is\ndoubtful, when one night, as the Princess slept on her couch she dreamed\nthat Saint George appeared, not, as she had seen him, in shining armour,\nwith his burgonet of glittering steel, and crimson plume of spangled\nfeathers, but in overworn and simple attire, with pale countenance and\nemaciated form; and thus he spoke:--\n\n  \"Sabra, I am betray'd for love of thee,\n  And lodged in cave as dark as night,\n  From whence in vain I seek--ah! woe is me!\n  To fly and revel in thy beauteous sight.\n  Remain thou true and constant for my sake,\n  That of my absence none may vantage take.\n\n  \"Let tyrants know, if ever I obtain\n  The freedom lost by treason's wicked guile,\n  False Afric's scourge I ever will remain,\n  And turn to streaming blood Morocco's soil;\n  That hateful Prince of Barbary shall rue\n  The just reward which is his treason's due.\"\n\nThese words so encouraged the Princess that when she awoke she went to\nher sire, and entreated him, with scalding tears, to dismiss Almidor\nfrom his court, and to allow her to enjoy that single blessedness for\nwhich she professed to have for the present so ardent an admiration.\nThe King at length, softened by her grief, consented to her request,\nand, with many courteous expressions, informed the black Monarch that\nhis daughter had finally resolved to decline his proposals.  This\nannouncement created the greatest fury in the breast of Almidor.\n\nCalling around him all the knights and the numerous other attendants who\nhad followed him to the court of Bagabornabou, he told them that, as he\nhad been insulted and deceived, he was determined to be revenged.\n\nWith loud cries and burning brands the treacherous Moors that night\nattacked the palace where they had been long hospitably entertained,\nand, amid the confusion, Almidor, seizing the Princess, bore her off on\nhis coal-black charger.  In vain her father with his warriors pursued.\nThe fierce Almidor galloped with his captive across the burning sands,\nwhich none but Moorish steed could traverse at the speed he went.\nHatred, not love, animated his bosom, and thus, instead of wedding her\nas he had purposed, he cast her into a dark dungeon, where, her\nbeauteous charms concealed from the light of day, she for many a long\nand anxious year bewailed her pitiable and cruel fate.  Happily, ere she\nleft her father's home, a kind fairy, knowing full well what was to be\nher fate, had presented her with a golden chain of most rare\nworkmanship.  Seven days had it been steeped in tiger's blood, and seven\nnights in dragon's milk, by which it had attained such excellent virtue,\nthat, as the fairy told her, if she wore it wrapped seven times round\nher alabaster neck, it would preserve her from all violence, and enable\nher to retain that enchanting beauty which had won the noble Champion's\nheart, and brought so many suitors to her feet.  Thus armed, she feared\nnot even the fierce Almidor's cruelty.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER FIVE.\n\nTHE ADVENTURES OF SAINT DENIS OF FRANCE.\n\nOn parting from his comrades, the gallant Champion of France, the famed\nSaint Denis, attended by his squire, Le Crapeau, wandered away through\nmany lands, slaying many hideous monsters, terrible wild beasts, and\nfrightful giants, combating in many tournaments, and paying his devoirs\nto many fair princesses, as well as other maidens of high and low\ndegree, in which latter employment he was closely imitated by his\nadmiring Squire, who jocosely spoke of his master as \"that gay young\nKnight who laughs and rides away.\"  At length he reached a magnificent\ncastle in Asia, surrounded by a forest of trees of every conceivable\nhue, and bearing fruits tempting to the eye and luscious to the taste.\n\n\"If the outside is so attractive, what must the inside be!\" quoth he to\nLe Crapeau.  \"Marbleu! but we'll knock and see.\"\n\nThereupon the Squire blew the horn which hung at the iron gate; but\ninstead of its being opened by a burly porter, or by a steel-clad\nwarrior, a troop of fair damsels appeared, who, with sweet smiles,\ninvited the Knight to enter, and told him that they would conduct him to\ntheir mistress.  Joyfully he followed them, when, in a superb hall, he\nbeheld, seated on an ivory throne, glittering with diamonds of the\npurest water, a lady of beauty more radiant than possessed by any of the\nmany he counted among his acquaintance.  With agile steps, and many a\nbow and flourish of his helmet, followed nimbly by Le Crapeau, he\napproached the lady, and knelt at her feet.\n\n\"Rise, rise, brave Knight!  I have heard of your fame and the gallant\ndeeds you have done, and gladly I welcome you to my humble castle,\" said\nthe lady, with a smile so sweet that it went right through the tender\nheart of Saint Denis.  He bowed, as did his Squire, and assured the lady\nthat she was in no way deceived by the reports which had reached her\nears, but that what they had done was as nothing compared with what they\npurposed to do, and would do most assuredly.\n\nA magnificent banquet then suddenly appeared, spread out in the hall\nacross which they had lately passed, and strains of softest music broke\nforth to give notice that the feast was ready.  The lady, led by the\nKnight, approached the table, and he took his seat by her side, while Le\nCrapeau stood behind his chair, as in duty bound, to serve him.\n\n\"We should have guests to meet you,\" said the lady, \"but I live alone,\nand your arrival was somewhat sudden, though not unexpected.  I have\nsent forth to summon some to appear at a ball by-and-bye, as I fancy it\nis an entertainment in which your countrymen delight.\"\n\n\"Oui, Madam,\" cried Le Crapeau, making a pirouette expressive of his\ndelight; \"you will see what my master and I can do when the time comes.\"\n\nThus, with agreeable and lively conversation, ample justice was done to\nthe feast, which was composed of the lightest and most delicate viands,\nsuch as the Knight vowed he had not tasted since he had left his native\nland.\n\nWhile the Knight lay back in his chair, to luxuriate on the thought of\nthe pleasure his palate had enjoyed, the banqueting-table disappeared,\nand when he looked up, troops of gallant knights, in silk attire, and\nfair dames, clad in the most dazzling garments, were entering the hall.\nUp sprang the Knight, and, offering his hand to the lady, he led her\nforth to the centre of the hall, where, to the admiration of all\nbeholders, and very much to his own satisfaction, he performed a\nminuette never surpassed in all Asia.  Le Crapeau, meantime, seeing\nanother damsel of radiant beauty, inferior only to that of the lady of\nthe castle, led her forth, and bounded away, round and round the hall,\nto strains of the most inspiriting and lively music.  His only\nperplexity was discovering that his fair partner did not speak; indeed,\nalthough all the knights and ladies danced in the most lively way,\nclosely imitating the two Frenchmen, not a sound escaped their lips.  A\nvariety of dances succeeded, in all of which the Knight and his Squire\nexcelled all competitors; nor did the festivities cease till the rosy\ndawn appearing in the eastern sky, the guests disappeared as silently as\nthey had entered from the hall, and the lady and the Knight and his\nSquire remained its sole occupants.  Le Crapeau's partner was the last\nto quit it, and as he rushed after her to utter a tender adieu, instead\nof the lady, his nose came with such force in contact with a pillar that\nhe was sent sprawling backwards into the hall.\n\n\"Never mind,\" said the lady, as he picked himself up, \"you will see her\nto-morrow, and then remember the lesson you have just received, and\ndon't talk nonsense to her.\"\n\nA dozen very ugly little black dwarfs, bearing torches in their hands,\nnow made their appearance, and conducted the Knight to a magnificent\ncouch prepared for him, while another stood in an adjoining room, ready\nfor Le Crapeau, after he had performed the duty of disrobing his master.\nThe dwarfs meantime placed themselves at the door, and intimated that\nthey would remain there to watch over the strangers while they\nslumbered.\n\nAfter a matutinal meal of delicacies, of which even the Knight had never\nheard, the lady conducted him through the castle, and exhibited to him\nstatues, and pictures, and gems most rare and beautiful, and then she\nled him through gardens full of flowers, shrubs, and trees, of forms and\nhues and scents most strange and lovely and sweet.  Thus occupied, the\nbanqueting time arrived, followed by a ball as on the previous evening.\n\nUnhappily, Le Crapeau, forgetting the warning he had received, followed\nhis partner as before, when a hand, coming suddenly out of the wall,\ngave him so severe a cuff upon the cheek that for many minutes he lay\nunable to move, when at length, much crest-fallen, he slowly crept back\nto his post behind his master.\n\nThus the days passed away.  Sometimes the lady led the Knight forth,\nmounted on cream-coloured steeds; at others, in a chariot drawn by\ntwenty beautiful peacocks; at others, they glided over the surface of a\nlake in a barge, towed by thirty milk-white swans, and visited scenes of\nthe most enchanting beauty.\n\nAt length, however, the Knight began to weary of the monotony of his\nexistence, and to sigh for fresh adventures and more excitement.  The\nSquire, too, wished for change, and was not altogether pleased with the\nbuffet he regularly got every evening at the termination of the ball.\n\n\"A parting scene is always painful,\" exclaimed the Knight.\n\n\"It is,\" answered the Squire.  \"I understand your wishes.  I will have\nthe steeds ready, and at early dawn we will ride forth, and leave a\nsweet-scented billet to thank the lady for her courtesy, and to inform\nher of our departure.\"\n\nLess difficulty occurred in the execution of the design than might have\nbeen expected, and, rejoicing in their liberty, the Knight and his\nSquire rode gaily forth towards the confines of Armenia.\n\n\"But we have got well out of that,\" quoth the Squire to his master.  \"By\nmy faith, I like more animation, less formality, and greater variety\nthan we enjoyed down there.\"\n\n\"You speak the truth, my Le Crapeau; yet she was a sweet creature, that\nlady of the castle.\"\n\nNow, the lady of the castle was no other than a powerful fairy, very\nkind and very woman-like, who had conceived an affection for the French\nChampion, when she chanced to see him as he journeyed through her realm.\nEven good fairies will inflict a punishment.\n\nBy means for which they could not account, the Knight and his Squire\nlost their way.  Round and round they wandered among hills and forests,\ntill hunger almost drove them to despair, when they were compelled to\nsustain nature on the berries and wild fruits which they could pluck\nfrom the trees and shrubs, and on the roots which they dug up with the\npoints of their swords.  After living many months on this hard fare a\nmulberry-tree, loaded with luscious fruit, appeared before them.\n\n\"Ah!\" exclaimed Saint Denis, \"on this at least we may banquet with some\npleasure;\" and filling his casque with the fruit, his example being\nimitated by Le Crapeau, they sat themselves down, with their head-pieces\nbetween their legs, to indulge, to their heart's content, in the\nunexpected treat.\n\nThe Knight, who eat more leisurely than his Squire, had scarcely\nfinished his portion when he heard a loud bray close to him, and looking\nround, instead of his Squire, to his amazement he beheld a\nstarved-looking donkey standing near him, and poking his nose into Le\nCrapeau's now empty casque.\n\nWhile yet wondering and mechanically finishing his mulberries, he felt a\nvery uncomfortable sensation coming over his own head and legs.  He rose\nfrom the ground and shook himself, but instead of the accustomed rattle\nof his steel armour no sound was produced.  He wished to scratch his\nnose, but his arms appeared kept down before him.  He tried to call Le\nCrapeau, but instead of his manly voice, which had so often shouted\nloudly in the battle, a timid cry alone proceeded from his throat.  He\nlooked at the donkey, and the donkey looked at him, and shook its head\nwith an expression truly mournful.  Something strange must have occurred\nhe feared.\n\nWherever he went the donkey followed.  He wandered away from the\nmulberry-tree till he reached a lake of crystal water; he approached it,\nwhen, on its mirror-like surface, instead of a steel-clad warrior, he\nbeheld a deer with long antlers and shaggy hide, he started back with\ndismay.  When hunger pressed him he found himself cropping the grass or\nthrusting his nose into the purling brook, with his attendant donkey\never by his side.  Pitiable as was Saint George's condition that of\nSaint Denis was infinitely worse.\n\nThus for many years he continued unable to recover his natural form.\nOften he returned to the mulberry-tree, the cause, as he believed, of\nhis misfortune.  It did not occur to him that the fairy, whose\nhospitality he had enjoyed, had anything to do with it.  Once, as he\ncame to the tree, so enraged was he that he ran his horns against it and\nnearly broke them.  His attendant donkey did the same, and not having\nthe same protection to his scull, he received a blow so severe that he\nwas sent reeling backwards till he sunk exhausted on the ground.  Saint\nDenis was a second time going to butt, when he heard a hollow voice\nbreathe forth from the trunk the following words:--\n\n  \"Cease to lament, thou famous man of France,\n  With gentle ears, oh, listen to my moan!\n  Once on a time it was my fatal chance\n  To be the proudest maid that ere was known.\n  By birth I am the daughter of a king,\n  Though now a breathless tree and senseless thing.\n\n  \"My pride was such that Heaven confounded me--\n  A goddess in my own conceit I was:\n  What nature lent too base I thought to be,\n  But deem'd myself all others to surpass.\n  And therefore nectar and ambrosia sweet,\n  The food of demigods, for me I counted meet.\n\n  \"My pride despised the finest bread of wheat,\n  And richer food I daily sought to find;\n  Refined gold was boil'd up with my meat,\n  Such self-conceit my senses all did blind.\n  For which the cruel fates transformed me,\n  From human substance to this senseless tree.\n\n  \"Seven years in shape of stag thou must remain,\n  And then a purple rose, by magic's firm decree,\n  Shall bring thee to thy former shape again,\n  And end at last thy woeful misery:\n  When this is done, be sure you cut in twain\n  This fatal tree, wherein I do remain.\"\n\nThe Knight almost fainted when he heard these strange words, and\nunderstood the length of time he was to remain in his transformed\ncondition.  His attendant donkey had also heard the words, and treasured\nthem up in his memory.  Every day, while his master slept, he ranged the\ncountry round, searching for the purple rose, but every evening returned\nas wise as he set out.  Thus the seven years passed mournfully away.\n\nOne day, unmindful how the time had sped, as he trotted on, every now\nand then stopping and uttering a melancholy bray, his nostrils scented\nthe fragrance of some roses; and though his first impulse was to eat\nthem, on examining them more closely, he observed that they were of\nlustrous beauty and of a purple hue.  Plucking a number of them, he\ntrotted back to Saint Denis.  He would have brayed with delight, but,\nhad he done so, he would have dropped the roses, so he restrained\nhimself till he had laid them before his master's nose.  Instantly the\nKnight began to devour them, as did the faithful donkey, when, a stupor\ncoming over them, they couched down on the green-sward.\n\nPresently extraordinary sensations came over them both, and the horns\nand hoofs began to loosen, and the skin to roll up in folds, and a\nrefreshing shower falling, both Knight and Squire, on opening their\neyes, discovered, to their infinite satisfaction, that they were no\nlonger brute beasts, but that they had recovered their former comely\nshapes, and that their hairy hides lay vacant on the ground.  Near them\nwere their arms, now sadly in want of polishing, while their trusty\nsteeds, long roaming the rich pastures around, no sooner beheld than\nrecognising them, trotted up to bear them once more to the field of\nbattle or of fame.\n\nTheir first care was to burnish up their armour and their weapons.  For\nmany a weary hour they rubbed.\n\n\"We might have saved ourselves all this trouble, and spent the last\nseven years more pleasantly and profitably, had we not idled away our\ntime in the magnificent castle of that beautiful lady down there,\"\nobserved Saint Denis, as he scrubbed away.\n\n\"Certes, Master dear, it's a failing I for one have when I get into the\nsociety of the fair sex, I feel little inclination to leave them; but we\nhave had a pretty sharp lesson, and I hope to amend for the future.\"\n\nThe task was performed at last.  Then the Champion, recollecting what\nthe mulberry-tree had said, drew his sword, and with one blow cut the\nstout trunk quite asunder.\n\nInstantly there issued forth a bright flame, from the midst of which\nappeared a lovely damsel, clothed in a robe of yellow silk, made from\nthe cocoons of the innumerable silk-worms, which fed on the tree.\n\n\"Oh, most sweet and singular ornament of nature!\" exclaimed the Knight,\nbowing low before her, as did his Squire; \"fairer than the feathers of\nthe graceful swan, and far more beautiful than Aurora's morning\ncountenance, to thee, the fairest of all fair ones, most humbly and only\nto thy beauty do I here submit my affections.  Tell me, therefore, to\nwhom my heart must pay its true devotions, thy birth, parentage, and\nname.\"\n\nThe maiden, to whom it was long since such words had been addressed, was\nhighly delighted with them, and informed the Knight that her name was\nEglantine, that she was the daughter of the King of the neighbouring\ncountry, Armenia, and assured him that he would be welcomed at her\nfather's court.\n\nIt is not recounted how many ferocious giants and furious lions he and\nLe Crapeau slew on the road while escorting the princess, though they\nwere very numerous.  They put to flight also a whole army of Pagans, who\ncame to carry off their precious charge.  Le Crapeau himself, however,\ntook care not to omit the details, nor did Saint Denis pass them by in\nsilence.  The King of Armenia, who had long mourned his daughter as lost\nto him for ever, was so grateful to the French Knight that he at once\npromised her to him in marriage, and entertained him with the most\nsumptuous banquets and balls, and other pleasant divertisements which\nhis court could produce.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER SIX.\n\nTHE ADVENTURES OF SAINT JAMES OF SPAIN.\n\nSaint James, the Champion of Spain, on parting from his comrades at the\nbrazen pillar, took ship, and was wrecked on the coast of Sicily.\n\nTravelling through the island, followed by his Squire, Pedrillo, he\nreached the foot of Etna, then terrifically spouting forth vast masses\nof flame and boiling metal, and ashes, and smoke.  Unappalled by the\nsight, he climbed the mountain's height, where, perched on a pinnacle of\nrock, appeared a mighty bird, with fiery pinions--a winged phoenix.  No\nsooner did the monster see him than, darting down, it attacked him with\nits red-hot beak, for having dared thus to enter its dominions.\n\nSaint James drew his trusty falchion, and, whirling it round his head,\nkept the fearful beak from approaching his helmet, for well he knew that\none thrust from its deadly point would pierce through steel and skull as\neasily as a lady's bodkin through her kerchief.\n\nThe fearful combat lasted for many hours, till the monster, hopeless of\ntriumph, flew back to its nest within the crater's fiery bosom.\n\nThe following day the fight was renewed, while the faithful Pedrillo\nstood at a distance, counting his rosaries, and called loudly on all the\nsaints to aid his master.  At length the Knight and the monster, seeing\nthat no profit or glory was to be acquired, retired, by mutual consent,\nfrom the combat.\n\nSaint James then passed into Africa, where, passing through a region\ninfested by monsters, he slew so many that the inhabitants wished to\nadopt him as their Sovereign.\n\nCrossing the Red Sea, he was once more shipwrecked, when, had not a\ntroop of mermaids carried him and his Squire, with their horses and\nfurniture to the shore, they would all have been drowned.\n\nAt length he reached the beautiful city of Ispahan, the capital of\nPersia.  