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Mongolian-Tatars are at hand, and that they will burn our houses, massacre ourselves, or make slaves of us. But, in the name of my companions, I reply that there are here in your kingdom worse oppressors than the dog-headed Tatar-namely, the usurers, Jews, Ishmaelites, whom your departed father made lords not only of the country but of himself. Our houses are burnt, only the smoke is not seen; we have wars, and enemies who do not kill but flay us; they do not carry us away captive into a foreign land, but make slaves of us in our own. Therefore, if you wish us to raise our hands in your defence, you must first loose them, for they are bound.'*

As he concluded, a loud cry burst from the people, Down with the Ishmaelites! death to the infidel!'

The King took his signet-ring from his finger, and gave it to the Chancellor, saying, 'They shall be banished.' But still the people howled incessantly, and the old spokesman's endeavours to quiet them were quite in vain. The concession only emboldened them to make fresh demands, and one rough-looking leader came forward, saying insolently, 'I will follow you, my Lord King, but there are so many enemies in the land, we do not know against whom to fight. What use is it for us to take up arms against the enemy, when we see his comrades sitting before you, and allowed to go in and out of your palace night and day, while we can address you only on paper or through the window? It is this foreigner,' continued the demagogue, pointing to the Kuman King, 'who has brought an army into the land to prepare the way for the Tatars. He is in league with them. Did not a Kuman lately steal an ox from our herds? Two nations cannot dwell in one kingdom; either they must go out, or we. Choose, then, whose King you will be.'

But before Béla had time to speak, Kuthen laid his sword at his feet, praying him to take him prisoner and put him to death if the accusation were true. The King's body-guard meantime surrounded the unhappy Prince, and taking him out of reach of the raging multitude, placed him under a guard in one of the wings of the palace.

Again the King urged the people to prepare to follow him and attack the enemy before he crossed the frontier; but he was met by fresh murmurs, and the reminder that, by the Bulla Aurea, no noble was bound to follow the King to war beyond the frontier, unless the latter paid his

expenses.

Disgusted with such coldness and selfishness, when every moment lost brought the nation a step nearer her grave, the King rose impatiently from his seat, saying, 'Go; your assistance is not needed. Go home! I will defend the country with mercenaries.' But, alas! the treasurer whispered to his Majesty that there was no money wherewith to pay troops.

Béla turned to his usual money-lender, a baptized Mahometan, who was wont to lend him money at a high rate of interest; and the money

* In his extremity, Béla had obtained the consent of the Pope to farming the taxes to Jews, &c., in spite of the Bulla Aurea.

lender, bowing humbly to the earth, said, 'My Lord, I am an Ishmaelite, banished from your kingdom. I leave this land to-morrow.'

It was enough to drive any poor king wild, and Béla struck his forehead in despair.

The Diet lasted several days, but with little satisfactory result. The deliberations were still going on, when, on the 11th March, a message came from the Palatine, saying that the enemy in great force was close upon him, and would shortly cross the Carpathians, for it would be impossible for him to defend the pass unless he were reinforced without delay.

Four days later the Diet was suddenly disturbed by the sound of a trumpet, and presently a small band of men were seen toiling wearily across the heath, bringing with them a few tattered banners. Before them rode a man with battered helmet, pierced armour, and a shield so indented with blows that the crest was hardly distinguishable. His followers, who scarcely numbered a hundred, were in similar plight. Struck dumb with terror, the crowd recognized in him the Palatine, whom they supposed to be defending the mountain pass in the Carpathians. He rode up to the King, and stood, unable to speak. At length, after several attempts, he stammered, God and the Holy Virgin bless your royal head!' then, turning to the people, he told how he had defended the pass for seven days, till overpowered by the Mongols, who had poured through in vast numbers, and were already in IIungary.' A terrible cry rose from the hearts of all present, as he concluded his short speech. The King alone showed no signs either of grief or fear. All his indecision was gone. He signed to the Bishop of Vácz* to approach, gave his wife and children, together with the holy crown, into his charge, bade him take the relics of St. István from Stuhlweissenburg, and convey all the most precious treasures of King and country to a place of safety in Austria. Then his face brightened; he drew his sword, and raising it on high, exclaimed, 'The life of the country is in the IIand of God, but its honour is in mine. Let all who are ready to die for the glory of their country follow me! but let all those who prefer to live in shame, remain behind!'

