of present bliss, and full of hope for the future. An unseen hand had dashed away this happiness at one fell swoop, torn him from her, and hurled him into the next world, uncalled for and unprepared.

"What hast thou, my daughter?" demanded a priest, who, passing by the spot, was attracted by her evident emotion. "Art thou a sufferer in mind or in body, or both? What service can I render thee ?"

Maria rose, and would have spoken, for she recognised the monk who had been an ear-witness to the scuffle between Francis and his assailant, but the hysterical sobs which struggled in her throat burst forth with renewed violence.

At that moment the Signor Romelli, who in all probability had been seeking his wife, broke in upon them, and addressing her in harsh and loud language, would have dragged her from the grave.

"THE MURDERER!" shrieked the priest, as he listened, and laid a heavy hand upon his arm. "Behold him!-secure him!-the murderer

of Francis Clairfait !"

"Dotard!" screamed Romelli, "be still. What mean you?"

"As the Holy God in heaven is my Judge, you are the murderer of the young man who lies here! I should know your voice amid a thousand. For these two years have I listened for it. I heard the struggle between you on that fatal night."

"Raver! madman!" panted Romelli, as he strove to free himself from the grasp of the holy man; but he contrived to retain his hold.

"Help! help!" he shouted, to the distant crowd of pilgrims; "him we have sought so long is here at last! Help to secure him until the officers of justice can arrive."

The words of the priest were not distinguished by them, but his struggle with Romelli was seen. The latter watched the crowd set off towards him, eager for his capture; yet he seemed to regard their approach with singular indifference, and shook off the priest. But his wife threw herself before him, and entwined her arms around his body, in such a manner that he could not free himself.

66

"Do you see this excited me up to death?"

Away, Maria, away!" he whispered. crowd approaching? Would you deliver "Death! Then the priest is not mad!" "Loose me, I say!"

"Who murdered Francis Clairfait?" she repeated, in the same whispered tone, which was inaudible to the priest.

"I did," he answered; his countenance, as he gazed on her, assuming its dreadfully sinister expression, and his white teeth glistening from between his pale and parted lips.

"And your motives?" she gasped.

"They were various. You gave rise to the most powerful; you who had led me on to love. Such love! his was but child's fancy to it." "You followed us from Vienna for the purpose of taking his life?" I followed you at the top speed of the fleetest horse; but not to kill. That emanated afterwards from him."

"Not so.

"Shame upon you for uttering it!" she exclaimed; but her words were slowly uttered, for a faintness was stealing over her.

"It did. I heard it all: I lay behind you on that night! His whispered vows of love, his mockery of me, and-oh! terrible sin!-his unholy intention, openly expressed, to wean you from your religion.

Murder, you would call it! It was an act of justice demanded by Heaven."

Maria had fallen upon the grass, powerless, when the crowd, shouting and indignant, came rushing up.

"It is the murderer of the unhappy pilgrim who was destroyed two years ago, and interred in this spot, in his sin," explained the priest, laying his hands once more upon Romelli. "I told you then I should know his voice again, and I call upon you now to secure him."

A hundred hands were stretched forth, when Romelli, with a gesture of haughtiness, waved them away. At the same moment he raised his long hair-the hair which had hitherto been looked upon as his own-and removed it, and threw aside one or two of his outer garments, when he stood out to view a secret agent of the Jesuits, and a priest high in its order.

The monk drew back in an attitude of humility; the pilgrims fell to the ground upon their knees; for they saw the peculiar cross upon the black garment, and knew that he who wore it was possessed of irresistible power over them.

"Be not hasty to judge in future," exclaimed Romelli to the priest, with condescending affability; "your present error shall be overlooked. And to you, my children," he added, turning to the pilgrims, "I would explain-albeit it becometh not the Church to put forth her reasons— that the miserable being you would have avenged was one accursed of God and the Holy See; whose blasphemies against the Church, even unto the very night he died, were such as to render his removal an act of merit and of necessity."

The pilgrims became convinced that a very saint was before them, and that he who lay buried beneath was a brand, not snatched from the burning; whilst Jacopo Romelli, in his saintly character, invoked aloud upon their heads the Virgin Mary's blessing.

Maria was borne to one of the inns at Mariazell, and after some hours of pain-it may have been eighteen or twenty-the death-wail of a prematurely-born infant was heard within the chamber. The spirit of its unhappy mother was about to follow it.

"Whose wife am I?" she exclaimed to Jacopo Romelli, who, on the report reaching him that she was dying, entered the chamber, commanding every one else to leave it.

"You are not a wife-you never have been one," he replied. "The ceremony was but performed in consideration of your scruples. Should you survive, you must expiate the sin by penance and rigorous living. I will procure you admission to one of the most rigid of our convents.' "And your sin?" she faintly rejoined, a sarcastic expression, even in that last hour, lighting her features; "how is yours to be expiated?"

