rzburg; heathen Slaves, of different tribes, who had
introduced into Europe the custom of impaling their captives: and woe to
the Christian priest who fell into any of their hands. To be knocked on
the head before some ugly idol was the gentlest death which they were
like to have. They would have called that martyrdom, and the gate of
eternal bliss; but they were none the less brave men for going out to
face it.

And beside all these, and worse than all these, there were the terrors of
the unseen world; very real in those poor monks' eyes, though not in
ours. There were Nixes in the streams, and Kobolds in the caves, and
Tannhauser in the dark pine-glades, who hated the Christian man, and
would lure him to his death. There were fair swan-maidens and
elf-maidens; nay, dame Venus herself, and Herodias the dancer, with all
their rout of revellers; who would tempt him to sin, and having made him
sell his soul, destroy both body and soul in hell. There was Satan and
all the devils, too, plotting to stop the Christian man from building the
house of the Lord, and preaching the gospel to the heathen; ready to call
up storms, and floods, and forest fires; to hurl the crag down from the
cliffs, or drop the rotting tree on their defenceless heads--all real and
terrible in those poor monks' eyes, as they walked on, singing their
psalms, and reading their Gospels, and praying to God to save them, for
they could not save themselves; and to guide them, for they knew not,
like Abraham, whither they went; and to show them the place where they
should build the house of the Lord, and preach righteousness, peace, and
joy in the Holy Spirit to the heathen round. We talk still, thank
heaven, of heroes, and understand what that great word should mean. But
were not these poor monks heroes? Knights-errant of God, doing his work
as they best knew how. We have a purer gospel than they: we understand
our Bibles better. But if they had not done what they did, where would
have been now our gospel, and our Bible? We cannot tell. It was a wise
old saw of our forefathers--'Do not speak ill of the bridge which carries
you over.'

If Sturmi had had a 'holy longing' to get into the wild wood, now he had
a 'holy longing' to go back; and to find St. Boniface, and tell him what
a pleasant place Hersfelt was, and the quality of the soil, and the
direction of the watershed, and the meadows, and springs, and so forth,
in a very practical way. And