Thousands of swords flashed from their sheaths at these words, and their owners shouted, as with one voice, 'We will follow you, and die with you!' The Magnates waved their rusty swords; the Ishmaelites, with the enthusiasm of fear, emptied their money-bags before the throne; the Bishops put on armour, and the people raised the King on a shield and bore him about in triumph. It seemed at that moment as though the country were saved; for the nearness of the danger had startled all out of their selfishness; and lord and peasant, noble and priest, hastened to the rendez-vous at Pest.

Kálmán, the King's brother, came with the legions of Croatia ; Friedrich of Austria too came with a small escort, rather fit for a

* Waitzen.

hunting party than a battle field. Had it been possible to gain time, all might have been well, but already the Mongols were within half a day's journey of Pest; the horizon was red with the flames of burning towns and villages, and scarcely a third of the Hungarian army was assembled. Cities and castles which had been deemed impregnable had fallen before the terrible foe, whose march was so rapid and so noiseless that the inhabitants had no notice of his approach until he was already upon them, and it was too late to arm in self-defence. Batu Khan's scouts came sometimes up to the very walls of Pest, plundering all they could lay hands upon in the neighbourhood; and the Hungarian army burnt with eagerness to begin the attack. But Béla was determined to wait till all his forces were collected, though the delay irritated the people, who looked upon his prudence as cowardice. One Sunday, indeed, Ugrin, Archbishop of Kalócsa, disobeyed orders, and attacked the Mongols beneath the walls of Vácz. The Mongols fled at this unexpected attack, and the Archbishop pursued them till they came to a morass. The Mongols, unencumbered by armour, flew lightly over it on their swift small horses; while Ugrin's heavy-armed troops floundered piteously, sinking deeper and deeper as they tried to struggle onwards, till at last, being unable to move, they fell an easy prey to the showers of arrows which the Mongols turned to pour on them. The Archbishop and four of his followers escaped with great difficulty to Pest, upbraiding the King for not coming to his assistance. Meanwhile, the Mongols fell upon the now defenceless city of Vácz, and slew its inhabitants. The women had taken refuge in the Cathedral, but they did not escape, for the Mongols set fire to it, and all perished in the flames. Meanwhile, the Duke of Austria, after a skirmish, in which he had himself taken a prisoner, returned home, having done harm rather than good; for, unfortunately, his prisoner turned out to be a Kuman, one whom the Mongols had taken captive and compelled to join their army. The Hungarians were furious, and they shouted beneath the windows of the palace, that the King himself had brought the enemy upon them by receiving the Kumans. The enraged mob at last broke into the palace, slew the King's guards, made their way to Prince Kuthen, and, after a desperate resistance on his part, slew him and his children, and threw their heads into the street. The Kuman troops were just then advancing to join the King's army. Béla at once sent a messenger to warn them of what had occurred; but alas! the news had travelled faster; and as soon as it was known in the country, the Magyars and Kumans fell upon one another. After destroying several Magyar towns, the Kumans retreated southwards, having given up all idea of joining the Hungarian army; and on the way, unfortunately encountered Count Miklos and a Bishop hastening with their followers to Pest. Not one of these escaped the vengeance of the Kumans, who soon after, for the most part, quitted Hungary.

(To be continued.)

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You express a wish for some more detailed and connected account than we have hitherto given you, of our visits to Hursley Vicarage, and of its late beloved inhabitants. It will be a real refreshment to endeavour to gratify the wish, for I reckon it one of the tenderest amongst the many tender mercies which have brightened my life, that for thirteen years that dear spot was open to me, becoming more and more home-like each time that I visited it. What a treasury of 'sad sweet memories' have those visits, and the frequent letters which bridged over the intervals between them, stored up, memories fraught with comfort and hope, and supplying strong incentives to the practice of all that is pure, lovely, and of good report. Would that I had the power of setting them vividly before you!