"I received my dispensation beforehand," he answered, with a complaisant smile. "I deemed it necessary, for the salvation of your soul, to hold unbounded influence over you, that you might be weaned from the heresy instilled into you by Francis Clairfait.”

"Go to my mother," she cried, every indignant feeling within her aroused to agony; "tell her who it was she was cajoled to bestow her daughter upon that the teachers of our faith, those we look up to as something divine, hoodwink us to the last, and perpetrate every crime under the name of religion. Go! show her all you have done, and its worthy motives."

"No," replied Romelli, calmly; " my mission in Vienna is over. The work I went there to perform, and in which I have been untiringly employed, has been so far perfected that it may now be left to less experienced hands; whilst I proceed to far-off countries, the accredited agent of the Holy See."

There was no answer, and the Jesuit, looking closer, perceived that a change for the worse had arisen to her countenance.

"Confess to me, Maria," he exclaimed, soothingly, his heart returning, with the certainty of losing her, to its once wild affection. "I will administer to you the last sacraments. There is no time to be lost."

"Never" she answered, excitement giving a momentary strength to her voice, rarely heard at the approach of death. "I hurl back such religion at you! A faith that can sanction the acts you have been guilty of, is but a blasphemous mockery. In this, my last and great extremity, I take to my heart the creed of my dear father and of Francis Clairfait. I will trust, as they did, in my Redeemer. Away! away! Leave my last moments to commune with Him in peace."

"Maria! cease this madness, or you will be buried in the heretic's grave."

"As you will," she feebly answered. "I shall not be the less raised at the last day by my Saviour. He suffered, in His great love, for all sinners who trust in Him. Ay," she faintly continued, a placid smile illuminating her features, on which the shades of death were gatheringay, even for me, though I die a heretic."

66

THE WAYSIDE SPRING.

BY J. E. CARPENTER.

OH! a sacred thing is the wayside spring,
That runneth so clear and bright,

That floweth along, a gladsome thing,

Nor stayeth by day or night;
Where the thirsty reaper laves his brow

When the harvest time is nigh,
And the herdsman leads his kine to bow
Where its waters sparkling lie.

Wert thou a gem in the mystic clime

Of some hidden cave of earth?
Was not the sun of the bright spring time
Shining upon thy birth?

For in winter thou flowest as clear and free
As beneath the summer sky-

A king, if one upon earth may be,

Of immortality!

A blessing be on thee, wayside spring,

That givest health to all—

To the flowers that spring-the leaves that cling,
Where thy crystal waters fall:

Thy pebbly grit makes glad the spot

When summer flowers are fled;

Fount of the greensward, that dieth not
In thy clear and pearly bed!

CONQUEST OF SPAIN BY THE MOORS.*

Ar the period when the followers of the Arabian prophet, flushed with victory and religious ardour, were advancing in irresistible masses along the Atlas, from the Nile to the ocean; at the time that the Khalif Walid Abu'l Abbas was ascending the throne of Damascus, and Muza master of Mughribu-l-ausat, "the middle western region," and Mughribu-l-Aksa, "the extreme west," as the Arabs designated ancient Mauretania and Numidia-our Morocco, Algiers, and Tunis-the Goths were wasting their feeble remnant of power in internal dissensions. Raised to the throne in the year 700, Witiza having drawn upon himself the resentment of a whole nation by his numerous acts of tyranny, he was expelled ten years afterwards, and Roderick, chief of the discontents, was elected in his stead. But no sooner had he attained to power than Roderick committed the same excesses; and, given up to pleasure, he soon caused even the capricious tyrant whose place he had taken to be regretted. The sons of Witiza, backed by their uncle Oppas, Archbishop of Seville, and still more so by public discontent, were laying the seeds of open rebellion in the south of Spain.

Mauretania being conquered and pacified, the Berbers subjected or converted, the Wali Muza wrote to the Khalif, asking permission to carry the sword of faith into the peninsula of Andalusia, Jazirah al Andalus, a name given by the Arabs to Spain and Portugal, as we speak of the Peninsular War in our own times, and which M. Louis Viardot ridiculously enough translates "the island of Andalusia." The Arabs were not so ignorant. Muza described the land of his ambition in glowing colours. "It is," he said, "a Syria, in the beauty of its sky and soil; a Yaman, in softness of climate; an India, in its flowers and its perfumes; an Egypt, in its fruits; a China, in its precious metals." The Khalif did not hesitate in granting leave to conquer such a land of promise.

