"I will fly anywhere, even were it to the ends of the earth with thee, my Premislaus; but what danger is there abroad, that causes

this sudden panic?"

"Thou knowest, dearest, that the duke's new faith is looked on with distrust and even hatred by his subjects; and now they are rising throughout the kingdom, threatening to bestow the crown upon another prince if the duke will not consent to deny the faith of the Crucified."

"And what says Duke Borizof?"

"He makes answer, like the lion-hearted prince he is, that they may drive him from Bohemia if they will, but they cannot drive him from the kingdom of Heaven. And so likewise says his saintly wife, Ludmilla. Even now preparations are going on in the royal palace at Prague for the flight of the duke and the duchess, with the young princes Sbigniew and Wratislas, and the good priest John, to whom we owe so much."

"And dost thou think that we also are in danger, my husband, that thou urgest such rapid flight?"

"We have made no secret of our faith, Thekla. Too often have I attended on my royal master as he passed to and from the Oratory not to have been marked as a follower of CHRIST. And though I had thought to have withdrawn henceforth from the life of towns and camps, and settled with thee, my sweet partner, and our little Sigmund, in this wild and well-nigh solitary place,-yet even here we are not safe. The heathen far and near know that we bow no knee to Perun, that we care not to propitiate Volos their god of flocks, their Koleda is no festival to us; nay, rather, have we not tried to turn them from dumb idols to serve the living GOD?"

"Thou sayest right, my husband; oft have I seen old Temisvar scowl at me when I have been singing one of the hymns of holy Church, as I drew water at yonder fountain; and if persecution be abroad, even our forest home might prove no safe abode for our babe and us."

The speakers were a tall, noble-looking, dark-eyed man, and a young and beautiful woman. Premislaus, sometimes called the happy, from his cheerful disposition, and the serene peaceful expression that reigned in his face, had been armourer to Duke Borizof of Bohemia, and had accompanied his master to the Court of Swatopulk the Great, king of Moravia, where the duke was converted to Christianity by

VOL. II.

Ludmilla, the wife Premislaus and his

two Greek missionaries.1 A priest returned with him to Bohemia, and commenced the work of evangelization there. of Borizof, with her children, was baptized, and wife Thekla were among the few of the Bohemian people who were converted. Christianity made but little progress, and so great was the hatred of the Slavonians in Bohemia to the innovation of a new religion, that they rose en masse, and expelled the Christian duke from his throne and kingdom.

Premislaus, who had set up an armourer's forge at the foot of one of the mountains in the Erzgebirge or Ore Mountains, took away his wife and child in hot haste from the peaceful valley, and joined the royal duke in his flight to Moravia. There, where Christianity and comparative civilization prevailed, they inhaled an atmosphere of gentleness and refinement, which shed its influence over their future lives. The new law of love, the golden rule of doing to others as we would they should do unto us, was a new revelation; but these converts were apt scholars in the Gospel lore. Despite of exile and hardship, the face of Premislaus the happy shone yet more brightly in banishment than it had done heretofore in prosperity. A single-minded, guileless man, he clung with simple trusting faith to CHRIST. There was no thought of drawing back with him. As naturally and unhesitatingly as he applied himself to his daily work, so did he go straightforward on the road towards heaven,-no matter if it led through torture and death, beyond them was the goal, and on that goal all his hopes were placed. And as soon would he have thought of playing false to his sovereign as have dreamt of compromise for the sake of expediency with paganism.

The exile to Moravia was not of long duration, Borizof had still some loyal subjects, and these, with the aid of the Kings of Moravia and Germany, recalled him to Bohemia, and finally reinstated him upon the ducal throne.

Again in power, he once more strove to propagate the Gospel; churches were built, and schools opened, where the faith of CHRIST was taught. But his good work was cut short by death. Sbigniew and Wratislas, his two sons, successively occupied the throne,-both professed Christianity, but in an evil hour Wratislas, infatuated probably by her beauty, married a heathen woman—the cruel, savage Drahomira.

1 Probably Methodius and Cyrillus.

Bitterly did the Bohemian Church suffer in after years for his wrong doing. During her husband's lifetime Drahomira outwardly assumed Christianity, nursing however in her secret heart unutterable scorn and hatred of what she esteemed the mean spirit and base humility of the gentle faith. The hatred outwardly repressed, waxed stronger and stronger, till all the fierce passions of the Slavonic tribe to which she belonged, seemed concentrated in her secret antagonism to the religion which was fast gaining ground around her. She loved her husband with passionate devotion, using her most fascinating arts to obtain influence over him, biding her time till her power was strong enough to win some favour for the old worship. But Wratislas, like his brother, died young, leaving two sons, whom he bequeathed to the charge of his good Christian mother Ludmilla.