As he stood gazing on her fortified walls, built of pure\nsilver; on her towers of jasper and ebony; on her glittering spires of\ngold and precious stones; on her houses of marble and alabaster, the\nstreets between which were paved with tin--he heard the cheerful echoes\nof a thousand brazen trumpets, and saw issuing from the brazen gates a\nhundred armed knights, bearing blood-red streamers in their hands, and\nriding on as many coal-black coursers; then came the Shah, guarded by a\nhundred tawny Moors, with bows, and darts feathered with ravens' wings;\nand after them rode Celestine, the Shah's fair daughter, mounted on an\nunicorn, and guarded by a hundred Amazonian dames, clad in green silk.\nIn her hand was a javelin of silver, while her fair bosom was shielded\nby a breastplate of gold, artificially wrought with the scales of a\ncrocodile.  A vast concourse of gentlemen and squires followed, some on\nhorse-back and some on foot.\n\nThus Nebazaradan, the Shah of Persia, rode forth with his daughter to\nthe chase.\n\nThe country had been terribly overrun with wild beasts, and the Knight\nheard it proclaimed that the Shah would give a corselet of finest steel,\ninlaid with gold, to whomsoever killed the first wild beast that day.\n\n\"Come,\" cried Saint James, \"let us after the savage beasts, and win the\ncorselet!\"\n\nAway scoured the Knight and his Squire over the plain till they reached\na forest, in the confines of which they beheld a monstrous wild boar,\ndevouring the remains of some passengers he had slain.  The eyes of the\nbrute sparkled like a furnace; his tusks were sharper than spikes of\nsteel; and the breath, as it issued from his nostrils, seemed like a\nwhirlwind; his bristles looked like so many spear-heads, and his tail\nwas like a wreath of serpents.\n\nSaint James blew his silver horn, which hung by a green silk scarf to\nthe pommel of his saddle.  The blast aroused the boar, who made at him\nfuriously.  His spear shivered against its bristly hide into a hundred\nfragments, when, leaping from his steed, which he directed Pedrillo to\nhold, he drew his falchion of Toledo steel, and valiantly on foot\nassailed the monster.  From side to side he sprung to avoid its fearful\ntusks; but in vain did the point of his weapon seek an entrance to its\ncase-hardened flesh.  At last, unslinging his battle-axe, he clove the\nhead of the monster down to the mouth, and with a second blow cut it\ncompletely off; then placing it on the staff of his spear, he ordered\nPedrillo to bear it behind him.\n\nThus, riding on, he met the Shah and his daughter.  The Shah at first\nwas highly pleased with his prowess; but when he heard that he was a\nChristian Knight, his admiration was turned to rage, and he informed him\nthat he must either become a Pagan worshipper of the sun or quit the\ncountry.\n\nThe Knight proudly answered that no one should make him quit the country\nunless of his own free will.\n\nOn this the Shah's army surrounded him and Pedrillo, and, after a\ndesperate resistance on their parts, bore them to the ground.\n\n\"Now, Sir Knight, what will you do?\" sneered the Shah.  \"However, you\nhave killed the greatest boar in the country, and, as your reward, you\nshall choose the manner in which you and your Squire will be put to\ndeath.\"\n\nThe Champion, who was gallant on all occasions, replied that he would be\nshot to death by the fair damsels he had seen going forth to the chase.\nBut when they were informed of this, none were found willing to\nundertake the cruel office.\n\nThis so enraged the Shah, that he ordained that they should cast lots to\ndecide who should perform the task.  The lot fell on Celestine and one\nof her maidens.  She was to kill the Knight, and her maiden Pedrillo.\nInstead, however, of death's fatal instrument, a steel-tipped arrow, she\nshot a sigh--true messenger of love--as did her maiden; and then she\nhastened to her father to entreat him, with bitter, scalding tears, to\nliberate the strangers.  At last he yielded, on condition that they\nshould forthwith quit the country.\n\nAlready had Saint James commenced his homeward journey, when, looking\nback on the towers of Ispahan, so inflamed was his heart with the love\nof Celestine, that he resolved to return and win her.  He and Pedrillo,\ntherefore, staining their skins with the juice of some blackberries, and\nat the same time habiting themselves in the costume of Moors, pretending\nto be dumb, returned to the city.\n\nThen Saint James presented himself as an Indian knight, and, entering\nthe army of the Shah, won such renown by his heroic deeds, that he was\nsoon raised to the highest posts of honour.\n\nNow, there came from the far east two sovereigns, claiming the hand of\nthe fair Celestine; but she, thinking only of Saint James, refused to\nentertain their proposals.\n\nAt a great tournament given in their honour, they both, clothed in\nglittering armour, entered the lists; so did the seeming Moorish knight.\nWhat was the surprise of the King and all his courtiers to behold him\noverthrow them both!  Then he rode up beneath the pavilion of the\nPrincess Celestine, and exhibited to her a ring which she had long\nbefore given him.  By this she knew that he was her own true knight.  He\nsoon found means to tell her of his love, and all that had happened,\nwhile Pedrillo did not forget to put in a word in his own favour with\nher maiden.\n\nThey agreed that very night to fly to Spain.  Pedrillo, who was cunning\nin devices, turned their horses' shoes backwards, and thus, when they\nwere seeking safety in the west, it appeared as if they were flying\ntowards the east.  Thus evading pursuit, they galloped on, crossed the\nRed Sea, and, travelling through Africa, the whole party arrived safely\nin that wondrous town of Seville, in Spain, where Saint James was born,\nand which justly holds itself, in consequence, in the very highest\nestimation.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER SEVEN.\n\nTHE ADVENTURES OF SAINT ANTHONY OF ITALY.\n\nThe adventures of the great Saint Anthony of Italy, after he parted from\nhis friends at the brazen pillar, are now to be described.  Taking ship,\nlike Father Aeneas of old, he and his attendant Squire traversed the\nMediterranean Sea, only he sailed eastward, while the pious Aeneas\nsailed westward, over it.  Numberless were the adventures he\nencountered.\n\nNow his ship was tossed by storms, now pursued by a huge sea monster,\nwith jaws so wide that the affrighted mariners believed that it was\nabout to swallow up bodily both them and their ship; but Saint Anthony,\nputting on his armour, and standing on the poop, brandished his spear so\nmanfully in the monster's face that he effectually kept him at bay.  His\nfaithful Squire shouted also with such good effect, that the monster was\nfain to turn tail and to leave the ship and its honoured freight to\nproceed unmolested.\n\nAt length Asia's ancient shores were reached, and travelling on,\nperforming every day unheard-of wonders, combating with terrible\nmonsters, and destroying wild beasts innumerable, he and Niccolo arrived\nat the far-famed kingdom of Georgia.\n\nThey wandered on till they began to ascend, amid narrow defiles and dark\ngorges, the rugged ranges of the mighty Caucasus, high above which\nElborus towers with gigantic splendour.  As they climbed upwards, higher\nand higher, there appeared before them a marble castle with gates of\nbrass, which they guessed, from inquiries they had made, belonged to the\ngiant Blanderon.  Over the principal gate were these verses:--\n\n  \"Within this castle lives the scourge of kings;\n  A furious giant, whose unconquer'd power\n  The Georgian monarch in subjection brings,\n  And keeps his daughters prisoners in his tower:\n  Seven damsels fair this monstrous giant keeps,\n  That sing him music while he nightly sleeps.\n\n  \"His sword of steel a thousand knights have felt,\n  Who for these maidens' sakes have lost their lives;\n  Yet, though on many knights he hath death dealt,\n  This most inhuman giant still survives.\n  Let simple passengers take heed in time,\n  When up this mountain height they thoughtless climb.\n\n  \"But knights of worth, and men of noble mind,\n  If any chance to travel by this tower,\n  That for these maidens' sake will be so kind\n  To try their strength against the giant's power,\n  Shall have a maiden's prayer, both day and night,\n  To prosper them with good successful fight.\"\n\nThese lines were placed there by the power of the good fairy of Asia,\nand were unseen by the Giant, or he would not, it is presumed, have\nallowed them to remain.  They so encouraged the valiant Knight, that,\nresolving to liberate the ladies, he struck so mighty a blow on the gate\nof the castle, with the pommel of his sword, that it sounded like a clap\nof the loudest thunder.\n\nOn hearing it, Blanderon, who had been asleep, started up, and came\nforth to the gate with a huge oak-tree in his hand, which he flourished\nabout his head as if it had been a light battle-axe, in a loud voice\ncomparing the Knight's spear to a bulrush, and threatening to hurl him\nand his Squire down the side of the mountain.\n\n\"Words without deeds are mere empty things,\" retorted the Knight.  \"Try\nwhat you can do.\"\n\nAnd giving his steed to his Squire to hold, he drew his trusty falchion,\nand stood ready to receive the onslaught of his huge antagonist.\nBlanderon, however, flourished his oak so furiously that Saint Anthony\nhad to jump here and there with the greatest activity to avoid his\nstrokes.\n\nNow the very earth seemed to shake; now the castle-walls resounded with\nthe blows.  The Knight relaxed not a moment in his efforts, for he saw\nthat the Giant was stout; and as the sun's heat was very great, he\npanted more and more till the moisture from his brows ran down into his\neyes, and almost blinded him.  Observing this, the Knight plied him with\nhis battle-axe more vigorously than before, till he was compelled to\nseek for safety within his castle-walls; but ere he reached them he let\nfall from his grasp his huge oak-tree; on which Saint Anthony,\nredoubling his efforts, smote him so fiercely, that he sunk down on his\nknees, unable to fly further.  Still undaunted, the Giant drew a dagger\ntwice the size of any ordinary two-handed sword.  With this he struck\nright and left so rapidly that the Knight had hard work indeed to escape\nits blows, and still greater to discover a spot in his huge body in\nwhich he might plant a deadly one in return.\n\nAt length, however, the Giant grew weary, and Saint Anthony, springing\nforward, with one stroke clove his hideous head almost in twain.  Then,\nwith another blow he cut it off, and handed it to Niccolo, to be carried\nbefore him as a trophy of his prowess.  So violent, however, had been\nthe efforts of the Knight that he also sank fainting on the ground, when\nhis faithful Squire, believing him to be dead, knelt by his side, and,\nweeping, mourned bitterly his loss.\n\nNow, it happened that the lovely Rosalinde, one of the daughters of the\nKing of Georgia, who had been taken captive by the Giant, looked over\nthe battlements, and seeing his headless trunk guessed that he had been\nslain by some gallant knight, and that the end of her servitude had\narrived.\n\nDescending to the gate, she beheld the seeming lifeless body of the\nChampion, and, kneeling opposite to Niccolo, joined her salt tears with\nhis in mourning the fate of so brave a Knight.  Then, remembering that\nthere were some precious balms within the castle, she went and fetched\nthem; and having applied them to the limbs of the Champion, their effect\nwas so great that he instantly revived, and sitting up gazed at her with\nadmiration, and inquired who she was.  They entreated him to wait till\nhe had been fed and rested within the castle.\n\nWhile the faithful Niccolo watched by his master's couch, as he slept,\nthe lady Rosalinde was preparing delicates for his repast.\n\nHe at length awoke, restored to health and strength; and then, by the\nlady's advice, he ordered Niccolo to drag the Giant's carcass down upon\na craggy rock, to be devoured by hungry ravens; which being done, the\nGeorgian maiden exhibited to him the wonders of the castle.  First she\nconducted him to a brazen tower where were a hundred corselets and other\nmartial furniture of the knights slain by the Giant.  Then she conducted\nhim to the stables, where were a hundred steeds, thin and jaded, which\nthey had once bestrode.  There was also the Giant's bed of iron, with a\ncovering of carved brass, and with curtains of leaves of gold.  After\nthis she pointed out to him a pond of crystal water, on which swam six\nmilk-white swans, with crowns of gold upon their heads.\n\n\"Know, brave Champion, that these six swans are my sisters,\" she\nobserved.  \"We all seven are the daughters of the King of Georgia.  As\nwe were out hunting one day the Giant from the battlements of his castle\nespied us, and, rushing down, bore us off under his arms before anyone\ncould come to our rescue.  My sisters, by the power of a kind fairy who\nhad attended at their birth, were transformed into swans, that they\nmight escape the tyranny of the Giant, though she was unable to release\nthem altogether.  I, the eldest, retained my natural form; for, from my\nskill in music, I could always quell his anger and tame him into\nsubjection.  Though I might perchance have escaped, I remained, in hope\nsome day of liberating my sisters.  Now, if the good fairy can be found,\nwe may tell her of the Giant's death, and bring her hither to restore\nthem to their natural shapes.\"\n\n\"Most lovely lady, we will fly at once to your father's capital, and\nsend the fairy hither to perform her grateful task,\" exclaimed the\nKnight, placing the hand of the Princess in his own.  So, taking the\nkeys of the castle, which were of wonderous weight, they locked up the\ngates, and mounting their steeds, followed by Niccolo with the Giant's\ngory head, they proceeded to the Georgian Court.\n\nOn reaching the gate of the city they heard a peal of bells solemnly\ntolling forth a funeral knell.  On inquiring the cause of this, the aged\nporter replied:--\n\n\"The bells toll for the King's seven daughters.  There are seven bells,\neach one called after the name of a Princess, which never have ceased\nthis doleful melody since the loss of the unhappy ladies, nor ever will\ntill they return.\"\n\n\"Then their tasks are finished,\" answered the noble-minded Rosalinde.\n\"We bring you tidings of the Princesses.\"\n\nWhereat the aged porter, ravished with joy, ran to the steeple and\nstopped the bells.  Hearing the bells cease their wonted mournful\nmelody, up started the King of Georgia, and hastened to the gate to\ninquire the cause.  There, to his joy, he beheld his long-lost daughter\nin company with a strange knight and attendant squire.  Hearing the\nwonderful tale, he commanded all his courtiers to put on the lugubrious\nweeds of mourning, and to accompany him to the castle of the Giant, that\nthere perchance he might discover some means of releasing his six other\ndaughters, while the noble-minded Rosalinde and Saint Anthony were left\nto take care of the city till his return.\n\nWhen the King of Georgia, after long delay, did not return, the Italian\nKnight declared, in impassioned words, that he must proceed in search of\nthose adventures for the sake of which he had left his native land.  To\nthis the noble-minded Rosalinde replied:--\n\n\"Oh! most princely-minded Champion of Italy!  It is not Georgia can\nharbour me when thou art absent.  The sky shall be no sky, the sea no\nsea, the earth no earth, if thou do prove inconstant; but if you will\nnot take me with you, these tender hands of mine shall hang upon your\nhorse's bridle, till my body, like Theseus's son, be dashed against the\nhard flint stones; yet, hard as they are, not harder than I shall deem\nyour heart.\"\n\nOne only reply to this appeal could the princely-minded Champion make.\nIt was to tell her that he would bear her away forthwith as his own true\nbride.  And they thus both being agreed, habited as a page in green\nsarcenet, her buskins of the smoothest kid-skin, and her rapier of\nLydian steel, secured over her shoulder by an orange-coloured scarf, and\nmounted on a gentle palfrey, she quitted the land of Georgia; one of her\nmaidens, habited also in page's guise, attending, whom Niccolo took\nunder his especial care.  Thus they travelled; he the bravest, boldest\nknight that ever wandered by the way, and she the loveliest lady that\never mortal eye beheld.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER EIGHT.\n\nTHE ADVENTURES OF SAINT ANDREW OF SCOTLAND.\n\nAnd now the adventures of the far-famed Saint Andrew of Scotland claim\nour attention, after he quitted the brazen pillar, followed by his\nfaithful Squire, Murdoch McAlpine of that ilk.  On he travelled\neastward, in the face of the rays of the glittering sun, which sparkled\non his shield and casque with dazzling brightness, and so astonished all\nbeholders that they fled dismayed before him, till he crossed the wild\nterritories of Russia, and entered the wilder deserts of Siberia.  Then,\nturning north, he found himself in a region where, for many weary\nmonths, the sun never rose, and he and the faithful Murdoch had to\ndiscover their way by poking before them with their spears, every moment\nexpecting to meet with some huge monster with whom they might be called\nto combat.  Nor did they expect in vain, for suddenly a loud growl\nassailed their ears, and the moon, just then rising, exhibited to them a\nwhole army of bears, prepared to dispute their onward progress.\n\n\"Draw your broad-sword, mon, and follow me,\" cried Saint Andrew, shaking\nhis spear.\n\nThe Squire, tucking up his plaid carefully, that it might not be torn or\nsoiled, with loud shouts obeyed, and soon both were dashing and slashing\naway among the infuriated brutes.  The heads of numbers rolled upon the\nsnow, which for miles round was ensanguined with their blood.\n\n\"Few creatures are more difficult to get rid of than bears,\" observed\nthe Knight, charging again.  \"On, Murdoch, on, we'll do it if it is to\nbe done, for what men dare they can do!\"\n\nThus shouting and slaying, the Knight and his Squire fought on for many\nhours, till the survivors of the bears, discovering that they were\nlikely to get the worst of it in the end, took to flight, and stopped\nnot till they reached the North Pole, where they stopped only because\nthey could go no further, and where Saint Andrew agreed that it was not\nworth while following them.\n\nHis next encounter was with a nation of people with heads like foxes,\nfrom whose cunning arts and guiles he had the greatest difficulty in\nescaping.  Although conquered by the power of his arms, they still\nappeared with fresh tricks to entrap him.  When, at length, he had\nfought his way out from among them, he found himself in a dismal vale,\nthe air still dark as Erebus, where he heard the blowing of unseen\nfurnaces, the boiling of cauldrons, the rattling or armour, the\ntrampling of horses, the jingling of chains, the roaring of wild beasts,\nthe hissing of serpents, and the cries of unearthly spirits, and such\nlike dreadful sounds, which would have made any other hearts than those\nof Saint Andrew of Scotland, and of his faithful squire, Murdoch\nMcAlpine of that ilk, quake and tremble with fear; but passing calmly\namid them, and undergoing hardships incredible, under which knights and\nsquires, born in more southern climes, would have sunk exhausted, they\narrived in the kingdom of Georgia, nor rested till they reached the foot\nof the mountain on which stood the castle within whose iron walls the\nsix fair daughters of the King were still held in durance, in the shape\nof swans, with golden crowns upon their heads.\n\nWhen the valiant Champion of Scotland beheld the lofty situation of the\ncastle, and the invincible strength it seemed to be of, he suspected\nsome strange adventure to befall him; so, buckling close his armour,\nwhich, on account of the heat he had loosened, and drawing his sword, he\nclimbed the mountain, when he espied, on a craggy rock, the headless\nbody of the Giant, on which the ravens and other birds of prey were\nfeeding.  Then he approached the castle gate, when, what was his\nastonishment to see a long procession of mourners come forth, with the\nKing of Georgia at their head; and, on inquiry, was told that the old\nman mourned for his six daughters, whom he could by no means get changed\nback into their natural shapes.\n\nSaint Andrew, on hearing this strange tale, expressed his firm belief,\nin language somewhat strong, that such things could not be.\n\nWhereon the King and all his courtiers were highly indignant, and\nnumberless knights stepped forth, and challenged the stranger to mortal\ncombat.  The lists were quickly prepared.  Then the valiant Champion of\nChristendom entered the arena, when the King, in company with many\nGeorgian lords, was present to behold the contest.  