," whose underlying melody Payne
caught from the lips of an Italian peasant girl, was written by one who,
after many strange wanderings, found "Home" at last in that Church which
is the mistress and inspirer of art. Like Payne, Miles captured the
fancy of his countrymen with one song, "Said the Rose," which at one
time was the most popular song in the United States. It has not the
depth and the melting tenderness of "Home, Sweet Home," but its quaint
fancy and melodious verse struck a responsive chord. In his "Inkerman,"
a stirring ballad, which every American boy of a former age knew by
heart, there was an echo of the "Lays of Ancient Rome," of the "Lays" of
Scott and Aytoun, while in the more ambitious "Christine" (1866), there
was the accent of the genuine poet, something that recalled the
"Christabel" of Coleridge. Miles had projected a series of studies on
the characters and plays of Shakespeare. Judging from two remaining
fragments, "Hamlet" and "Macbeth," the latter a mere outline, we regret
that the writer was not able to finish the task. To beauty of language
his study of "Hamlet" adds keen analytical powers and original views.
("An American Catholic Poet," _The Catholic World_. Vol. XXXIII, p. 145
ff.)

In the quiet churchyard on the slope of his beloved Mountain, in a
simple grave, over which the green hills of Maryland keep guard, not far
from the class-rooms and the chapel he loved, rest the mortal remains of
the author of "The Truce of God." It is not necessary to describe him.
Those who read this simple but romantic and stirring tale of the
eleventh century which he wrote three-quarters of a century ago, cannot
fail to catch the main features of the man. They will conclude that in
George Henry Miles, religion and art, the purest ideals of the Catholic
faith and the highest standards of culture and letters, are blended in
rare proportion.

JOHN C. REVILLE, S.J.,
_Editor-in-chief_.

THE TRUCE OF GOD

CHAPTER I

Of ancient deeds so long forgot;
Of feuds whose memory was not;
Of forests now laid waste and bare;
Of towers which harbor now the hare;
Of manners long since changed and gone;
Of chiefs who under their gray stone
So long had slept, that fickle fame
Hath blotted from her rolls their name.

SCOTT.

Reader! if your mind, harassed with the cares of a utilitarian age,
require an hour of recreation; if a legend of a far different and far
distant day have aught that