It was in the autumn of 1852 that I first saw Winchester, the grand old town, whose Cathedral and grey walls carry one back in thought far beyond the Norman conquest. The friends who welcomed us under William of Wykeham's College roof had been for many years on terms of affectionate intimacy with Mr. and Mrs. Keble; and before a week had passed they proposed that we should accompany them to Hursley, one calm warm October forenoon, and stay for evening service at four o'clock.

Some of us drove there, some walked. I was of the latter faction, and much enjoyed crossing the undulating chalky downs, with their round green heads, here and there scarred with dazzling white, and topped with yew trees in single file that shewed dark and ragged against the sky. After a walk of some miles, which a soft pure breeze rendered less fatiguing than it must otherwise have been, my brother and I came rather suddenly upon woodland scenery, and followed a narrow lane, rich with masses of downy white wild clematis, till it led us down into the Romsey road. I remember noticing near this lane a draw-well, with a picturesque pent-house roof sheltering it. Straggling houses, all neat and cared for, now betokened the nearness of Hursley village, and also of a manorial residence. In fact, Hursley Park skirted our road, a rising ground clothed with trees, either in masses of rich autumnal colouring, or standing single like golden lamps, their foliage full, though discoloured. Soon the church met our eyes, half hidden by tall lime

trees, but before reaching it we turned through the Vicarage gate, leaving the village school-house and play-ground to our left. It so happened that the little girls were at play, some singing, others dancing in a ring; all paused and curtseyed to us as we passed. At once that description in the Lyra Innocentium flashed across my mind, of village maidens making

'Their obeisance low

As forest blue-bells in a row,

Stoop to the first May wind, sweeping o'er each in turn.'

The Vicarage porch looks north, and is covered, or rather loaded with ivy, which climbs up to the roof of the house. Here Mr. Keble greeted us, emerging from his little study, the door of which, as I afterwards noticed, oftener than not, stood open. It gave one a thrill to be thus brought into contact with the author of the Christian Year, the man who more than any other living person, had moulded one's thoughts, defined one's Church-principles, sobered yet deepened one's feelings on the most momentous of subjects. Was it really he, the helper and guide of thousands, who now received us with such unaffected kindness, led us to the sunny room, half library half drawing-room, where Mrs. Keble was, and invited us to rest after our four miles walk? His features indeed were familiar to us, as to most people, from the engraving of Richmond's first portrait of him, taken in middle life for Sir John Coleridge. Now the original stood before me, and I saw at a glance that face and figure had been faithfully portrayed. The forehead was pale and serene, the hair silvery; doubtless this token of advancing years must have helped to give softness and refinement to the features; eyebrows sprinkled with white shaded eyes of singular brilliancy and depth of expression, as ready (I afterwards well knew) to light up with mirth and mischief while playful talk was going on, as they were to melt into mournful earnestness when graver topics were broached. He habitually wore glasses, but used often to take them off and hold them in his hand when conversing with animation. An old and dear friend of his has told me that he 'looked almost boyish till about fifty, and after that rapidly aged in outward appearance.' At this time he was in his sixty-first year, healthy and strong, and active. Often since have we been privileged to accompany him in his parish walks; and even when close upon seventy, we have seen him scramble up and down steep banks and hill sides with ease. In appearance he was quite one's ideal of an old-fashioned country clergyman, but of one whose Oxford days were fresh in his mind; there was a touch of 'vieille cour' in his manner, which added, I think, to its charm. His voice in speaking was rather low, and especially so when the subject of conversation was very near his heart. It often struck me, when listening to him, that without the slightest effort or aim at effect, he always hit upon the most suitable and telling words (and the shortest) in which to clothe his ideas. This unconscious beauty of language, coupled with the originality and wisdom

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