Thrice had Saint\nAndrew traced his war-steed up and down the lists, flourishing his\nlance, at the top whereof hung a pendant of gold, on which, in silver\nletters, was traced, \"This day a martyr or a conqueror!\"  Whereon there\nentered a knight in exceeding bright armour, mounted on a courser as\nwhite as snow, whose caparison was the colour of the elements.\n\nA fierce encounter followed; but the Georgian was defeated, and retired\nin disgrace from the lists.\n\nThen entered a knight in green armour, his steed an iron grey.  Loud\nrang their spears against their shields, fierce clashed their swords,\nand clanged their battle-axes, till the Georgian warrior fairly took to\nflight.\n\nThe third knight who entered wore a black corselet, and his huge\nwar-horse was covered with a veil of sable silk.  In his hand he bore a\nbaton of mighty weight, and bound round with iron; but no sooner did the\nchampions meet than their lances shivered in pieces from the furious\nshock, and flew high up into the air, when, alighting from their steeds,\nthey resumed the combat with their keen-edged falchions, the sparks\nflying from their helmets as from a blacksmith's anvil.\n\nThe faithful Murdoch meantime looked on with anxious gaze, when he was\naccosted by a little old woman of mean aspect, who had in vain tried to\nobtain information from the other bystanders.\n\n\"Why is it you want to know, Mother?\" he asked, careful not to give a\nhurried answer, though he bowed politely.\n\nThe old woman, who was in reality a good fairy, replied, \"Because I have\ncome here to do some good; but while a scene of mortal strife is taking\nplace I cannot employ my power.\"\n\nThen Murdoch told her all he knew about the matter; whereon she advised\nhim to hurry to his master when the present combat should be over, and\nto bid him declare his belief that the account was true, and to offer to\nbring the Princesses forth in their proper shapes.\n\nMeantime the combat between the Scottish Champion and the Black Knight\ncontinued with unabated fury.  Any advantage gained by one was foiled by\nthe other, till at length Saint Andrew, uttering his battle-cry, struck\nso mighty a blow with his battle-axe, that he clave the Georgian's\nburgonet, and his head beneath, from his crown to his shoulders, and his\nbody fell lifeless on the ground.\n\nThis so enraged the King that he would have ordered the Scottish Knight\nto have been slain, when Murdoch rushed forward and gave the fairy's\nmessage.\n\nThe Champion spoke as she had directed, when the King, who was of a\nplacable disposition, though somewhat hasty, consented to his request.\n\n\"Swear, most noble King, upon my sword, that you will not attempt any\nfoul treachery to me or my follower, on account of the Champion I have\nslain, until I have accomplished the task I have now undertaken.\"\n\nOn this the old King, descending from his throne, bent over the gallant\nSaint Andrew's sword, and swore as he desired.\n\nThe Knight entered the castle, and repaired to the garden, when, instead\nof finding an ugly old woman, he beheld a lady of radiant beauty, for\nsuch was indeed the Fairy.\n\n\"You see yonder six swans,\" said she; \"as they approach strike boldly\nwith your sword six strokes, nor fear the consequences.\"\n\nThe Knight stood by the side of the crystal lake, and as he stood, his\nglittering falchion in his hand, the six swans swam gracefully up.  Six\ntimes he struck, and each time the head of one of the swans flew up; but\nin its stead appeared, wonderful to relate, a beautiful maiden, whom the\nKnight handed with true courtesy off her liquid pedestal on to dry land.\nThus, in a few minutes, the Champion was surrounded by six of the most\nlovely damsels the world ever saw, habited in green hunting-suits, each\nalmost equal to Diana herself, going forth armed for the chase.\n\n\"You have done well, noble Champion,\" said the Fairy.  \"You did not\ndespise me, or my words, when I appeared old and ugly, and from\nhenceforth you will find me ever ready to aid and protect you, as you\ntravel on in search of those heroic adventures after which your heart\npants.  I bid you farewell; though, remember, that I will come when you\nsummon me;\" saying this the Fairy mounted a golden chariot drawn by\npeacocks, and, rapidly gliding through the air, disappeared amid the\nclouds which floated round the sides of that lofty mountain.  Scarcely\nhad she gone, and the six ladies were pouring forth their thanks to the\nnoble Knight who had delivered them from their cruel bondage, when the\nKing of Georgia, followed by all his knights and courtiers, entered the\ngarden of the castle to ascertain what had become of the strange Knight.\n\nNothing could exceed his astonishment, and delight, and gratitude, when\nSaint Andrew presented to him his six daughters in their proper forms.\n\n\"You deserve them all,\" exclaimed the Monarch, in the warmth of his\nemotion.  To which the Scottish Knight, with true modesty, replied, that\nhe considered one far more than he deserved, and that as yet he felt\ninclined to remain a bachelor.\n\nThe next day, after a sumptuous banquet which the King's cooks prepared\nin the Giant's castle, the whole party marched back to the palace of the\nGeorgian Monarch with banners streaming, cymbals clashing, and drums and\ntrumpets sounding joyful melody.  When, however, sad to relate, the King\ninquired for his eldest daughter, he found that she had fled away with\nthe Champion of Italy.\n\nThis event, so grievous to the heart of the King, made him defer all the\ntriumphant arrangements which were forming to do honour to the Scottish\nKnight and to his six fair daughters.\n\nWhen, also, Saint Andrew heard that one of his noble comrades was so\nnear at hand, calling Murdoch to his side, he bade him prepare for their\ndeparture.  Wishing to avoid the pain of parting with the six\nPrincesses, and, lest their honoured sire might renew his generous\noffer, Saint Andrew, without bidding farewell to the King of Georgia, or\nto his chief councillors and ministers of state, and other great lords\nof the realm, set off from the capital in pursuit of Saint Anthony of\nItaly and the fair Rosalinde.\n\nThe next day, when the six Princesses heard of the departure of the\nKnight they so much admired, providing themselves with sufficient\ntreasure and habiliments suited for travelling, they left by stealth\ntheir father's palace, mounted on six white palfreys, and attended by\nsix maidens on asses, intending to find out the victorious and renowned\nChampion of Scotland, or to end their lives in single blessedness in\nsome pious retirement in a foreign land.\n\nNo sooner did the news of his daughters' flight reach the King of\nGeorgia, than attiring himself in homely russet, like a pilgrim, with an\nebony staff in his hand, tipped with silver, he took his departure, all\nalone, from his palace, resolved to recover his beloved children, or to\nlay his bones to rest in some unknown spot, where, forgotten, he might\nrest at peace.\n\nWhen his councillors, ministers of state, and other great lords heard of\nhis sudden and secret departure, grief intolerable struck their hearts,\nthe palace gates were covered with sable cloth, all pleasures were at an\nend, and ladies and courtly dames sat sighing in their chambers; where,\nfor the present, we will leave them to speak of other themes.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER NINE.\n\nTHE ADVENTURES OF SAINT PATRICK OF IRELAND.\n\nThe noble, illustrious, and wonderful deeds of Saint Patrick, the\nfar-famed and renowned Champion of Old Ireland, that gem of the ocean,\nare now to be recounted--not forgetting those of his faithful and\nattached squire, Terence O'Grady; though of the latter many less partial\nhistories are somewhat unaccountably silent.\n\nAfter they quitted the brazen pillar, they, too, traversed that sea so\nfamed in ancient story.  But their ship being wrecked as they were\napproaching the land, and sinking beneath their feet, they mounted on\nthe backs of two huge dolphins, which were swimming by at the time, and\nwhich Saint Patrick caught with cunningly-devised hooks; and thus towing\ntheir steeds, they reached in safety the sandy shores of Africa.  There\nlanding, while they sat by the sea-side burnishing their arms, which\nwere slightly rusty from the salt air, the sweetest strains of music\nstruck upon their ears.  The Squire listened, and rising from the rock\non which he sat, he wandered on to discover whence they proceeded.\n\nWhat was his astonishment, as he looked into a cavern half filled with\nwater, to behold a dozen lovely nymphs, almost immersed in the crystal\nsea, combing their golden locks, while from their throats came forth\nthose warbling sounds.\n\nThe Squire gazed enravished.  \"Och, but you are beautiful creatures!\" he\nexclaimed, forgetting that his voice might be heard.  The maidens\nstarted, like frightened deer, at the sound; and then, seeing the\nfaithful Terence as he looked over the rock, they swam towards him,\nputting out their arms, and endeavouring to grasp his hands.  A more\nprudent person would have withdrawn, and suspected treachery; but such\nan idea never occurred to the mind of the warm-hearted Irishman.\n\n\"A pleasant morning to ye, my pretty damsels!\" quoth he, offering his\nhand to the first who came up, expecting to assist her to land; for, as\nthey were dressed in sea-green garments, and had wreaths of red and\nwhite coral on their heads, he thought that they would have no objection\nto come out of the water.  Instead, however, of coming out themselves,\nthe first held him tight, and others arriving caught hold of him\nlikewise, and began to pull and pull away till the faithful Terence\ndiscovered, without a doubt, that it was their purpose to pull him in.\n\n\"But I can't swim, Ladies!\" he exclaimed.  \"I shall spoil my armour and\nwet my clothes--let me go, if you please, now.\"  He wished to speak them\nfair, though doubts as to what they were began to rise up in his mind.\n\"Och, now, let me go, I say!  A joke's a joke all the world over; but if\nyou souse me head over ears in that pool, and drown me entirely, it will\nbe a very bad one to my taste now.\"  The more, however, he shouted and\nstruggled the harder the damsels pulled.\n\nThough Terence was a stout fellow, and had been in many a hot fight in\nforeign lands, and not a few scrimmages in Old Ireland, he never had had\nsuch a struggle in his life.  At last his cries brought Saint Patrick to\nhis aid, (for who would the Champion of Ireland have helped more\nwillingly than Terence O'Grady?) and seizing the other arm, he hauled\naway lustily against the twelve sea-nymphs, whom he at once discovered\nto be mermaids, who had set their hearts on carrying off his faithful\nSquire to their coral homes beneath the waves.\n\nBetween the mermaids on one side, and his master on the other, hauling\naway with all their might, poor Terence was very nearly torn in pieces.\nStill he struggled and strove, entreating his master not to let him go.\n\nShouts of merry laughter issued from the throats of the mermaids; but\nthough they diverted themselves with the terror of the faithful Terence,\nthey did not cease to pull at him the less hard, till he began to fear\nthat, if they could not have the whole, they would have a bit of him to\na certainty.\n\nSaint Patrick himself saw full well that the matter was no joke; but how\nto rescue his Squire without using his sword, and against that all his\nknightly feelings revolted, even he was sorely puzzled to discover.\n\nAs it happened, there dwelt not far off, in a lofty castle of iron walls\nand golden battlements, a monstrous giant, who had long sought one of\nthese mermaids in marriage; but she fearing his temper, and not wishing\nto leave her watery home had ever disdainfully refused to listen to his\nproposals.  He now was wandering along the shore in search of her to\nprosecute his suit.\n\nAs he looked down into the cave and saw the mermaids, one of whom was\nhis beloved, pulling away on one side at the faithful Terence, while\nSaint Patrick pulled on the other, he uttered a loud roar of rage and\nfury.  The sound so alarmed the mermaids that they let go their hold,\nand fled away in terror, to hide themselves in their coral homes, while\nSaint Patrick, looking up, beheld the Giant frowning down defiance at\nhim.\n\nThe Irish Champion, nothing daunted, drew his falchion.  \"Ah, my trusty\nweapon, thou hast at length found a worthy enemy!\" he exclaimed,\nclimbing up the cliff towards the Giant, closely followed by the\nfaithful Terence.  Black as jet was the Giant, but blacker were his\nlooks, yet blackest of all were his intentions.  Behind him stood a huge\ncrocodile, opening wide its immense jaws, and threatening to devour\nanyone who came within their compass.  Many a stout warrior would have\navoided the encounter; but Saint Patrick boldly advanced, trusting in a\ngood cause, his own arm, and his well-tempered sword, feeling assured,\nalso, that Terence would give a good account of the crocodile.\n\nQuickly were heard to sound the ringing strokes of the Champion's trusty\nfalchion against the black shield of the Giant, whose huge battle-axe\ndealt many a fearful blow in return.  Fiercely raged the combat.  Blow\nafter blow was given and taken with right good will, while the Giant\nbellowed out so loudly his threats of vengeance against the valiant\nKnight, that the rocks and distant mountains resounded with his cries\nmingled with the clang of desperate strife.\n\nTerence stood by to watch the contest, not to deprive his loved master\nof a shred of glory, till he saw the crocodile opening his monstrous\njaws to snap at his legs.  Then he saw that the time for action had\narrived, and, rushing up, began to assail the brute with right good\nwill.\n\nThe crocodile snapped and snapped his huge jaws with a sound which made\nthe hills ring and ring again; but he failed to get the faithful Terence\nwithin the power of his grinders; at the same time, in vain the Squire\nsought a vulnerable point into which to thrust his trusty sword.  The\nlength of the monster's snout prevented him from reaching his eyes, and,\nas to getting a fair thrust at his shoulders, that seemed utterly\nimpossible.\n\nAll this time Saint Patrick and the Giant, it must not be forgotten,\nwere fighting furiously.\n\n\"Let my tame crocodile alone, or I'll make mincemeat of you when I have\nkilled your master!\" cried the Giant hoarsely, through his clinched\nteeth.\n\n\"Faith, then, I hope that time will never arrive then, my beauty,\"\nanswered the faithful Terence, making a spring, and leaping nimbly on\nthe crocodile's back.  \"It's not exactly the sort of steed I'd choose,\nexcept for the honour of riding, but I'll make him pay the piper, at all\nevents;\" whereupon he began slashing away with his trusty sword most\nfuriously on the neck and shoulders of the crocodile.  A delicate maiden\nmight as well have tried to pierce the hide of an aged hippopotamus with\na bodkin.\n\nAt last, losing patience, he sprang to his feet on the back of the\nmonster, and plunged his sword into one of his eyes, just as he was\nabout to make a snap at Saint Patrick's thigh.  The crocodile, feeling\nitself wounded, turned aside, when the Squire plunged his weapon into\nthe other eye.\n\nThus blinded, and furious with pain, the brute rushed forward, snapping\nin every direction, and running against his master, caught hold of the\ncalf of his leg with a gripe so firm that the Giant, groaning with pain,\nturned aside his proud looks to see what was the matter.\n\nThe opportunity was not lost on Saint Patrick, who, pressing forward,\nplunged his falchion into the neck of his antagonist, who, bellowing\nlouder than ten thousand bulls, made a desperate cut with his battle-axe\nat the helm of the Knight.  The Champion sprang aside, and the blow\ndescended on the neck of the tame crocodile, whereby its head was\nsevered from its body, Terence narrowly escaping from the effects of the\nblow.\n\nThe death of his favourite brute enraged the Giant still further; but\nrage invariably blinds judgment, and neglecting his proper guards, he\nsoon found himself treated as he had treated the crocodile, his head, by\na stroke of the Knight's battle-axe, falling on the sand, while his eyes\ncontinued to roll most horribly, as if still animated with fury and\nmalicious hatred.\n\nThe faithful Terence having found a huge brazen key, and a purse of\ngold, in the Giant's pocket, and transferred the latter to his own, to\nbe ready for future emergencies, Saint Patrick and he left the two\ncarcasses to be devoured by the birds of the air, and proceeded to the\nGiant's castle.  The huge brazen key opened the castle gate; when\nentering, they wandered amazed through the spacious halls, and courts,\nand galleries, admiring the wonders there collected.  In the armoury\nwere numerous tall and straight trees of cocoa-nut and pine, with iron\nor steel points, which served the Giant as spears; his sword even Saint\nPatrick could scarcely lift, while near was another tree, taller than\nall the rest, with a cable at one end, and a hook bigger than a huge\nship's anchor, with which in his hand the Giant sat on a rock and bobbed\nfor whales.\n\nIn the stables, instead of some vast horses, which they expected to\nfind, capable of carrying so monstrous a being, they beheld rows of\nalligators and hippopotami, which the Giant was wont to harness to his\nbrazen chariots when he went to war, or out a pleasuring; while, as no\nsaddles or bridles were found, it was evident that he possessed no steed\ncapable of bearing his ponderous weight.\n\nSaint Patrick and his Squire, making themselves at home in the Giant's\ncastle, passed several pleasant days, while they recovered from the\nfatigues of their combat and refreshed themselves after their voyage.\nThen, that they might keep their own steeds ready for any emergency,\nthey harnessed a dozen hippopotami, and as many tame crocodiles, to one\nof the Giant's chariots, and so, with great comfort and convenience,\nproceeded on their journey.  The canopy of the chariot was of azure silk\nfringed with silver, which sheltered them from the warm rays of the sun.\n\n\"Faith, this is pleasanter far than riding along over a dusty road!\"\nquoth the Squire to the Knight, with that easy familiarity which the\nsuperior delighted to encourage in his faithful attendant.  \"What would\nthey say in Old Ireland if they saw us two now a travelling along, quite\nat our ease, over the burning plains of Africa!\"  Whereat Saint Patrick\nmade some suitable reply.  But their pleasant conversation was cut short\nby the sounds of some terrible wails and laments, uttered by female\nvoices, and at the same time of loud harsh voices and rude laughter,\nproceeding from out of a neighbouring wood, which they beheld before\nthem.  On this Terence whipped on the crocodiles and hippopotami with\nright good will, their own trusty steeds trotting behind till they\narrived at the borders of the wood; when, securely fastening their\nchariot to a stout tree, they mounted their chargers, and dashed\nforward, in the direction from whence the cries proceeded.\n\nLouder and louder grew the shrieks and lamentations, till the Knight and\nhis Squire arrived at a spot whence, looking down into a sylvan dell,\nthey beheld a sight which made their hearts melt with pity, and their\nblood run cold with horror.  There, with the salt tears running down\ntheir cheeks, and their eyes imploring mercy and pity, they saw six\nlovely damsels, clad in green garments, bound to as many trees, while\nround them danced a hundred fierce satyrs, terrible of aspect, and\nhideous to behold.\n\nEach satyr was armed with a huge club of the size of a tree, which he\nflourished wildly, and on his other arm he bore a shield of vast\nproportions, like the moon at the full, as she rises over the housetops;\nwhile scabbardless two-handed swords hung with brazen chains by their\nsides, and long-bows and quivers full of arrows were suspended at their\nbacks; their voices as they danced giving forth those hideous sounds\nwhich had attracted the Knight and Squire.\n\nNear the ladies stood six milk-white palfreys, and a little way behind,\nwho had not at first been seen, six other damsels, their dress and\nbearing showing them to be the serving maidens of the lovely ladies in\ngreen.  In an instant the heart of the Champion of Ireland, and of his\nfaithful Squire, were all in a flame, burning to rescue these six lovely\nladies and their six inestimable serving women from the power of those\nhideous satyrs; so, drawing their falchions, and uttering the war-cry of\nOld Ireland, they dashed with headlong speed in among them, cutting and\nslashing and hewing away before any of those terrific beings had any\nknowledge of their approach.