While the government of Bohemia experienced such change, life was passing on quietly at the foot of the Ore Mountains, for thither had Premislaus and Thekla returned after their temporary sojourn in Moravia. There Premislaus exercised his vocation as an armourer, for which employment the locality was most suitable. For although there were no real mines in the Ore Mountains till some centuries later, yet metal often lay so near the surface of the ground that it needed very little excavation to obtain it, while the beds of the streams abounded with mineral deposits. Many peasants found employment in the dressing and purifying of the ore, and sheds where the process. was effected, and smelting furnaces were to be seen here and there in the vast forest which clothes the slopes of the Erzgebirge well-nigh to their summits.

Sigmund, the only son of Premislaus and Thekla, became a soldier, and was sent out of Bohemia to foreign wars. Many long years came and went before he again appeared in the valley of the Elbe. But at length he returned, bringing with him a German bride, whose beauty, gentle, winning, courteous manners, and pretty loving ways wound themselves round the affections of the good couple; who, unblessed by a daughter of their own, took their son's wife into their heart of hearts, lavishing a wealth of love on the Saxon Genoveva and her golden-haired boy.

But Genoveva was not long spared to brighten their lives. Perhaps the rougher life and the hardships of her Bohemian home were too much for the tenderly nurtured German maiden, for while the

little Hermann was still a child, she gradually sank under the burden of a life too heavy for her, and Sigmund was suddenly summoned home from Prague to attend the dying bed of his wife. It was a startling, crushing blow, and for a time overwhelming for Sig. mund's home-comings had been such seasons of festival and rejoicing, when his Genoveva donned her gayest raiment, and was all radiant with joy in the sunshine of her husband's presence, that he never marked the insidious progress of disease, and the news of her illness came upon him like a thunderbolt.

Henceforth he was a saddened man, but not bitter or morose in his sadness. The self-reproach he could not help feeling for the little heed he had paid to his wife's health and strength, made him now scrupulously observant of the wishes and requirements of others. The most chivalrous knight of Arthur's court could scarcely have been more tenderly considerate, more courteously deferential, than this heretofore rough Bohemian soldier was to all women: a selfless man," a very Sir Percival, or Sir Bors in purity of spirit, deeds of charity, simplicity of character, and loftiness of aim.

With such examples as his father and grandfather, such watchful care as the gentle Thekla's, in an atmosphere of love and piety grew up the young Hermann. He lived a free and joyous life, loving passionately the forest with all its songs of birds, and wealth of flowers; but there was some danger in his wanderings, for it abounded in those old-world days with bears, wolves, and wild boars, which made wariness, courage, and prudence very necessary for self-preservation. Hermann possessed them all; with well-trained ear, he could distin guish the note or cry of bird, beast, or reptile; quicksighted and observant, almost as an American Indian, he could discover the track man or beast, while like Asahel "light of foot as a young roe," he could make retreat from danger.

CHAPTER II.

"A gentle, gracious, pure and saintly man."

"Live pure, speak true, right wrong, follow the king."

It was on an autumn evening about the year A.D. 921, that young Hermann was returning from fishing in one of the streams, which taking

their rise in the Erzgebirge, flow through the forest, and afterwards become feeders of the Elbe. His course homewards lay by a small hunting palace belonging to the royal family. Many years had passed since royalty had stayed there, and the rural palace was falling almost into decay. Hermann loved to linger in its deserted halls, and to wander through the desolate garden which Duke Borizof, and the Duchess Ludmilla had at one time made bright with flowers. Adjoining the palace was an oratory, the only building set apart for Christian worship in that neighbourhood. There, at rare intervals of time, a priest would come to officiate, and thither resorted old Premislaus and his family. Hermann, boy as he was, was a devout and earnest worshipper.

A dim recollection of his dead mother mingled with his religion, and as he prayed to Him Who hung upon the Cross for him, or tried to meditate upon some story that had been told him out of the holy Gospels, the barriers of time and space were gone, he seemed to be near his mother and was able to realise the blessedness of the Communion of Saints.

On the autumn evening in our story, he stopped according to frequent custom at the little chapel, but to his astonishment did not find it empty. Kneeling in front of the altar, seemingly in rapt devotion, was a youth apparently not many years older than himself. Tall, slight and fair, he seemed to be; but Hermann could not see his face, which was buried in hands so white and delicate, that Hermann gazed at them in astonishment. He stood for a moment, lost in bewilderment, as to who could be this youth so pious and devout, and then Hermann fell also on his knees to pay his usual evening orisons.

He had not been long engaged in them when steps were heard approaching, and a procession entered the church of men and women, in what seemed to Hermann, costly and gorgeous apparel, and with most noble mien and carriage. They however were only the precursors of a tall and stately white-haired lady, who though she might have been sixty years old, was still upright as a dart and of such magnificent presence, that Hermann felt instinctively she was royal. The stranger youth rose to meet and lead her in. And then Hermann looked with intense wonder and admiration at his noble and beautiful countenance, more noble and beautiful than anything he had ever seen, but only imagined when picturing to himself prophets, saints, and martyrs, whose histories had been related to him by his grandfather.