Not only were the Arabs propitiated by the faction of the Witiza, but the port of debarkation, Ceuta, was delivered up to them by the Count Julian. The reason of this treachery is explained by a legend which has little more than the romance of the thing to recommend it. It was the custom of the Gothic kings to bring up the children of their chief officers at court, by way of hostages. Among those thus educated at the court of Roderick was Florinda, whose charms inspired the profligate king with a violent passion. Forgetting the respect due to his eminent vassal, Roderick abused the advantages of his position, and hence the outraged father was led to appeal to the Arabs for revenge. The name of La Cava, given by Spanish tradition to the daughter of Julian, and of Alifa to her maid, would indicate the Arabian origin of the legend.

From Ceuta, Tarif Aban Malak passed over first at the head of five hundred horsemen, landing without resistance at the spot where rose up in after times the town of Tarifa. In the spring of the following year, 711, another distinguished Arab chieftain, Tarik Aban Zyad, crossed the Bab al Zakak, "the narrow gate," as they designated the straits, and landed on the green peninsula, Al Jazirah al Hadrah, the name of which is still preserved in that of the town which rose up close by-Algesiras. * Histoire des Arabes et des Mores d'Espagne, &c., par Louis Viardot. 2 tomes.,

Theodomir, whom the Arabs call Tadmir, offered some slight but ineffectual opposition to the descent of the Arabs. Tarik, surrounded by numbers, destroyed his vessels, as Cortez did on a similar occasion when landing in Mexico, and took refuge on the rock which has ever since borne his name, Jibal Tarik (Gibraltar). The opposing Goths were soon dispersed, and the Arabs advanced thence to the westward as far as the Wadi, or river Anas (whence Guadiana), and the Phoenician town of Sidonia.

Roderick, fully aroused by this time to a sense of his danger, collected troops from all parts of the vast Gothic empire, and placing himself at their head, he went forth to give the enemy battle. The two armies met on the borders of the Wad al Lethe, now Guadalété, not far from Xeres. We shall give an account of the battle, as related by Conde, from the Arabian historians :

Roderick appeared before Sidonia, at the head of an army of 80,000 men, among whom were all the nobles of the kingdom. Tarik did not allow himself to be intimidated by the sight of this numerous army, which appeared like a troubled sea; for although the Mussulmen were much inferior in number, they were much superior in arms, in skill, and in valour. The first and hind ranks of the Christians were armed with cuirasses of iron and leather; others were without such armour, but were armed with lances, swords, and shields, and the light troops with bows, and arrows, and slings, and some, again, with iron-knobbed clubs, battle-axes, and scythes. The Arab chiefs called together their followers, more especially the cavalry, which was dispersed in the country, under their distinctive banners, and being all assembled, Tarik disposed them in squadrons, and addressed them, to inspire them with confidence in their struggle with the Christians. The two armies met in the fields watered by the Wad al Lethe, on a Sunday, the second day of the moon of Ramazan. The earth shuddered and trembled under their feet; the air resounded with the noise of drums and shrill and warlike trumpets (anafils), and the fearful shouting of both armies. They attacked one another with equal bravery, although very unequal in numbers, for there were four Christians against every Mussulman. The battle began at break of day, and was maintained with equal bravery on both sides, and the slaughter lasted, without any advantage being derived to one side or the other, till night put a stop to the horrors of the scene. The two armies passed the night on the field of battle, waiting with the utmost impatience for break of day to recommence the fearful struggle. Day came, and with it the battle was resumed with equal fury on both sides, and the furnace of fight remained lit up from daybreak till dark.

The third day of this bloody combat, Tarik saw that the Mussulmen were beginning to lose courage, and to give way before the Christians. So, holding in his horse, and rising in his stirrups, he called out, "O! Mussulmen, conquerors of the Mughrib, where are you going? where will an inconsiderate flight lead you? You have the sea behind, the enemy before you; no resource remains to you but in your valour and the help of God. Do, brave followers, as you see me do." And so saying, he rushed forward on his powerful steed, and overthrowing all who were in his way to the right or left, he got as far as the Christian banners, where, recognising King Roderick, who was seated in a warchariot, ornamented with ivory, and drawn by robust white mules, and who himself wore a mantle of purple, embroidered with gold, and had on his head a diadem of pearls, he attacked him, and pierced him with his lance. The miserable Roderick fell dead; for God killed him by the hand of Tarik, and came to the aid of the Mussulmen. The latter, following the example of their general, cut the Christians to pieces, they having disbanded at the death of their king, and fled in a panic. The Arabs pursued them with their cavalry, and the sword of the Mussulman was glutted with blood on every side. So many perished, that God alone, who created them, knows the number: the soil around remained for many long years afterwards covered with bones.

It were almost needless to say that the account given in the Spanish chronicles of this battle differs considerably from that of the Arabs.