\n\nSoon recovering themselves, after a few of their number had bitten the\ndust, the hideous satyrs, uniting in one body, and seeing that their\nenemies consisted but of a single knight and his squire, flourished\ntheir huge clubs, and with loud shouts, louder than the roaring of ten\nthousand bulls, advanced towards them.\n\nHeroically fought Saint Patrick, and manfully combated his Squire.  The\nblows from the monstrous clubs of the hideous satyrs fell like hail\nabout their helmets; but their thirsty swords rapidly drank the\nlife-blood of their foes, and now one satyr, now another, was\noverthrown.  Still more came on.  Some stood at a distance, shooting\ntheir arrows from their long-bows; others came around, with their\ntwo-handed swords, and struck and slashed so fiercely that it required\nall the activity and courage of both Knight and Squire, of which they\nfortunately possessed so large a portion, to keep their enemies at bay.\nStill the sight of the lovely ladies tied to the trees, not forgetting\nthe six serving maidens, as well as their own honour, and desire for\nglory and renown, induced them to persevere.\n\nFull one-third of the hideous satyrs had sunk lifeless from their\nstalwart blows, while many others limped off sorely wounded and maimed;\nyet the remainder, with a perseverance worthy of a better cause,\nfiercely continued the combat.\n\nAt length, Saint Patrick telling Terence to escape, wheeled his horse\nround as if to fly, but it was only a cunning device, as his faithful\nSquire well knew; for, instantly returning to the charge with redoubled\nvigour among the scattered ranks of his foes, he dealt such slaughter\nand destruction among them, that the survivors were fain to fly far\naway, howling, into the distant woods, which resounded with their\nmournful cries, leaving the six ladies and their six serving maidens to\nthe care and protection of the gallant Knight and his attendant.\n\nWhile Saint Patrick cut loose the cords from the fair limbs of the six\nladies all clothed in green, Terence performed the same office for the\nserving maidens.\n\nAfter they had been refreshed by some pure draughts from the\nneighbouring crystal brook, and partaken of such fare as the Champion\ncould offer them, he led them forth from the wood, and with courteous\nattentions, and many polite expressions, placed them in his chariot\ndrawn by the crocodiles and hippopotami.  Then, and not till then, did\nhe inquire their names, and state, and nation.\n\nThe eldest replied:--\"Know, most puissant and valiant Knight, that we\nare the unfortunate daughters of the King of Georgia.  Our lives since\nour births have been unhappy.  First, we were carried off by a monstrous\ngiant, and, being turned into swans for seven long years, lost sight of\nthe outer world, neither knowing what dresses were worn, how fashions\nwere changed, and many other important matters.\n\n\"At length, through the courage of a noble Knight, Saint Andrew of\nScotland, of whom you have doubtless heard, we were happily released\nfrom our thraldom.  What, however, was our astonishment when we got back\nto our father's court to find that our eldest sister had departed as the\nbride of another famed Champion, Saint Anthony of Italy, by whose mighty\nprowess the giant had been slain; and in a brief time Saint Andrew,\nhearing or this, also set off in search of his former comrade and\nbrother knight.\n\n\"Now--why need we be ashamed to confess it?--we had allowed a feeling of\nregard to spring up in our bosoms for that worthy Knight, and we all\nagreed that we could no longer exist out of his society; and so we also\nset off from our father's court, resolved to search for him the world\naround, and bring him back to our native land, or lie down, and mournful\ndie beside his tomb.\"\n\n\"The noble Champion for whom you took in hand this weary travel is my\nmuch approved good friend,\" exclaimed Saint Patrick.  \"To get a sight of\nhim I would go more miles than there are trees throughout this mighty\ncontinent; therefore, will my faithful squire, Terence O'Grady, whom I\nnow crave leave to make known unto you, and I travel in your company,\nand in that of your six serving maidens, till we have found the right\nnoble Saint Andrew, or some other of those six brave Knights of\nChristendom who for seven summers I have not seen.\"\n\nMuch pleased with the discourse and the polished courtesy of Saint\nPatrick, the six princesses consented to his proposal; and thus we will,\nfor the present, leave them journeying in the giant's chariot, drawn by\nthe dozen crocodiles and hippopotami, and followed by the six maidens\nand their six milk-white palfreys, and escorted on either side by Saint\nPatrick and his faithful Squire, in the direction they believed Saint\nAndrew had taken.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TEN.\n\nTHE ADVENTURES OF SAINT DAVID OF WALES.\n\nThe last but not the least of all the Seven Champions to be mentioned\nfamed for heroic courage and gallantry is that most noble and renowned\nKnight, Saint David of Wales.  After he had quitted the brazen pillar,\nfollowed by his faithful attendant, Owen ap Rice, he proceeded towards\nthe up-rising of the sun, visiting many of the courts of the first\nmonarchs of Europe, attending many tournaments, engaging in many\ndesperate battles, and performing innumerable heroic deeds; which his\nfaithful Squire took very great care to recount, nor did he allow his\nhistories to lose anything in the telling.  Wonderful indeed were the\nnumbers of foes his master's sword had slain; huge were the giants he\nhad overthrown; savage were the wild beasts he had slaughtered; terrific\nwere the monsters he had put to flight; powerful were the magicians\nwhose guiles he had circumvented; and horrible were the spirits, and\nghosts, and goblins amid whom he had fought his onward way; indeed few\ncould hear the faithful Owen recount his master's deeds, and eke his\nown, without being impressed with the belief that more heroic Knight did\nnot exist, nor more brave and trusty Squire.\n\nThus they journeyed on till Europe was left behind; and entering the\nancient continent of Asia, they arrived at the court of the far-famed\nEmperor of Tartary.  Here Saint David's fame had preceded him, and they\nwere received with all that courtesy which to so valiant a Knight was\ndue.\n\nOn the day of their arrival a sumptuous entertainment was prepared, at\nwhich all the chief lords and nobles of the realm were present, when\nhuge beakers of rosy wine were quaffed; nor could anyone compete with\nSaint David in the quantity of the generous liquor he imbibed.  For the\nfollowing day a grand tournament was arranged, when it was expected that\nthe noblest feats of arms ever beheld in the empire would be performed.\n\nFrom far and near came valiant knights from all the neighbouring\nprovinces, habited in every conceivable style of richest armour; yet\nnone surpassed Saint David in the sumptuousness of his plume and\nburgonet, the trappings of his steed, the richness of his scarf, the\nsplendour of his shield and breastplate, or of his whole armour, which,\nfrom his lofty helm to his knightly spurs, shone with resplendent\nbeauty.  Numerous champions entered the lists, and many desperate\nencounters took place.  At length Saint David rode in, followed by the\nfaithful Owen carrying his spear.  The trumpets sounded, Saint David\ntook his spear, and shaking it aloft prepared for the encounter.  A\nKnight, one of the chief nobles of Tartary, was his first opponent.  Of\nblue steel was his casque, and armour, and mighty shield, while a blue\nscarf floated from his shoulders.  Bravely the Tartar Knight bore\nhimself, and bravely he withstood the terrible shock of Saint David's\nlance.  A second time the two Knights charged, when Saint David,\nmustering all his powers, struck the Tartar a blow so terrible that he\nsent him reeling from his saddle, and with a hollow groan he fell\nsenseless on the ground; but time will not permit an account of each\nseparate combat of that far-famed tournament.\n\nSix valiant Knights did Saint David meet, each of whom was vanquished by\nhis arm.  At length, the only son and heir of the Emperor, seeing that\nno more worthy antagonist could be found, and willing to retrieve the\ndisgrace he conceived his countrymen had received, entered the lists,\nand bravely challenged the Champion of Wales.  The heart of the gallant\nSaint David bounded at the thought of engaging in so noble a contest as\nthat with the Emperor's son, and he declared himself ready to commence\nthe course whenever it was the pleasure of the noble prince to meet his\nlance.\n\n\"No time like the present, Sir Knight,\" replied the gallant Tartar, who\nwas arrayed in armour of rare and curious workmanship, studded all over\nwith gold and precious gems.\n\n\"It were a pity to slay so brave a prince,\" thought Saint David; \"yet\nfor the honour of my country, than which no nobler exists, as also for\nmy own, than whom no...\"  (what Saint David thought need not be\nrepeated).  \"If he presses me it must be done.\"\n\nThe trumpets sounded, the steeds sprang forward, the ground trembled\nbeneath their feet, clouds of dust arose in the air; terrific was the\nshock, but both Knights kept their seats, though both were sorely\npressed.  Again they charged, with a like result.  A third time they\nmet, and Saint David felt that he was reeling in his saddle; but\nrecovering himself by a mighty effort, he prepared for another and more\ndesperate encounter.  Little wotted the proud son of the great Emperor\nof all the Tartars with what a doughty Champion he had to contend;\nlittle thought he of the gallant heroes that far-distant land of Cambria\nwas able to produce.  Shaking his spear, he shouted loudly to Saint\nDavid to prepare himself for an overthrow.  The Welsh Knight only\ngrasped his own spear the tighter in consequence, and pressed his knees\nthe firmer against his charger's sides.\n\n\"And the Prince expects that he is going to throw my master, does he?\"\nobserved the faithful Owen.  \"Let him beware of Saint David; I may tell\nhim he has borne down to the ground twelve as good men as he is, with\none thrust of his lance, before now.\"\n\nThe trumpets sounded, and the Tartar Prince and the Champion of Wales\nmet in the middle of the lists.  Terrific was the encounter; the spear\nof the Tartar Prince was shivered into a thousand fragments; but the\nWelsh Knight, with true gallantry, let his fall by his side, and grasped\nhis battle-axe, that they might light on equal terms.  Already, however,\nhad the spear inflicted a desperate wound on the Prince's side; but his\npride would not let him yield.  Now sparks of fire flew thickly around\nthem from the extraordinary rapidity of their strokes, so that they\nappeared to be fighting in the midst of a furnace (so Owen the faithful\nSquire ever afterwards averred), till at length Saint David's axe\ndescended with force so terrific on the helm of the Tartar Prince that\nhe clove it in two, nor did the cruel weapon stop till it had pierced\nthe brain of the hapless heir to the throne of the great Emperor of\nTartary.\n\nWhen the spectators beheld what had occurred, loud cries of grief,\nanger, and dismay rent the air; the great Emperor and all his courtiers,\nfrom the highest to the lowest, crying louder than anyone else.  The\nlists were immediately broken up, and the Emperor, ordering the Welsh\nKnight to be brought before him, retired into his palace.  The obsequies\nof that precious jewel of Tartary, now dimmed by death, being concluded,\nthe Emperor, having ceased his woeful lamentations and sad sighs, thus\naddressed the Welsh Champion:--\n\n\"Know that there dwells on the borders of Tartary a mighty Magician,\nOrmandine by name who holds an enchanted castle and garden, within the\nmagic walls of which whoever enters never again returns.  Now truly,\nalthough thou deservest death for what thou hast done, yet if thou wilt\nadventure into the Magician's domains, and bring hither his head, I\ngrant thee not only life, but therewithal the crown of Tartary after my\ndeath.\"\n\nThis strange adventure highly pleased the noble Champion of Wales, and\nhe expressed himself ready forthwith to depart about it.  On which the\nEmperor bound him by his oath of knighthood, and by the love he bore his\nnative country, never to follow any other adventure till he had\nperformed the promise he now had given.\n\nIn three days he and the faithful Owen, having made all preparation,\nwere ready to set out.\n\nTravelling eastward for many a weary day, though conversing pleasantly\nto beguile the way, they at length reached the confines of a dreadful\nforest, the trees twisting and twining in every direction, and briars\nand creepers of all sorts, with long thorns and hooks, hanging from all\nthe branches.  Mysterious flames seemed to be bursting forth, wavering\nand flickering in the dark recesses of the forest, while amid the boughs\nflew birds of evil omen, night-owls, and ravens, and bats, and other\nwinged things of hideous form, with harsh and croaking voices.  Within\nthis forest, so Saint David had learned, stood the castle of the\nMagician Ormandine.\n\n\"My faithful Owen,\" he exclaimed, \"by my honour and my oath of\nknighthood, I am bound to enter and to traverse this strange and woeful\nwood; but do you wait my return without, and if I never do return, go to\nmy kinsmen, in our native land, and tell them all about my sad and\nmelancholy end.\"\n\nThe faithful Owen, on hearing these words, burst into tears, and\nreplied: \"My long-loved honoured Master, if there were ten thousand\nforests, and if in each thrice ten thousand ill-doing necromancers\nlived, and if through each you had to fight your way, I would remain\nsteadfast by your side, and fight as long as arm, and hand, and sword\ncould do their work.\"\n\n\"Then onward into this dreadful forest, my faithful Owen, let us go!\"\nexclaimed Saint David, drawing his sword, and beginning to hew away at\nthe creepers and briars which impeded their progress.  In this labour he\nwas ably seconded by the faithful Owen; and thus, by slow degrees, they\nworked their onward way.  As they proceeded, the shouts and shrieks\nincreased, the sky overhead was filled with lurid meteors, and hideous\nand ill-omened birds flew thickly around their heads, screeching their\nterrific notes into the ears of the adventurous strangers.\n\n\"Few things worth having can be obtained without difficulty and\nperseverance,\" exclaimed Saint David, as he went on cutting and cutting\naway at the creepers.  \"As to all the hooting, and the screeching, and\ncrying which assail our ears, it cannot hurt us if we take no heed to\nit.  Few noble enterprises have ever been undertaken without numbers of\npeople, like those hideous night-owls, endeavouring to hoot them down.\"\n\nThus manfully cutting and hewing away, they at length came in sight of\nthe dark and frowning, damp, and moss-overgrown walls of an ancient\ncastle.  Near it was a huge rock, still more damp and moss-covered than\nthe castle-walls.  In this rock, by magic art, was enclosed a sword, the\nhilt being the only part which could be seen.  It was of steel work,\nengraven curiously, and set with jaspers, sapphires, and other precious\ngems.  Around the pommel was engraven, in golden letters, the following\nwords:--\n\n  \"By magic spells remain most firmly bound,\n  The world's strange wonder unknown by anyone,\n  Till that a knight within the north be found\n  To pull the sword from out this rock of stone:\n  Then end my charms, my magic arts and all,\n  By whose strong hand sage Ormandine must fall.\"\n\n\"A northern knight!--that must mean me,\" exclaimed Saint David.\n\"Undoubtedly, I am destined to pull the magic sword from out of that\nrock.  See how I'll do it!\"  On this, dismounting from his steed, he\ngrasped hold of the hilt, and began to pull and pull away right\nmanfully; but in vain he pulled, and tugged, and hauled; not a hundredth\npart of an inch had he drawn forth of the sword, but, still persevering,\nhe would not let go.  At length, the faithful Owen entreated that he\nmight be allowed to come and help.  Then Knight and Squire tugged and\ntugged away, but still the sword would not move.  Next, putting both\ntheir hands to the huge hilt, and their feet against the rock, they\nbethought them most surely that they would move it.  Scarcely, however,\nhad they in that guise begun to pull, than there arose around them\nfearful shouts of mocking laughter, and, the gates of the castle opening\nwide, twelve hideous dwarfs, with faces black as coal, and bodies\nhorribly deformed, issued forth, and bearing in their hands some iron\nchains, which clanged as they moved, approached, with grinning mouths\nand threatening gestures, the Knight and his Squire.\n\nSaint David and the faithful Owen would fain have let go the richly\ngemmed hilt of the magic sword, but when they strove to do so they found\ntheir hands clinched firmly to it.  Now they struggled as much to free\ntheir hands as before they had to draw out the sword.  But in vain was\nall their tugging and struggling.\n\nThe dwarfs stood round awhile to enjoy their dismay, and then throwing\nthe iron chains around them, they bound them in fetters which no earthly\npower could undo, and carried them away, helpless as infants in their\nnurses' arms, to the magic castle.  There, in the centre of an iron hall\nof vast dimensions and sombre hue--the only light emitted from a lurid\ntorch burning at the further end--on iron beds, of which a countless\nnumber appeared ranged around, lay writhing the victims which the fell\nMagician's cruelty had left bound.  There, for many years, till the full\nterm of seven was accomplished, we, too, will leave them, daily visited\nby the Enchanter Ormandine, who came to mock at, and gloat over their\nmisery.\n\n\"Ah! ah!\" he exclaimed, with a voice croaking like ten thousand frogs,\nand loud as thunder, \"you came to cut off my head, and carry the gory\ntrophy to the Emperor; but now you find, my friends, you've caught a\nTartar.\"\n\nNotwithstanding, however, this conduct of the Enchanter, his chief\ncaptive was not so miserable as he supposed.  A kind fairy all the time\nwatched over him; and as Saint David lay on his couch she sent four of\nher attendant spirits, in the form of damsels, of no mean beauty, who\ntended him with the gentlest care, and brought him fruits and other\nluxuries, which they offered whenever he awoke, and then sang him to\nsleep again with their sweet voices, so that his time passed far more\nagreeably than would certainly otherwise have been the case, or the\nEnchanter had any idea of.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER ELEVEN.\n\nTHE RELEASE OF SAINT GEORGE.\n\nSeven times had frosty-bearded winter covered the ground with snow, and\nbehung the trees with crystal icicles, since the Champion Saint George,\nand the faithful De Fistycuff, lay groaning in their far-off dungeon in\nEgypt, for having ventured to assert that crocodiles, and apes, and\nsnakes, were not fit objects of reverence.\n\nOne day, as by chance the Knight was wringing his hands, in despair of\never getting free, he chanced to rub in a peculiar manner the magic ring\nwhich the Fairy Sabrina had given him.  A bright light was forthwith\nemitted from it, which increased and increased till it filled the\nchamber, and from the midst of it appeared the Fairy herself, in her\nchariot drawn by ten peacocks.\n\n\"Gallant Knight, why did you not summon me before?\" she asked, in her\nsweet voice; and Saint George had to confess, with shame, that he had\nforgotten all about the power of the magic ring.\n\n\"I cannot free you from this prison by magic power; but I will give you\ntools with which you may free yourselves, and then you will set more\nvalue on your liberty than if you had gained it without toil.  I never\nafford aid to any who are not ready to labour for themselves.\"\n\nThe Fairy having thus spoken, supplied the Knight and his Squire with\nhammers, chisels, spades, mattocks, and crowbars.\n\n\"Your steeds and weapons you will find ready outside the gates,\" added\nthe Fairy.  \"When once more prepared for battle, go forth, and conquer.\"\n\nThe Knight and De Fistycuff felt their strength and spirits wonderfully\nimproved at these words, and already they fancied themselves scouring\nover the plain in pursuit of a thousand flying foes.\n\n\"But is there no gallant achievement, no heroic deed, which you would\ndesire me to perform, as a mark of my gratitude?\" asked Saint George,\nafter he had duly thanked the Fairy for the aid she had wrought him.\n\n\"Well spoken,\" answered the Fairy; \"yes, there languishes, even now, a\nbrother knight, one for whose country I have a fond regard, Saint David,\nof Wales, in the gloomy castle of the Magician Ormandine, on the borders\nof Tartary.  Go and free him.  From trusting entirely to his own\nstrength, and not seeking rightly for all other aids, he failed in what\nhe undertook to accomplish.  A magic sword, by which alone the Magician\ncan be conquered, is held in a rock near his castle.  No human strength\ncan pull it out; but take this flask of oil, pour it into the rock, and,\nwaiting patiently, you will find the sword easily come forth.\"\n\nThe Knight promised to obey the Fairy's directions; and she having\ndisappeared, he and De Fistycuff set to work so manfully, although not\naccustomed to handle such tools, that in a few days they hewed\nthemselves a subterranean passage beneath the walls of the city.\nThrough iron plates, and thick walls, and granite rocks, and mud, and\nsand, they worked, the last, like slippery people, giving them the\ngreatest difficulty to deal with.  At length the sky appeared; and\nthere, at the mouth of the cave out of which they emerged, stood their\nsteeds, held by two dwarfs of ugly aspect, who presented them with their\nspears, and swords, and other weapons.\n\nNo sooner were they mounted, and Saint George was about, to reward the\ndwarfs, than he found that they had disappeared.\n\nAccordingly, they set off, as fast as Bayard and the Squire's steed\ncould carry them, along the neck of land which joins Africa to Asia, and\nthen galloped rapidly northward.  In wonderful condition were the\nhorses, while the pure, fresh air their riders breathed, after their\nlong imprisonment, added fresh vigour to their limbs, and courage to\ntheir hearts.\n\nMany adventures, which cannot here be recorded, were met with; and at\nlength they reached the magic forest which surrounded the castle of the\nfell Enchanter.  They witnessed the same terrific sights, and heard the\nsame sounds as did Saint David and the faithful Owen; but, equally\ndauntless, they clove their onward way through brake and briar, in spite\nof the hissing of serpents and hooting of owls, groans and shrieks, and\nother similar sounds, to which they were pretty well accustomed by this\ntime, till they reached the Magician's castle.\n\nThere, in the rock, they beheld the hilt of the magic sword.  De\nFistycuff was about to seize hold of it at once; but Saint George warned\nhim to desist till he wisely had obeyed the Fairy's directions, and\npoured the oil upon the rock.\n\nSlowly it trickled down through many a crevice, when the Knight, waiting\npatiently for the oil to take effect, grasped the sword with his left\nhand, while he kept his own falchion ready to use in the right.\n\n\"Who knows but the Magician may come forth to attack me before I have\nfreed the sword?\" he observed to his Squire.  Gradually, but surely, the\nsword yielded to his unwearied and long-sustained efforts.  While still\ndrawing it forth, a terrific uproar was heard within the castle; the\nground shook, trembled violently, rocking to and fro, and flames darted\nforth from the rock; but the Knight held fast the weapon.\n\nSuddenly the brazen gates of the castle burst open, and there issued\nforth the Necromancer Ormandine, arrayed in all the terrors with which\nhe could clothe himself.  His helmet had a fiery plume, hissing snakes\nwere writhing about his casque and shoulders, his armour seemed of\nred-hot metal.  A hooting owl of hideous aspect sat on his shoulder,\nwhile he brandished an iron club covered with spikes, like his armour,\nred-hot.  He made directly at Saint George; but Ascalon was in the\nKnight's grasp, and wielding it, as he well knew how, he kept the\nMagician at bay, while he tugged more vehemently than ever at the magic\nsword.\n\nWith a clap louder than that of any thunder, it came at length forth\nfrom the rock, and taking it in his right hand he with it furiously\nassailed the Magician, who no sooner felt its keen edge than his club\nfell from his nerveless grasp, the owl flew hooting away, the serpents\ncrawled hissing off, and the once-powerful Magician fell humbly on his\nknees and craved for mercy.\n\nSaint George, telling De Fistycuff to guard him, entered the castle,\nwhere, on iron beds, he found, bound with chains, his friend and comrade\nSaint David, and the faithful Owen, groaning, and sighing, and mourning\ntheir hard fate.  Cutting the chains, with as much ease as if they had\nbeen cords of silk, with the magic sword, he set them, to their great\njoy, on their legs, when, with a profusion of words, they poured out\ntheir expressions of gratitude.\n\nSaint David then told Saint George of his vow to the Emperor of Tartary;\nwhen the English Knight informed him that the Enchanter was in his\npower, but that he was unwilling to take his life.\n\n\"But, behold the signs of his cruelty!\" said Saint David, pointing out\nto Saint George the other nine hundred and ninety-eight iron beds in the\nhall.  \"There lie bound many other noble knights and squires who for\nmany long years have been prevented from engaging in any deeds of\nheroism.  Think how many victories they might have won; how many captive\nknights released; how many forlorn maidens rescued from durance vile;\nhow many other noble deeds they might have done!\"\n\nThis speech so completely changed Saint George's view of things, that he\ntold Saint David he would hand over the Magician to him.  Then the\nChampion of Wales went forth from the castle, and with one blow of his\nsword cut off Ormandine's hideous head, and sticking it on a pole, which\nhe delivered to the faithful Owen to carry, informed his brother\nChampion that he was ready forthwith to depart for the court of the\nEmperor of Tartary.\n\nThe other nine hundred and ninety-eight gallant knights and squires,\nreleased by the courage and wisdom of Saint George, having expressed a\nstrong desire to follow his fortunes, he undertook to lead them round\nthe world in search of adventures worthy of their prowess.  Saint David,\nalso, promised, when he had fulfilled his vow to the Emperor of Tartary,\nto search him out and aid him.\n\nOften had the noble Champion of England thought of the lovely Sabra, but\nknew not where she was.  At length, with his army of valiant knights and\ntrusty squires, having reached the kingdom of Bagabornabou, he, on\ninquiring for her, heard, with dismay, that she had been carried off a\nprisoner by Almidor, the black King of Morocco, and had ever since been\npining in a dungeon.\n\nCalling his knights around him, he told them of the occurrence, and with\nloud shouts, waving on high their swords, they promised to accompany him\nto rescue her, or to die in the attempt.  Setting off forthwith, they\nreached the dominions of the black King; when Saint George, disguising\nhimself as a humble palmer, entered the city, followed by De Fistycuff,\nin the same habit, to ascertain in what vile dungeon the lovely Sabra\nwas shut up.\n\nIn vain he wandered up and down, whispering her name, and inquiring of\nall he met, till, at length, he saw a beautiful white dove fly upward\nfrom a hole in the ground beneath the massive wall of a huge castle.\nCatching the dove, he wrote on a slip of parchment, which he placed\nunder its wing, \"Saint George of England has come to Sabra's rescue.\nTell me if you are here!\"\n\nSoon the dove, having entered the hole, returned to the Knight, when he\ndiscovered, under its wing, on the same parchment: \"I, the hapless\nSabra, am here; oh, free me, and receive a maiden's grateful love!\"\nInstantly returning to his knights, and throwing off his palmer\ngarments, Saint George led them to the assault.\n\nOn every side the castle-walls were stormed.  Some climbed up ladders,\nsome over each other's backs, with such desperate valour, that the\nMoorish soldiers gave way on every side; till Almidor, hearing the\nturmoil and loud shouts of war, rushed to the battlements.  Then ensued\na fight most desperate between the noble Champion of England and the\nblack King, in which the latter would most assuredly have been slain had\nhe not, like a recreant, turned his back and fled, among his followers,\nthrough a postern gate, which, happily for him, stood open,--proudly\nasserting that he would return and fight another day.\n\nHaving thus victoriously taken possession of the Moorish castle, Saint\nGeorge and all his knights and squires burst open all the doors and\ngates, and explored all the passages they could find, till they arrived\nat a gloomy vault.  Within it was a little door.  Saint George thundered\nat it with his battle-axe.  It burst open; and there he beheld his\nlovely and beloved Sabra, her beauty dimmed, but not extinguished, by\nher long imprisonment.\n\nSaint George and his knights having taken possession of the Moorish\ncapital, he held a grand banquet in honour of the occasion, when a\nherald announced, in due form, that the British Champion was about to\nwed the lovely African Princess.  Thrice was the announcement made; and\nno one objecting, the fair Sabra, after all her misfortune, became, as\nher reward, the bride of the noblest Knight Europe, or the world, has\never known.\n\nSo enchanted were the Moors with the valour and courtesy of Saint\nGeorge, that their chiefs, lords, and nobles, and the councillors of\nstate, came in humble guise and proffered him the crown of their\ncountry; but he declared, with many expressions suitable to the\noccasion, that he had not yet won that renown for which his soul panted,\nand must decline the honour.\n\nHaving dismissed the nine hundred and ninety-eight knights and squires,\nwhom he had rescued from the castle of Ormandine, with warm thanks for\nthe assistance they had rendered him, and sincere wishes for their\nwelfare, they all departed to their separate countries and homes, and\nsuch as were married to their wives and children, who had long been\nmourning their absence, and in most cases, though not in all, wishing\nfor their return; Saint George and his beautiful bride, the enchanting\nSabra, set out on their travels, through many unknown and strange lands,\nattended by the faithful De Fistycuff, whose wife would much rather that\nhe had gone back to look after her and their children in England.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWELVE.\n\nTHE TOURNAMENT AT CONSTANTINOPLE.\n\nNow it happened that the great Emperor of the East held a grand\ntournament at Constantinople, to which all the knights and nobles of\nChristendom were invited, to do honour to his nuptials with a princess\nhe was about to wed.  Thither came the Seven Champions, not knowing each\nother after their long separation, but each believing the others in some\ndistant quarter of the globe.  The Emperor had, however, pitched seven\ntents of seven different colours, wherein the Seven Champions might\nremain till the sound of the silver trumpets summoned them to appear.\nSeven days the tournament was to last, and each day a different Knight\nwas to be Champion of the field.\n\nThe first day, Saint Denis of France, under the title of the Golden\nKnight, was the Champion.  His tent was of the colour of the celandine,\nand on the summit flamed a sun of wondrous brilliancy.\n\nHis horse, an iron grey, was graced with a plume of gold-bespangled\nfeathers.  Before him rode the faithful Le Crapeau, bearing his banner,\non which was designed the golden _fleur-de-lys_.  Numberless were the\nforeign knights with whom he tilted, every one of whom he overthrew.\n\nNext day, Saint James of Spain, habited in silver armour, rode forth as\nthe Champion; his Squire, the faithful Pedrillo, bearing aloft four\nbanners, on each of which were inscribed his names and titles, and those\nof his ancestors, so that not a spot of silk remained uncovered.  Well\nhe behaved himself, to the admiration of all beholders.\n\nClad in blue steel, and called the Azure Knight, on the third day, Saint\nAnthony of Italy rode forth as the chief Champion, attended by the\nfaithful Niccolo, bearing his standard, an eagle on a field of blue.\nAbove his tent was a smaller pavilion in the shape of a watch-tower, in\nwhich was seated, as spectatress of the fights, the Georgian Princess,\nthe strong-minded Rosalinde, who had, by praiseworthy perseverance, and\nallowing no trifles to stand in her way, completely won the heart of\nSaint Anthony, and had become his bride.  Well, also, did he, the\nItalian Champion, acquit himself, and many valiant knights were by his\nspear unhorsed.\n\nOn the fourth day, Saint Andrew of Scotland was the chief Challenger for\nthe tournament.  His tent was framed in the manner of a ship swimming on\nthe waves of the sea, environed about with dolphins, tritons, and many\nstrangely-contrived mermaids; on the top stood a figure of Neptune, the\ngod of the sea, bearing in his hand a streamer, whereon, in one corner,\nwas wrought a cross in crimson silk.  He was called the Red Knight, for\na blood-red cloth completely covered his charger.  His worthy\nachievements obtained such favour in the Emperor's eyes, that he threw\nhim his silver gauntlet, which was prized at a thousand portagues, and\nthe which Murdoch McAlpine, lifting it from the ground, bore with no\nlittle satisfaction to his master's tent; where the Champion also\nretired, and after his noble encounters enjoyed a sweet repose.\n\nThe fifth day, Saint Patrick of Ireland, as chief Champion, entered the\nlists, mounted on an Irish hobby, covered with a green veil.  He was\nattended by the faithful Terence O'Grady, in sylvan habit, bearing on\nhis shoulder a blooming tree, his motto, _virtus semper viret_.  His\ntent resembled a summer bower, formed chiefly of the shamrock, and\nbeautified with wreaths of roses.  He was named the Green Knight; but he\nwas green only in name, for no Knight proved himself more accomplished,\nor performed nobler deeds.\n\nUpon the sixth day, the famed Champion of Wales entered the lists,\nmounted on a Tartar steed, which was covered with a black cloth, to\nsignify, as Owen ap Rice made known, that a black and tragical day was\nthis for all Knights of every nation who durst approve his fortitude.\nOn his shield was portrayed a silver griffin rampant, and upon a golden\nhelmet, the ancient arms of Britain.  His tent was in the form of a\ncastle, the battlements guarded by numerous sturdy men-at-arms.  His\nprincely achievements not only obtained due commendations at the\nEmperor's hands, but all the fair and high-born dames present (so the\nfaithful Owen ever afterwards averred) applauded him as the most noble\nKnight that ever shivered lance, and the most fortunate Champion that\never appeared at the Court of the Eastern Emperor.\n\nUpon the seventh and last day, Saint George of England entered the lists\nas chief Challenger, mounted on a sable-coloured steed, betrapped with\nbars of burnished gold, and whose forehead was beautiful with a gorgeous\nplume of purple feathers, from whence hung many pendants of gold.  The\nKnight's armour was of the purest steel inlaid with silver; his helmet\nwas richly adorned with pearls and many precious stones; and on his\nbanner, borne before him by the faithful De Fistycuff, was pictured, on\na blood-red field, a lion rampant, bearing three crowns upon his head.\nHis tent, white as the feathers of the swan, was supported by figures of\nfour elephants of purest brass.  Before it stood an ivory chariot,\nguarded by twelve coal-black negroes, and in it sat his lovely bride,\nthe Princess Sabra, spectatress of the tournament.  All eyes turned\ntowards the English Champion, to gaze and admire.  His steed bore him\nright nobly, and never gave encounter to any knight but both man and\nhorse were speedily hurled helpless to the ground.  That day the\ntournament lasted from the sun's up-rising till the evening star\nappeared, during which time he conquered five hundred of the hardiest\nknights of Asia, and shivered a thousand lances, to the admiration of\nall beholders.\n\nThe tournament being over, the Emperor sent to Saint George's tent a\ngolden tree with seven branches, to be divided equally among the seven\nforeign Champions.  There they all assembled; and what was their\nastonishment, when they removed their casques, to discover that they\nwere the long parted and ancient comrades!  Warmly they grasped each\nother's hands, and talked and laughed right pleasantly.  High revelry,\nalso, did they hold that evening in Saint George's tent, and told each\nother of their adventures, exploits, and achievements.  Jovially they\nquaffed full golden beakers of rosy in wine, and many a jovial song they\nsang, and many a tale they told.  All inquired who the lady could be who\nhad been seen on the summit of Saint Anthony's tent; when he confessed\nthat the strong-minded Princess Rosalinde of Georgia had won his heart\nand hand.\n\n\"She, then, is sister of the six lovely Princesses I had the happiness\nof being instrumental in turning from swans into young ladies.  Your\nbride will be glad to hear that they appeared none the worse for their\ntransformation!\" exclaimed Saint Andrew.\n\n\"Ah! you do not know, then, what happened after you left the country, my\ncousin of Scotland!\" cried Saint Patrick.  \"Ha! ha! ha!  They all set\noff to follow you, unknown to their father.  I met them in a wood with\ntheir six maidens, wandering alone, and had the satisfaction of rescuing\nthem from the power of some unpleasant enemies, among whom they had\nfallen.  I thought they would have found you out before now.\"\n\n\"No, indeed, I have escaped them hitherto,\" answered Saint Andrew,\nrubbing his hands.  \"One of them might have persuaded me to marry her,\nand that would not at all have suited me.  I intend to remain a bachelor\nfor many a year to come.\"\n\n\"I wonder you did not offer to marry one of them, at least, my brave\nIrish friend,\" observed Saint Anthony; \"it would have been but in\naccordance with the acknowledged gallantry of your countrymen.  I, too,\nshould have been glad to have hailed you as a brother-in-law.\"\n\n\"Faith! so I would have married one or all of them, if it hadn't been\nfrom the difficulty of making a selection, and hurting the feelings of\nthe rest; for a more amiable collection of young ladies I never set eyes\non; so I gave them a little chariot I had got, drawn by a few alligators\nand hippopotami, and advised them to go quietly back to their father's\ncourt, instead of gadding about the world as they were then doing.\nWhether or not they took my advice I cannot say, for when they went\nnorth I turned my horse's head, and, with my faithful Squire, rode away\nsouth.\"\n\nMany other similar adventures to these were told by the old comrades, of\nwhich there is no space to tell.\n\nBut if the Knights were merry, much more so were their Squires.\nJoyfully they discovered each other, and agreed to meet together in the\ntent of the faithful De Fistycuff.  Right jovial was the meeting, and\nhuge the amount of the viands they consumed, and innumerable the beakers\nof Samian and Falernian wine they quaffed.  Merry the stories they told\nof their numberless adventures, and facetious the songs they sang.  Each\nSquire boasted loudly of the deeds of his master, and of the country to\nwhich he belonged; but no one boasted louder than did the faithful Owen\nap Rice, of Saint David especially, and of his own loved country, Wales.\nTerence O'Grady was not much behind him in that respect; while Murdoch\nMcAlpine declared that Saint Andrew was one of the best of masters, and\nthat if Scotland was not the finest and the largest country in the\nworld, it was, at all events, the one he loved the best, just because it\nwas Scotland and his native land.\n\n\"Your hand, old comrade,\" exclaimed De Fistycuff, springing up, \"that's\nthe very reason why I like Merrie England.  She has her faults, I'll\nallow; but though I've wandered nearly all the world around, there's no\ncountry in my mind to be compared to her, and with all her faults I love\nher still.\"\n\n\"Bah!\" exclaimed Le Crapeau, \"she is not equal to _la belle_ France, at\nall events.\"\n\n\"Inferior to Italy, without doubt.  Look, what noble people the ancient\nRomans were!\" observed Niccolo, swallowing a handful of macaroni.\n\n\"The idea of comparing a little island to a magnificent territory like\nSpain!\" cried Pedrillo.  \"Why, we were civilised, and a province of\nRome, while the British were painted barbarians, unknown to all the rest\nof the world.\"\n\nThus they disputed, but all in good humour, and many a joke was bartered\non the subject.  All things terrestrial must come to an end, and so did,\nat length, the Knights' banquet and the Squires' jovial supper.\n\nThe next day, scarcely had the Champions arisen from their downy\ncouches, whereon they had rested their weary limbs, after the fatigues\nof the numberless combats in which they had been engaged, when it was\nannounced that six foreign Princesses, of great beauty, had arrived in\nthe capital, and had been witnesses of the tournament, in disguise.\nSome said they had come in one way, some in another; and among other\ndescriptions of the mode in which they travelled, it was asserted that\nthey came in a chariot, drawn by twelve tame alligators and as many\nhippopotami.\n\n\"The Georgian Princesses, a crown against a baubee!\" exclaimed Saint\nAndrew, starting up from his couch.  \"Murdoch, go and find out, with all\nspeed, and if it is the case, get ready our steeds and baggage without\ndelay, or one of these strong-minded young ladies will be insisting on\naccompanying me to my ancestral halls in bonnie Scotland.\"\n\n\"They've run their game to earth; there's no doubt about it,\" cried\nSaint Patrick, who had been fond of sporting in his youth, when he heard\nthe news.  \"They deserve our brushes for their pains; and one thing must\nbe said in their favour, that they are very pretty young women, and not\nat all afflicted with the ordinary prejudices and bashfulness which\nstands in the way of so many young ladies in finding themselves\ncomfortable establishments.  What say you, Terence?  Don't you think\nthat I might go further and fare worse?\"\n\n\"Ah! faith! noble Master, that you might, unless, mark me, you get back\nto old Ireland; and there it isn't much difficulty I'd have in finding\nmany a score of sweet creatures, to whom, it's my belief, these Georgian\nPrincesses couldn't hold a candle.\"\n\nThe mention of his fair countrywomen (of whom Saint Patrick was a warm\nadmirer, and who is not who knows them?) artfully thrown in by his\nSquire, turned the Knight from the intention he began to entertain of\nmaking one of the Princesses his bride.\n\nWhen the Seven Champions met at breakfast, they talked the matter over\nwith due gravity.  They recollected that there were six ladies and only\nfive bachelor knights, two only being benedicts.\n\n\"But suppose we five were to marry five of the Princesses, one still\nwould be like puss in the corner--she must be left out,\" observed Saint\nAndrew, who was evidently the least inclined of any of the party to wed,\nand had arranged to start away directly after breakfast.\n\n\"Oh! one must become a nun,\" observed Saint Patrick.  \"It's a mighty\npleasant sort of life to those who don't like work, and are fond of\nbeing utterly useless.\"\n\nScarcely was the breakfast over than the Champions were summoned into\nthe presence of the Emperor; and there, seated around him, were the six\nPrincesses of Georgia, radiant in beauty, and looking bewitching and\nkilling in the extreme.\n\n\"Fair ladies, and right noble strong-minded Princesses, here are the\nSeven Champions of Christendom.  It has come to our imperial knowledge\nthat you have left the Court of my brother of Georgia, your royal\nfather, for the purpose of wedding one, if not more, of these right\nvalorous Champions, for in that matter there seems to be some little\ndifficulty.  Make your choice, therefore, most strong-minded Princesses;\nwhom will you wed?  For, from the observations I have made of these\nKnights' gallantry, I can pledge my imperial word that they will not\nrefuse your moderate and modest requests.\"\n\nNow, the six Princesses, on hearing these words, looked unutterable\nthings, and a roseate hue rushed into their lily-like cheeks; but their\neyes did not wander up and down the hall among the Knights, for, with a\nconstancy worthy of all admiration and imitation, they fixed them on\nSaint Andrew.\n\n\"He is the Knight who changed us from swans into maidens, he is the\nKnight, for love of whom we left our father's home, and in search of\nwhom we wandered, all forlorn, the world up and down, and with him alone\ndo any of us wish to wed.\"\n\n\"Well spoken, fair Princesses,\" observed the Emperor.  \"That much\ncircumscribes the question, and decreases the difficulty.  Which of you\ndesires to wed with the gallant Christian Knight?  For, remember, that\nonly one wife can he have, whatever may be the custom in Asia.\"\n\nSaint Andrew, who had never feared mortal foe or foes, giants, wild\nbeasts, or evil spirits, began at these words to tremble in his shoes,\nand to regret that he had not recommenced his travels by daybreak.\n\nThe strong-minded Princesses all sat looking at him.\n\n\"I'm the one to marry him,\" cried the eldest.\n\nThe Champion's heart began to sink within him.\n\n\"I'm the one to marry him,\" cried the second.\n\n\"But I'm the one to marry him,\" cried the third.\n\n\"But I say that I'm the one to marry him,\" cried the fourth.\n\n\"But I declare that I'm the one to marry him,\" cried the fifth.\n\n\"You are all wrong!\" exclaimed the sixth.  \"From the very first I am\nsure that it was understood clearly that I was to be his wife.\"\n\n\"Stay, sweet Princesses,\" observed the Emperor, calmly, \"I see clearly\nthat there has been some slight misunderstanding among you about this\nmatter, and I am sure Saint Andrew is too gallant a Knight to desire to\nmake any five of you unhappy, or jealous of the sixth.  I, therefore,\npurpose to send you all back, under a proper escort, to your father's\ncourt, and I hope that you will there speedily find six noble knights to\nlead you to the altar of Hymen.\"\n\nThe six strong-minded Princesses made very long faces at the decision of\nthe Emperor; but, as his decisions were always final, they could make no\nreply; though, when they once more turned their eyes towards the\nScottish Knight, the spectators could not but remark that their\nexpression was very much changed, and Saint Andrew evidently thought it\nwise to keep at a respectful distance from their fingers.\n\n\"Certes, Master,\" whispered Murdoch to Saint Andrew, \"you are, to my\nbelief, very well out of it.\"\n\n\"It's a mighty easy way of settling the matter,\" said Terence O'Grady,\n\"but I wonder what the six serving maids are to do!\"\n\nHistory reports, however, that they went back to Georgia, married six\nstalwart knights, and lived very happily afterwards, as did their six\nfair attendants, who, in like manner, married six faithful squires, who\nall in time became knights and great lords of the realm.\n\nAfter the tournament and all the festivities were over, the Seven\nChampions prepared to depart, each for his own country; but, ere they\ncommenced their journey, news arrived that all the great Pagan Powers\nhad banded together to overthrow the Christian Emperor of the East, who,\ntherefore, sent to entreat all the aid they and their followers could\nafford.  With one accord they promised to raise an army, and to hurry\nback to his assistance.\n\nSaint George, leaving his youthful bride, the lovely Princess Sabra, in\nhis castle near Coventry, soon levied a powerful army; and, setting\nsail, no longer as a knight-errant, but as a renowned general, he\narrived with his forces on the coast of Portugal, where he was joined by\nthe other six Champions, who each brought troops in proportion to the\nsize of his country.  So enchanted were the Portuguese with Saint\nGeorge, that, having no Champion of their own, they entreated him to\nbecome theirs, and have ever since retained him among their most\nhonoured saints and heroes.  Here Saint George was chosen generalissimo\nof all the Christian forces, and, once more setting sail, he entered the\nMediterranean.  Then, landing on the coast of Morocco, he bethought him\nof punishing Almidor, the black King of that country, who was about to\njoin the Pagan armies.\n\nThe Moors in vain endeavoured to prevent the landing of the Christian\nChampions.  The battle was hot and furious.  Almidor rushed to the van,\nwhere quickly he was singled out by Saint George.  Terrific was the\ncombat, and never before was the Moorish Monarch so hotly pressed.\n\nNow he had prepared, in full expectation of victory, a vast cauldron of\nboiling metal, in which he purposed, with fell intent, to cast the\nChristian Champions and their followers; but when at length, unable any\nlonger to withstand the far-famed sword of Saint George, he fled in\ndespair, to cast himself headlong in, and his example being followed by\nhis generals and chief officers, the furious battle was brought to a\nspeedy end, and the Princess Sabra was well avenged for the cruelties\nthe black Almidor had inflicted on her.\n\nScarcely had this satisfactory event been brought about than Saint\nGeorge received the unwelcome news that the Earl of Coventry was\nbesieging his castle in England, for the purpose of carrying off the\nLady Sabra, his bride, and now the mother of three blooming boys,--the\nwicked Earl having spread a report that the great Champion of England,\nwhom no other foe could conquer, had yielded to the inevitable hand of\ndeath.\n\nThe brave Knight hastened back with the speed of lightning, when sad was\nthe sight which met his eyes.  His castle was burnt to the ground, and\nhis lady had been carried off by the wicked Earl, and, as she had\nrefused all his offers of marriage, had been accused of witchcraft, and\nlay in prison, condemned to be burned alive.  What had become of his\nthree blooming boys he could not tell.\n\nPutting spurs to his horse, the Knight and De Fistycuff galloped into\nCoventry.  There he met the Earl going out hunting; and there, in mortal\ncombat, he laid him low.\n\nScarcely had the Earl breathed his last, acknowledging with his dying\nbreath the lady's innocence, than the Princess Sabra was led forth to\nexecution.  Quickly her guards were put to flight, and mounting her on\nhis horse, he bore her off to a neighbouring forest, where he might defy\npursuit.\n\nThere, as they wandered up and down, one day they espied three beauteous\nboys, sleeping on a bed of roses, beneath a shady bower.  The parents'\nhearts told them that the children were their own.  They flew towards\nthem, when they saw, seated at the further end of the bower a beautiful\nlady.  Instantly Saint George knew her as the kind Fairy who so often\nbefore befriended him, and who had now saved his children from the\nburning castle.  Again and again he thanked the Fairy, who, smiling\nsweetly, vanished from his sight.\n\nLeaving his children under the care of those wise tutors, named\nIndustry, Attention, and Teachableness, taking his wife, he once more\nset out to rejoin the army engaged in the war with the Pagans.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THIRTEEN.\n\nSAINT GEORGE KILLS THE ENCHANTER OSMOND.\n\nSaint George and his virtuous Lady, having arrived in Africa, were\ntravelling to Egypt from the west, when they chanced to arrive at a\nmagnificent country, inhabited only by Amazonians.\n\nJourneying along, great was their surprise to find every town and\nvillage desolate of people; the fields untilled; and fields overgrown\nwith weeds: nor man, nor woman, nor child was to be seen.\n\nScarcely food even from the berries in the woods could they procure to\nsatisfy their hunger.\n\nIn this extremity, after many days, they arrived before a rich\npavilion--all of green and crimson, bordered with gold and azure--the\nhooks of ivory, the cords of silk, while at the top stood a golden\neagle, and at each corner a green silver griffin shining in the sun.\nBeautiful as was the tent, still more lovely was the lady who stood\nbefore it--a maiden queen--crowned with an imperial diadem, and clothed\nin a robe of green, with the body formed of lace of gold, and her\ncrimson kirtle bound with violet-coloured velvet, the wide sleeves being\nembroidered with flowers of gold and rich pearls.  Around her stood her\nmaiden attendants in comely attire, with silver coronets on their heads,\nand silver bows in their hands, while at their backs hung quivers full\nof golden arrows.\n\nWith courteous words the Queen invited the Knight and his Lady to enter\nher pavilion, when she told him that her country was sorely afflicted by\nthe arts of a wicked magician, named Osmond, who had sought her love,\nand having been rejected had conceived the most deadly hatred against\nher.\n\n\"He has built,\" she said, \"a mighty tower on the borders of my realm,\nfrom which issues so deadly and dark a smoke that my people are driven\nfrom their homes, and the country remains desolate.  He has left the\nguarding of the castle to a terrible giant, the ugliest monster eyes\never beheld.  He is thirty feet in height, his head three times the size\nof that of the largest ox, his eyes larger than two sunflowers, and his\nteeth, with which he can break a bar of iron, standing out a foot from\nhis mouth; his arms long and bony, his skin black as coal and hard as\nbrass, and his strength so great that he can carry away three knights in\narmour, and their steeds, with the greatest ease.\"\n\n\"Now, by my halidom, but I will fetter this monster and break the\nenchantment, or never see this place again.\"  In vain the Princess Sabra\nentreated him not to undertake the adventure.\n\nEven the Amazonian Queen thought it beyond his power.\n\nAt daybreak, accompanied by De Fistycuff, he set forth, leaving the side\nof his weeping wife, and assuring her that he would return in safety.\nAs he and his Squire advanced into the enchanted district the light of\nday decreased; darker and darker it grew, till they could with\ndifficulty grope their way before them, while dense clouds of smoke\nseemed to be rolling thicker and thicker over their heads.  Nothing\ncould surpass the melancholy and depressing gloom of the air.\n\nAt length, by a faint glimmer of lurid light, they beheld the gates of\nthe enchanted tower, at which sat, on a block of rock, a huge giant in\nhis iron coat, with a mace of steel in his hand.  At first sight of\nSaint George and his Squire, he beat his teeth so mightily together that\nthey rang like the stroke of an anvil; and then he sprang up and rushed\nforward, thinking to take the Champion, horse and all, within his mouth,\nwith the Squire under one arm, and to bear them into the tower.\n\nWhen, however, the giant opened his mouth, showing his teeth sharp as\nsteel, Saint George thrust his trusty sword Ascalon so far down it, that\nthe monster cried out loud as thunder in his pain and terror; the very\nearth trembled, his mouth smoked like a fiery furnace, and his eyes\nrolled in his head like brands of flaming fire: but the Champion pressed\nhim harder and harder, the blood flowing in a great stream from his\nmouth, till he was forced to cry out for mercy, and to beg for life.\nThis Saint George granted him, on condition that he would discover all\nthe secrets of the tower, and ever after be his true servant.  Then the\ngiant swore to speak the truth, and told him that the necromancer had\nmade a huge fire in a deep vault whence all the smoke came forth, but\nthat near the fire was a fair and pleasant fountain, the water of which,\nif any knight could cast it on the fire, the smoke would cease and the\nfire be put out.  This sufficed Saint George.\n\nOrdering the giant to keep the door, and leaving De Fistycuff to watch\nover him, he advanced into the tower, which was full of vast windows;\nand then he entered a long dark passage with a door at one end, set as\nthick with spikes of steel as are the prickles of a sea-urchin's skin;\nyet, dashing open the door, in spite of the clouds of smoke which rushed\nout, he descended in total darkness, thundering blows all the time\nraining down on his burgonet, which he guarded off with his shield, and\nvoices from unseen spirits screeching in his ears, while the heat, great\nat first, increased so fiercely that he was almost melted, his armour\nbecoming nearly red-hot.\n\nJust as he was about to faint he espied the crystal fountain, and\nquickly filling his shield from it, he cast the water on the fire.\nBackwards and forwards he went, till, to his joy, he saw the smoke\nceasing and the blue sky appearing, when the light of the sun entering\nthe dark passage, he saw on the stairs many great images of brass, with\nmighty maces of steel, which had struck him the heavy blows as he\ndescended.\n\nThe fire being quenched, and the enchantment being thus happily quashed,\nthe country was restored to its former prosperous condition, while Saint\nGeorge received warm thanks of the Amazonian Queen; and then, with the\nPrincess Sabra by his side, and followed by De Fistycuff, and the huge\nGiant Orcus as he was called, he set off to join the Christian army in\nthe south.  On their way, however, finding that they were not far from\nBagabornabou, the native land of the lovely Sabra, they determined to\njourney thither.\n\nDe Fistycuff, as a herald, went before to announce their arrival,\nwhereon they were received right royally.  Such joyful sounds of bells,\ntrumpets, cymbals, and drums, were scarce ever heard before in the\nkingdom; nor had such stately pageants ever been seen as those which\nwelcomed them; the walls were hung with Indian coverlets and curious\ntapestry, and the pavement was strewed with odoriferous flowers of every\nlovely hue.\n\nThis being over, the Princess Sabra was crowned Queen of the country,\nand for many days she and her noble lord reigned there in peace and\nprosperity, till the desire of martial glory summoned Saint George once\nmore to buckle on his armour, and to join the Christian forces now\nmarching towards Egypt.\n\nTime will not allow a full description of the bloody battle which took\nplace between the Christians and the Pagans, or of the magic arts\npractised by the fell Enchanter Osmond, who strove with all his power to\noverthrow or circumvent the former; or how he raised an army of evil\nspirits from the earth, the air, and fire, and water; and besides a\nmighty tempest by which huge oaks were torn up by the roots, houses and\ntemples were unroofed, and men and horses carried high up into the air,\nand let down again with terrific crashes.\n\nWhile the tempest was raging, they charged into the Christian host with\nflaming falchions, firing their horses' manes, burning their trappings,\nand consuming their banners; but undaunted they stood, headed by Saint\nGeorge and the six other Champions, till the Pagan forces were compelled\nat length to give way, and to retire from the field.\n\nThe acts of the Enchanter were not yet concluded, for he erected a magic\ntent, with arts so subtle, that the interior seemed like a large country\nfull of gardens, fields, and orchards, and palaces.  There he caused six\nof his spirits to assume the guise of six lovely princesses, travelling\nthe country round in search of six gallant knights who would break some\nlances in their services.  By artful guile the seeming royal ladies\npersuaded the six Champions to accompany them to their pavilion, where\nthey announced that a right royal banquet was prepared to do them\nhonour.\n\nThe Champions departed, unsuspicious of ill; but day after day passed by\nand they did not return.  The troops, by degrees, began to complain that\nthey were left without their leaders; when Saint George, inquiring into\nthe matter, right wisely supposed that it might be some cunning device\nof the Enchanter Osmond.\n\nOn inquiring of his slave, the Giant Orcus, he found that this was\nindeed too true, and that the Knights were kept in servile bonds in the\nmagic pavilion.  Addressing his warriors, he told them of the discovery\nhe had made, when, with loud shouts, they vowed to follow wherever he\nmight lead.\n\nThus trusting in the noble Champion, they neither feared the\nnecromancer's charms, the flaming dragons, the fierce drakes, the\nflashing lurid lights, or the legions of hideous monsters armed with\nburning falchions, which surrounded them as they marched towards the\nenchanted pavilion.\n\nFar more dangerous were the sounds of sweet music which struck upon\ntheir ears, and the enchanting sights which their eyes beheld, as they\nsurrounded the magic tent; but Saint George, recollecting the honour of\nhis knighthood, let drive at the tent with his sword, so furiously, that\nhe cut it into a thousand pieces; when there was exposed to view the\nfell Enchanter Osmond, sitting on a rock of iron, feeding hideous\nspirits, who obeyed his will, with drops of blood.\n\nThe Champion and his soldiers rushed upon him so furiously that, seizing\nhim unawares, they carried him off, and bound him with chains to the\nroot of a blasted oak, whence neither his own art nor all the spirits he\nonce commanded could release him.\n\nSaint George then set at liberty the six captive Knights, when the\nlovely princesses, turning into their proper shapes of six hideous\nspirits, flew off with loud shrieks and hisses through the air.\n\nThe necromancer then shrieking forth that all his magic arts and devices\nhad come to nought, tore out his eyes, bit his tongue in two, because\nthat it had so often uttered curses, cut off his hands, which had held\nhis silver wand, the cause of so much evil; and finally ended his\nexistence by devouring his own inside, dying thus a warning to all\nmagicians for future ages.\n\nThis adventure being happily terminated, the Christian army advanced\ntowards Egypt and Persia; nor did the Champions ever again sheathe their\nswords, or unlock their armour, till the subversion of those ancient\nEmpires was accomplished.  This being done, they took truce of the\nworld, and triumphantly marched towards Christendom; in which journey\nthey erected many stately monuments in remembrance of their victories\nand heroical achievements; and through every country that they marched\nthere flocked to them an innumerable company of Pagans, that desired to\nfollow Saint George into Christendom, protesting that they wished to\nforsake their heathen gods, whose worshippers' chief delight is in the\nshedding of human blood and every cruelty.  To their requests Saint\nGeorge at once condescended, not only in granting them their desires,\nbut also in honouring them with the favour of his princely countenance.\n\nOnce more did the gallant Champion return to England, with the faithful\nDe Fistycuff, and this time he invited the other six Champions to\naccompany him.\n\nPen would fail properly to describe the magnificent entertainments with\nwhich they were honoured, and the pleasant time they spent there, before\nthey again set forward on their adventures.\n\nThere, sad to relate, the Princess Sabra sickened and died, and with\ngrief and anguish Saint George raised a magnificent tomb to her memory,\nand placed it above her grave.  Then, after embracing his three young\nsons, he once more set out on his travels.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER FOURTEEN.\n\nTHE ADVENTURE OF THE THREE SONS OF SAINT GEORGE.\n\nNumberless were the strange adventures in which the gallant Champions of\nChristendom were engaged, and numberless the noble deeds they performed;\nof the greater number of which this history, by stern necessity, must be\nsilent, and many of which can be but briefly described.\n\nFor many years Saint George had travelled up and down the world, the\nfaithful De Fistycuff by his side, nor had news of them been received in\nEngland.  His three noble sons had now grown to man's estate, and had\nreceived the honour of knighthood from their Sovereign.  When, as they\nwere visiting one night their mother's tomb, her spirit, in the gentle\nform she wore on earth, rose from out of it before their enravished\neyes, and counselled them, as they loved their honoured father's memory,\nto go and search him out, and bring him back in safety to his native\nland.  Thus having spoken, with a sweet smile, she vanished from their\nsight.\n\nWell furnished, they set off from England.  Scarcely had they travelled\nfar through Normandy, than, as they were passing through a wood, a loud\nshriek assailed their ears.  Charging amid the trees, they beheld a\nlovely damsel in the hands of a dozen armed men; fierce pirates, from\ntheir dress and weapons, they appeared.  With the war-cry of their\nfather's name, they rushed on the marauders, and, as none would yield,\nthey slew them all, and then loosed the lady and her attendants, whom\nthe pirates had bound to the surrounding trees.\n\nWith grateful words and tears, which chased each other down her cheeks\nof lily white, she told them that she was the daughter of a Duke, whose\ncastle was hard by.  Then the three young Knights were sumptuously\nentertained and pressed by the Duke to stay; but mindful of their duty,\nthey speedily set forth again to search out their father.\n\nThey journeyed on for many days, through countries where no houses or\nhabitations were to be found; they rested, therefore, at night in the\nwoods or on the open downs, having only the starry firmament for their\ncanopy.  Thus sweetly reposing on their mother earth, they slept as\nsoundly as if they had rested on beds of feathers, and had been\nsurrounded with curtains of the purest Arabian silk.\n\nOne night they had been sleeping securely, until such time as Aurora\nbegan to gild the firmament with her bright rays, and to usher in\nPhoebus's golden light, when suddenly a terrific noise, which seemed to\narise from some deep abyss, and to be about to rend the rocks asunder,\nassailed their ears.\n\nAwaking, they leaped to their feet, and buckling on their armour, stood\non their guard.  High time it was for them so to do; had they slept but\nanother minute sad would have been their fate.  As they gazed around, to\ndiscover whence the noise could have proceeded, they saw coming towards\nthem a most hideous monster, of excessive size and terrible shape.  His\neyes were like burning saucers, so round and large were they; his mouth\nwas like that of some huge bird of prey, and his front claws were like\nthose of eagles, but infinitely larger and sharper; he had ears like a\nfox, with a scaly breast, and wings like a bird; but his body was\nshaggy, and his hinder feet were like those of a lion.\n\nAgain and again he roared most terrifically, and as he moved along his\nhead reached high up among the boughs of the tallest trees.  Their three\nhorses, as he drew near, snorted and stamped on the earth, rearing up\nwith terror, and almost broke from the ropes which secured them, for the\nyoung knights, disdaining to fly as they might have done, had kept on\nfoot.  They felt, also, how perfectly and completely they could trust\neach other, and thus they stood, fearless of the coming danger.\n\nThe monster, with loud cries, spreading out his wings, and lifting up\nhis terrible talons, rushed towards them.  Side by side, at a little\ndistance apart, they stood ready to receive him.  He ran at the centre\none, who, stepping back a pace, made a furious cut at him with his\nsword, while the other two assailed him on either side.  Quick as hail\nfell their blows on his hard side, but, hard and tough as was his skin,\ntheir sharp swords soon found entrance, and the blood of the monster\nbegan to flow in torrents, rising quickly over their feet, for they\nfought in a valley from whence there was no means for it to escape;\nblood not being able of itself to run up hill in any way more easily\nthan water, which cannot do it at all.  The young Knights thus saw that\nif they desired to escape drowning, they must finish the combat without\nfurther delay; the odour of the monster was excessively disagreeable to\ntheir olfactory nerves, being like the essence of ten thousand\npole-cats, weasels, skunks, ferrets, and similar vermin.\n\nNow they plied their blows more furiously than ever, till at length Sir\nGuy, the eldest, plunged his weapon into the monster's scaly breast, and\nroars of pain and rage, louder than that which ten thousand elephants,\nlions, and donkeys united could make, were sent forth by the terrific\nbrute, who threw himself headlong on the gallant knights; but they\nnimbly skipped out of the way; and, as his face lay submerged in his own\nblood, they again thrust their swords into his back and sides, while\nthousands of bubbles, floating up from the surface of the pool of Wood,\nshowed that, at length, he had breathed out his hideous life.\n\nThe Knights, having ascertained that he was dead, retired from the\nfield; the neighbourhood of which soon became unbearable, from the\nhorrid odour which proceeded from it.  Having thus washed away all the\nstains of the combat, in a neighbouring stream, for they were all three\nvery nice young men, and hated to be more dirty than was necessary, they\nproceeded on their journey.\n\nTime will not allow me to dwell long on their subsequent adventures.\n\nAs they journeyed on, faint and weary, and sadly wanting refreshment,\nthey met a herald loudly proclaiming, on his brazen horn, the greatest\nrewards to whoever would slay the Monster Pongo, who was ravaging the\ncountry.\n\nThey stopped him and told him that they had slain the monster.  On this,\nafter they had shown him where the brute lay, the herald conducted them\nto the Court of the King, who received them with unbounded joy, and\nloaded them with honours.\n\nNow it had happened, that, while the Monster Pongo was ravaging the\ncountry, and the King and all his Court, and ministers, and generals,\nand his army were distracted and entirely beside themselves, a band of\npirates, led by a noted chief, had landed on their shores, and carried\noff the fair and young daughter of the King, the Princess Urania.\n\nNo sooner did the young Knights hear the tale, than they offered to go\nin search of her, as a work worthy of their arms.  In a stout vessel,\nrowed by sturdy men, they set forth.  Many tempests they met with, and\nmuch were they tossed about by the waves.  Little did they think at the\ntime that their honoured sire and his six friends, the other Champions\nof Christendom, were likewise making a long voyage, and were the sport\nof the winds and waves; the only powers, indeed, which could make sport\nof such doughty Knights.  Weeks had passed away, and still they were\nploughing the waves, and wishing that Britannia, when she was about it,\nhad ruled them straighter, when they perceived, at a distance, several\nvessels.\n\nThey made towards them.  A desperate combat was taking place, and fierce\npirates, with burning torches in their hands, were endeavouring to set\nfire to the barks of their opponents.\n\nOn the deck of one of them, yet at a little distance, who should they\nbehold but two of the great Champions of Christendom, their honoured\nfather, Saint George, and his dear friend, Saint Andrew, standing calm\nand undismayed, waiting the time for their vessel to approach near\nenough to take part in the combat.  As they guessed, rightly, the rest\nof the Champions lay on their couches below, overcome by the power of\nthe sea, wishing themselves safe on dry land again, and caring very\nlittle whether they then and there went to the bottom.\n\nInstantly the three young Knights, urging on their bark, threw\nthemselves on the pirates, whom, after a desperate combat, they\ncompelled to surrender; many having leaped overboard, and others having\nbeen slain.  One of the pirate vessels was almost in a sinking state.  A\ncry proceeded from her hold; it was that of a female in distress.\n\nThe young Knights rushed on board, when, ere the vessel sank, they drew\nforth a young and lovely damsel, and carried her in safety to their own\nbark.  A few words sufficed to tell them that she was no other than the\nPrincess Urania, of whom they were in search.\n\nSaint George was highly delighted with the prowess of his sons, and he\nand his friends accompanied them to the Court of Urania's father, where\nthey were all, as might have been expected, sumptuously entertained.\n\nFrom thence they again set forth in search of fresh adventures, which\nwere no less wonderful than those I have already narrated, but which\nrequire a longer pen than mine to tell.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER FIFTEEN.\n\nTHE DEATH OF SAINT PATRICK.\n\nTime, which spares not kings or princes, any more than other people, at\nlength laid his heavy hand on the Seven Great Champions of Christendom,\nand eke on their once doughty Squires.  Hard knocks in battles and\ntournaments, voyages by sea, and travels by land, hard fare as well as\ngay revellings, fights with giants, monsters, wild beasts, and evil\nspirits, had done their work, unnerved their once iron arms, and turned\ntheir raven or auburn locks to grey; while from their chins, instead of\nfull bushy beards, hung down long silvery streamers of white; and those\nlion voices, which once had been heard high above the din of battle, and\nhad braved kings on their thrones and giants in their dens, were now\nchanged to weak and trembling trebles, which could scarce be heard even\nabove the summer breeze.\n\nFirst, of Saint Patrick I will tell.  Laying aside his lance, and trusty\nsword, and armour, which he committed to the care of his ancient\nfollower and faithful squire, Terence O'Grady, (now the father of a fine\nfamily, and settled on his own estate in Ireland, which has been handed\ndown to his descendants from generation to generation,) he assumed the\nhumble palmer's guise, and resolved to wander up and down the world,\nnot, as before, to perform feats of arms, but to collect all sorts of\ninformation which might be useful to his beloved native land, where he\nproposed ultimately to lay his bones.\n\nNo longer was he accompanied by his faithful Terence, but solitary and\nalone did the aged Palmer go forth.  Great as he was, many sins had he\nto mourn, and much had he to be sorry for.\n\nAmong the things he most regretted were the opportunities he had lost of\ndoing good, and of gaining that knowledge which would have made him\nuseful in his generation.  However, he thought that he would make amends\nfor his early neglect; but even the great Saint had to learn that lost\nopportunities in the days of our youth and strength can seldom or never\nbe recovered when years advance with rapid strides and lay a heavy hand\nupon us.  Thus, resting on his staff, with a scallop shell in front of\nhis broad-brimmed hat, in russet coat and wallet at his back, the old\nhero set out once more on his adventurous journey.\n\nMany strange adventures even then befell him.  Often was he assailed by\nfierce temptations, but bravely he resisted them, as he had done his\nenemies of old.  The laws and institutions of foreign countries were the\nchief objects of his inquiries.  Nothing came amiss to him; he asked\nabout everything he saw, and never seemed weary of gaining information.\nEven into cook-shops and kitchens he found his way; and some assert that\nthe Irish from him learned how to cook potatoes properly, though I do\nnot see exactly how that can be the case, seeing, as may be remembered,\nthat potatoes came from America, and that America did not happen to be\nknown in those days.  Perhaps he, however, may have been over there\nunknown to the rest of the world.  Others say that, at all events, he\nintroduced the Irish-stew; but to that there seems also some little\nobjection of the same character, as \"praties\" enter largely into its\ncomposition.\n\nThen, again, that objection is overruled by those who assert that some\nother root or some cereal might have been used in their stead.  No true\nIrishman, however, doubts the following fact, which is about to be\ndescribed.\n\nTravelling onwards, he at length reached a part of Africa, often much\ninfested by serpents.  He was there told of a rare and wonderful means\nwhich the inhabitants employed to get rid of the serpents.  Having\ncaught them, they tied fish-hooks to their tails.  No sooner did the\nserpents find this incumberance attached to them, than in their rage\nthey never failed to turn round and bite at their other extremities.  In\nthis way they invariably caught their mouths in the hooks, and thus\nbeing turned into hoops or rings, from which uncomfortable position\nbeing utterly unable to escape, they were easily caught up on long\nsticks and thrown over the left shoulder into the nearest lake or river,\nfrom which they were certain never again to come back.\n\nThis was only one, it must be remembered, of the many important pieces\nof information that blessed Saint and great man Saint Patrick picked up\nin his latter travels.  Some say that he taught the Irish to read and\nwrite.  Certain, at all events, it is that he introduced that fine and\nglorious weapon, the shillelagh, among them; and, moreover, taught them\nthe use of it, for which his memory is ever to be held in due reverence,\nnot to speak of many other reasons why he should be loved and admired by\nall the sons of Erin.\n\nAt length, Saint Patrick, feeling that his latter days were approaching,\ngot back safe to Old Ireland, there firmly purposed to leave his bones.\nThe country, at that time there can be no manner of doubt about it, was\noverrun with serpents, big and little, in great numbers, whose bite was\nso venomous, that, if a man got stung by one of them, he in a minute or\nless swelled up into a mountain.  So the people came to Saint Patrick,--\nfor to whom else should they go, seeing that, of course, he was one of\nthe wisest men in the kingdom?--and they told him that it was their firm\nbelief that the whole land, from north to south, would be depopulated\nbefore long if the snakes were not driven out of it.  So, just then\nthinking of something else, he told them to take their shillelaghs and\nto knock the snakes on the head, and to drive them into the sea, he\nhimself setting the example; and right lustily he laid about him, as he\nwas wont to do in his early days, among Pagan hosts, or wild beasts, or\ngiants, or ogres.\n\nSuddenly, as he was attacking a monstrous serpent wriggling about before\nhim, he recollected the way in which he had seen the snakes got rid of\nin Africa.  So, ordering all the fish-hooks to be procured throughout\nIreland to be brought to him, he had them tied on to the tails of all\nthe serpents to be found.  Instantly the serpents were turned into\nhoops, and calling his faithful followers, he showed them how to ring\nthem all on their shillelaghs.  This done, staggering away with them at\ntheir backs, all the serpents, and snakes, and vipers, were carried off\nto the sea, into which they were thrown and drowned, and from that day\nto this not one has ever ventured to come back to the shores of Old\nIreland, and none ever will, that we may be assured.\n\nAfter this great and important achievement, the pious Saint wished to\nretire altogether from public life.  So he had a hermitage cut for\nhimself out of a big grey moss-overgrown rock, on an island in a lake\nsurrounded by trees, where very few people ever thought of coming to see\nhim; but some good pious families, who lived near, used to take him\nfish, and other provisions, to supply his daily wants, which were,\nindeed, but few.\n\nThere he lived on for some years, his existence being neither very\nuseful nor very interesting, and the puzzle was how he managed to pass\nhis time.  His hair grew longer than ever, and so did his nails; and at\nlength it was discovered that he was with them, day after day, engaged\nin digging his own grave.  Like the mole, working away, he turned up the\nearth till he had made it deep enough and long enough to suit his taste.\nWhen it was completed he laid himself down in it, weary of the world,\nand never rose from it again.\n\nWhen the peasants came the next morning, they found the old Saint dead;\nso, mournfully they threw back the earth he had turned up; and many\nyears afterwards, the exact spot being ascertained, a magnificent church\nwas raised over it to his memory.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER SIXTEEN.\n\nTHE DEATH OF SAINT DAVID.\n\nPen would fail to write, or man to tell, all the gallant achievements\nwhich the noble Knight, Saint David of Wales, and his faithful Squire,\nOwen ap Rice, performed during their foreign travels.\n\nAt length even they began to weary of the constant hazardous adventures\nin which they were engaged.  Age had begun to dim the lustre of Saint\nDavid's eye, and to unnerve his arm, but not to lower the courage of his\nheart.\n\nNews was now brought him that an army of Pagan barbarians was about to\nattack his native land.  No time was to be lost if he would render\nservice to his country.  On his homeward way he collected all the\ngallant knights, and their squires, and men-at-arms, with whom he and\nthe faithful Owen had, in their travels, become acquainted.  Thus, by\nthe time he reached the borders of Wales, he had assembled an army\nwhich, though small, was well able to perform deeds such as ten times\nthe number of ordinary men would not have dared to attempt.\n\nSad was the state of Wales when they entered it in battle-array, seeking\nthe enemy,--towns were unpeopled, houses overthrown, monasteries\npillaged, corn-fields burnt, farms destroyed, while from the caves and\nwoods came forth the unhappy people, to welcome him as their deliverer,\nand to pray for his success.\n\nThese sights so fired the spirit of the aged Champion, that he vowed\nnever to rest till he had driven the enemy from his native soil.  Still\nthe task was no easy one.  They were very numerous, fierce, and brave,\nand trained to arms.\n\nThe aged bards of Wales struck their harps to encourage the warriors to\nstrive bravely in the fight.\n\nIt was, however, discovered that many recreant knights had joined the\nforces of the Pagans; they and their followers being habited in armour\nlittle differing from that of the Champion of Wales and those knights\nwho had accompanied him from abroad.\n\nSummoning his warriors around him, he addressed them in a speech which\nencouraged and animated their valour to the highest pitch.  Thus he\nconcluded:--\n\n\"Then follow me, my gallant warriors!  I will give the signal for the\nonset, which will lay thousands of our foemen low; and see, for my\nensign, I do wear upon my burgonet this leek, which will, if we gain the\nvictory, be ever after held in honour throughout Wales, and on this\nfirst day of March be worn by all Welshmen in commemoration of our\nvictory.\"\n\nThrice struck the bards their harps, while cheers, loud and long,\nreplied to the speech, each warrior of Wales forthwith plucking up a\ngreat leek, and placing it on his casque, or head-piece, so that in the\nthickest light friends might be known from foes.\n\nNow there stepped forth a bard, and struck a mournful strain.\n\n  \"Sad, sad are the notes I sing,\n  And sad the news I bring,\n  For many a gallant knight, and many a warrior bold,\n  Will fall to-day,\n  And turn to clay,\n  Before swift time grows old.\n  The noblest and the best before the eve must die,\n  Ere the fell Pagan host are taught to turn and fly.\"\n\nThese words struck the gallant old Champion's ears.  He had never at any\ntime thought little of his own prowess, while he, like a true patriot,\nhad always been ready to sacrifice himself for the good of his country.\nHe resolved, accordingly, should the tide of battle set strong against\nhis followers, to charge onward amid the hosts of the enemy, and to fall\nnobly among them, knowing that his friends, for the love they bore him,\nwould, for the sake of recovering his body, charge into the midst of the\nfoe, and assuredly retrieve the fortunes of the day.\n\nWith a cheerful voice, as if he had been giving orders for the\ncommencement of a tournament, the noble old Champion gave the promised\nsignal for the onset.  Furiously charged the army of Welshmen.  Bravely\nwere they met by their Pagan foes, who, with valour worthy of a better\ncause, charged in return, and many on both sides sunk on the ensanguined\nplain never to rise again.\n\nKnight after knight sank down under the terrific blows of the Pagan\nclubs and battle-axes, till there seemed but little prospect that the\npatriot army would gain the victory.  In vain the Christian army shouted\nand charged.  The sturdy Pagans refused to give way.\n\nAt length, Saint David, recollecting the words uttered by the prophetic\nbard in the morning, assembled round him his bravest knights, and,\nthrowing up his visor, exhibited his countenance, whereon sat a beaming\nsmile, expressive of patriotism and valour.\n\n\"One of the noblest in the land, it is said, must this day fall before\nthe battle is won!\" he exclaimed.  \"If such I am, then happy shall I be\nto be thus honoured in my death.  Charge! brave knights, charge!\"\n\nWith these words, the last he ever uttered, the noble Champion rushed\ninto the thickest of the fight, where a hundred battle-axes rattled on\nhis helmet, a hundred swords were pointed at his side, a hundred spears\nthrust against his fearless breast, and a hundred arrows shot at his\nhead.  Pierced by a hundred wounds he fell, but his followers bravely\navenged his death.  The Pagan hordes were put to flight; and Saint David\nhas ever since, even to the present day, been held in affectionate\nremembrance, as he fully deserved, by all Welshmen.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER SEVENTEEN.\n\nTHE DEATH OF SAINT DENIS.\n\nSaint Denis of France, like his brother Champions, much desired, after\nhis long wanderings, to see once more the smiling fields of _la belle_\nFrance, and thus he, too, followed by the faithful Le Crapeau, turned\nhis steps homeward.  Time had not failed to leave its hoary marks on\nhim, and his snowy locks and flowing beard showed full well that the\nwinter of his life had at length overtaken him.\n\nStill he kept his armour on, though his shrunken form often seemed to\nrattle within it; and the chill blasts, as they entered the crevices,\nblew round and round him, and made him often wish for his armchair, and\ndressing-gown, and slippers, as does many another elderly gentleman, who\nwould be far wiser if he kept by his own fireside, instead of allowing\nhimself to be dragged about the world, in search of a very doubtful sort\nof advantage or amusement for the younger branches of his family.\n\nSaint Denis had not neglected in his travels to discover many things\nwhich he thought might be with advantage introduced into his native\ncountry.  He taught the people how to cultivate the vine, and make\n_chausse_ roads, though the latter were never very satisfactory.  But\nmany cunning arts and manufactures also he introduced from the far east,\nof which there is not space now to speak.  The greatest benefit,\nhowever, he conferred on his countrymen was in instructing them in the\nimportant art of cookery.  Fricassees and ragouts were by his means\nbrought to great perfection, and, more than all, he instructed them how\nto dress frogs and snails, of which art they were before his time\ntotally ignorant.  Who could ever imagine that there was a time when\nFrenchmen knew nothing of that important part of the culinary art?  Till\nSaint Denis, the hero of a hundred fights, aided by the faithful Le\nCrapeau, caught the frogs and cooked them, and, moreover, eat them, the\nignorant Frenchmen could not believe that they were intended to be used\nas food.\n\nBut mark the ingratitude of a people--the fickleness of a crowd.  The\ngreat Saint Denis, who had fought so long, and upheld the name of France\nin so many strange lands, was accused by a recreant knight of heresy and\nof high treason, and of endeavouring to introduce bad and mischievous\ncustoms among the people.\n\nOld as he was, although he had long laid aside his armour, the fire of\nhis youth burned up within him, and he challenged his malignant accuser\nto mortal combat.\n\nThe Champion and the false knight met; but the latter, by the arts of a\nwicked enchanter, had come so prepared by talismans for the fight, that\nall the skill and courage of Saint Denis could not overthrow him.\n\nAgain and again the aged Champion charged with all the agility and\ncourage of a young man, and few would have supposed that he who sat\nwithin that iron mask, and wielded that heavy lance, had seen near\neighty winters pass over his hoary head.  Once more he charged--his\nlance was shivered, and he was borne helpless to the ground.\n\nThen were the evil designs of his fell enemy victorious.  He was\ncondemned to death.  No rescue came, and he was led, yet habited in his\narmour, to the block.  With a courageous look he lay down his head; but\nscarcely had the axe of the cruel executioner fallen upon it, than a\nfearful tempest burst forth.  The headsman, the recreant knight, and all\nwho had assisted willingly at the execution, were struck to the ground,\nbecoming black masses of cinder, by a flash of fearful lightning; and\nthen the people learned and acknowledged that right and justice were on\nthe Champion's side.\n\nMonuments were built and churches erected to his memory, and he was ever\nafter reverenced as the Patron Saint of France and of all Frenchmen.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER EIGHTEEN.\n\nTHE DEATH OF SAINT JAMES.\n\nSaint James, as long as his arm could wield a lance, continued his\nheroic combats with pagans and infidels of all sorts, magicians and\nnecromancers, giants and ogres, wild beasts and evil spirits of every\nkind, sort, and description; but he, at length, too, finding his\nstrength departing, and his hair growing grey, resolved to return home.\nOne day, however, as he was about to put on his armour, to ride forth as\nusual, he discovered that he could scarcely lift it.\n\n\"The time has come, my faithful Pedrillo, when no longer as a steel-clad\nknight, but as a humble pilgrim, I must wander through the world,\" he\nremarked, sitting down again on the couch from which he had risen.  \"Go\nforth, my faithful Squire, and purchase me a palmer's habit, a hat of\ngrey colour, and a broad scallop shell.  Never more will I put on yonder\ncoat of steel.  I should but disgrace the name I have so long borne as\none of the bravest knights of Christendom.\"\n\n[Well would it be if other generals and admirals would take a hint from\nSaint James, and, following his example, would retire, when their powers\nare failing them, from public life.]\n\nWith a sigh the faithful Pedrillo went forth, and procured, as he was\ndirected, a palmer's habit for his master, and one for himself.  Their\narmour being packed up and carried on their war-steeds, they now, as\npilgrims, journeyed homewards; but all who met them knew full well what\nthey had been, and even midnight robbers and outlaws respected them, and\nallowed them to pass unmolested.\n\nThus travelling on, they reached at length the wide plains of sunny\nSpain.  There Saint James resolved to build a chapel, and to devote\nhimself to its service.  He erected also a hermitage hard by, where he\nand his faithful Pedrillo, who would not quit him, took up their abode\nas hermits.  Then the peasantry from far and near came to visit them.\nMuch good advice Saint James could give them, and many things he taught\nthem, while numberless were the strange stories he could tell of the\nwonderful things he had seen and done in foreign lands.\n\nIn time, his chapel, from the gifts brought to it, became one of the\nrichest in the land; and this so excited the envy and anger of the monks\nof a neighbouring convent, that they conspired together to accuse him of\nnecromancy and other terrible crimes.\n\nSaint James boldly refuted the accusations, and offered, once more, to\ntry his lance against any friar among them who was man enough to put on\narmour and meet him in single combat; but they all declined the honour,\nthough they did not the less hurl their invectives against him, and seek\nopportunities for his destruction.\n\nAt length, he and some of his more pious fellow-worshippers were caught\none day inside their chapel.  The doors were closed upon them, and the\nwicked monks, hiring a band of Pagan mercenaries, had them all shot to\ndeath by poisoned arrows.  In spite of the pain they suffered, the Saint\nand his companions continued singing their hymns to the last, while a\nbright silvery light burst forth in the chapel--(so says the ancient\nchronicler)--which continued burning glorious as ever; and when, at\nlength, the chapel was opened, the body of Saint James and the bodies of\nhis companions were found to be perfectly embalmed.  Then they were\nplaced in marble tombs with silver lids; and, to the present day, Saint\nJames, by all real Spaniards, is held in the highest esteem and\nreverence.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER NINETEEN.\n\nTHE DEATH OF SAINT ANTHONY.\n\nAbout the same time that his brother knights ended their martial career,\nSaint Anthony, with his faithful follower, Niccolo, likewise, for the\nsame reason, resolved to turn his face homewards.  Rome was the city of\nhis birth, and to Rome he went.\n\nRome was a Christian city, but there were still many Pagans in the\nneighbourhood, and many of the shrines had as yet scarcely been\naccommodated to the new faith, so that the pious Saint Anthony had\nconsiderable difficulty in distinguishing one from the other.  This very\nmuch grieved his heart.  Even when he went among the priests he could\nnot always make out to which faith they belonged.  They made him long\nharangues, and assured him that their great wish was to develop their\nancient and time-honoured institutions into whatever form was likely to\nprove most popular.\n\nSaint Anthony, who was a simple-minded man, was sorely puzzled by all\nthis; so, after vainly endeavouring to comprehend the state of things in\nthe ancient capital of the world, he retired to a hermitage, where he\nlived for the remainder of his days; nor would he ever again enter Rome.\n\nThus, in the fragrant odour of sanctity, he died at a green old age.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY.\n\nTHE DEATH OF SAINT ANDREW.\n\nSaint George and Saint Andrew were the last of all the Seven Champions\nwho remained together, rivalling each other in gallant deeds of arms.\n\nWhere breathes the Scotchman who does not desire, when his life's work\nseems almost done, to return once more to scent the air of his own free\nheathery hills, to climb their rocky heights, and to wander around their\nfertile vales?  Strongly did the desire to turn homeward seize the heart\nof Scotland's Champion.  He, however, did not lay aside his spear and\nsword; but old as he was, still clad in his armour, bestriding his\nwar-horse, and followed by the faithful Murdoch, he kept steadily\ntravelling on, day by day, towards the north.\n\nThus should the true knight do.  Life is a battle from the beginning to\nthe end--as the brave Saint Andrew well knew; and never should the\narmour, the shield, or sword, be laid aside till death strikes the knell\nwhich summons the warrior from the world.\n\nMany were the adventures he and the faithful Murdoch met with on their\njourney.  More than one giant was slain, numbers of unhappy people\nreleased from slavery, and many districts cleared of wild beasts, before\nthe aged Knight and his faithful Squire reached the fair shores of\nScotia.\n\nThe fame of their deeds had gone before them, and all the nobility of\nthe realm, and a vast concourse of people, assembled to do them honour.\nIt was a proud day for the aged Saint Andrew, when, clothed in his\nwell-worn suit of armour, with Murdoch McAlpine of that ilk carrying his\nspear by his side, he rode through the streets of auld Reekie, with the\nshouts of the delighted populace sounding in his ears and singing his\npraises.\n\n\"Long live Saint Andrew!  Long live Saint Andrew!  Wherever the Scottish\nname is known there will we Scotchmen boast of our own Saint Andrew--of\nthe gallant deeds he has done--of the name and of the fame he has won!\"\n\nSuch were the cries which from far and near saluted his ears.\n\nA grand tournament was also given in Saint Andrew's honour, at which the\naged Knight sat as umpire, though he wisely refrained from running a\ntilt, much as his heart tempted him to put on armour for the occasion.\n\nSoon after this, being assured that feats of arms were no longer suited\nto him, he resolved to instruct his countrymen in certain important\nbranches of knowledge which he had acquired in his foreign travels.  To\nprepare himself for this new work he retired to a hermitage he had built\nhigh up on the side of a mountain.  Thither, however, in a short time,\nresorted to him all the youths of aspiring minds who desired to acquire\ninformation, and to receive instruction from the sage.  Thus, in process\nof time, the rude hut became a spot celebrated for learning and piety.\n\nThere, happily and usefully employed, the old warrior spent many years\nof his declining life.\n\nBut, alas! what virtue, what piety, can enable a man to escape from the\nsnares of enemies and detractors?  Accused of witchcraft, and other\nmalpractices, the aged Saint was brought before some stern judges, who\nforthwith condemned him to death.  Scarcely, however, had his head been\ncut off than his innocence was discovered, and a church was raised to\nhis memory; and he has ever since been held in honourable recollection\nby all Scotchmen as the Champion of whom his country should be proud--a\nknight _sans peur et sans reproche_.\n\nSuch, however, is the way of the world.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY ONE.\n\nTHE DEATH OF SAINT GEORGE.\n\nThe last Champion who appears in this wondrous, strange, and eventful\nhistory, is the great Saint George.\n\nTowards the fair land of his birth, right Merrie England, he, too, when\nhe found age creeping on him, resolved to turn his steps.  Still lance\nin hand, and clad in steel, his brave lion heart yet undaunted, with the\nfaithful De Fistycuff by his side, he at length homeward set his eyes.\nHis faithful chronicler relates numberless adventures he met with,\nscarcely less marvellous than those he encountered in his youth.  Many a\nhard blow he got, which he still was able to return with interest, ably\nseconded by De Fistycuff, though, it must be confessed, his Squire had\ngrown somewhat obese and unwieldy.\n\nAt length, the chalky cliffs of Britain, which for twice twelve years\nthe noble Champion had never seen, came in sight.  Joyful to him was the\nprospect; more joyful still the towns and villages, the pleasant aspect\nof the fields, and the green waving woods, as he travelled on towards\nCoventry.  There, with warm greetings, the inhabitants of high and low\ndegree received him.\n\nSadness, however, he saw on the countenances of many; and this was\nowing, as the veracious chronicler, from whose erudite work this history\nis drawn, informs us, to \"a doleful report--how, upon Dunmore Heath,\nthere raged up and down an infectious dragon, that so annoyed the\ncountry that the inhabitants thereabouts could not pass by without great\ndanger; how that fifteen knights of the kingdom had already lost their\nlives in adventuring to suppress the same.\"\n\nSaint George no sooner heard thereof, and what wrongs his country\nreceived by this infectious dragon, than he purposed to put the\nadventure to trial, and either to free the land from so great a danger,\nor to finish his days in the attempt.  So, taking leave of all present,\nhe rode forward with as noble a spirit as he did in Africa, when he\ncombated the mighty green dragon.\n\nSo, coming to the middle of the plain, he there saw his dreadful enemy,\ncrouching on the ground in a deep cave.  The monster, by a strange\ninstinct knowing that his death drew nigh, made such a hideous yelling,\nthat it seemed as if the sky was bursting with thunder, and the earth\nrocking with an earthquake.  Then, bounding forth from his den, and\nespying the aged Champion, he ran with a fury so great against him as if\nhe would devour both knight and steed, armour and all, in a moment.  But\nthe brave Saint George, knowing well how to deal with dragons, and all\nsuch-like monsters, quickly wheeled his horse out of his way, and with\nsuch force did the monster rush on that he drove his sting full three\nfeet into the ground.  Returning again, however, with furious rage, he\nmade at the Knight, and would have carried both him and his charger to\nthe ground, but that Saint George, thrusting his spear at his throat,\nthe monster, to avoid it, threw himself back, and fell happily over,\nwith his back on the turf and his feet in the air, wriggling about all\nthe time his long forked tail.  Whereat the noble Champion taking\nadvantage, leaped from his horse, and, throwing down his sword, seized\nhim in his arms before he could rise, and pressed his huge body so\ntightly in his arms, and held him there, that he squeezed the very life\nout of him; but alas! the dragon's sting annoyed the good Knight in such\nsort, that the dragon being no sooner slain and weltering in his\nvenomous gore, than Saint George likewise took his death's wound by the\ndeep strokes of the dragon's sting, which he received in divers parts of\nhis body, and bled in such abundance that his strength began to enfeeble\nand grow weak: yet, retaining his true nobleness of mind, he valiantly\nreturned victor to the city of Coventry, where all the inhabitants stood\nwithout the gates to receive him in great royalty, and to give him the\nhonour that belonged to so worthy a conqueror.\n\nNo sooner, alas! had the brave old Knight arrived before the city, and\npresented the people with the head of the dragon which had so long\nannoyed the country, which was borne before him by the trusty old De\nFistycuff, than, what with the abundance of blood that issued from his\ndeep wounds, and the long bleeding without stopping of the same, he sunk\nback into the arms of his faithful Squire, and, without a sigh, he\nyielded up his breath.  Great was the moan that was made for him\nthroughout the country, and all in the land, from the King to the\nshepherd, mourned him for the space of a month.  The King also, in\nremembrance of him, ordained for ever after to be kept a solemn\nprocession by all the princes and chief nobility of the country upon the\ntwenty-third day of April, naming it Saint George's Day; on which day\nthe brave old Knight was most solemnly interred in the city where he was\nborn.  The King likewise decreed, by the consent of the whole kingdom,\nthat the patron of the land should be named Saint George our Christian\nChampion, in that he had fought so many battles to the honour of\nChristendom.\n\nThus ends the ancient, authentic, and most credible chronicle from which\nI have quoted.\n\nThere are many other documents extant, giving accounts of the exploits\nof Saint George's three sons, and of the sons of some of the other\nChampions of Christendom; but as I do not consider that they emanated\nfrom sources so reliable and unexceptionable as those chronicles from\nwhich I have quoted, I have not thought it advisable to introduce them\nin the present veracious narrative.\n\nTHE END.","title":"The Seven Champions of Christendom","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":40460}