less ease; the dash of almost reckless courage, with a still milder gaietythese were all his. Are there not some here is there not even one who can recall them? And if there be let him look there! and he pointed to the gallery beside the jury-box, at the end of which was seated a young man, pale, and sickly-looking, it is true, but whose countenance at once corroborated the picture. The vast multitude that filled the body of the court, crowding every avenue and space, and even invading the seats reserved for the Bar, rose as one man and turned to gaze on the living evidence of the description. It would be difficult to conceive a more striking scene enacted within walls where the solemnity of the

law usually represses every semblance of popular emotion; nor was it till after several seconds had elapsed that the judges were enabled to recall the Court to the observance of the rigid propriety of the justice-seat.

"Himself exhausted by his efforts, and really overborne by feeling, the counsel was unable to continue his address, and the Court, willingly granting an indulgence that his exertions amply deserved, adjourned till to-morrow, when at ten o'clock this remarkable case will be resumed; though, it is believed, from the number of witnesses to be examined, and the necessary length of the reply,' the trial cannot be completed before Saturday evening."

SICK and weary lies the Voivode DOYTSCHIN,
In the white-walled fort of Salonica;

He had lain there nine long years of sorrow.
Nothing of his life the city knoweth :

All men thought that all was over with him.
To the farness even rang the tidings,
Even to the far-off Moorish country.

And the Moorman HUSSEIN heard it also-
Heard the news, and saddled straight his war-horse,
Fast and fiercely rode to Salonica;

And he fell upon the white-walled fortress,
Pitched his tent upon the spacious meadow,
Challenged all the knights of Salonica-
"Come and face me on the field of battle;
Stand against me in the hero-duel."
No more heroes, then, had Salonica,
None to stand against the foe in battle.
DOYTSCHIN liveth yet, but sorely sickened;
DUKA liveth, but his hand is trembling;
And ELIAS, inexperienced stripling,
He has never even seen a battle,
Far less hath the stripling ever fought one.
Yet he would stand bravely in the battle;
But his ancient mother now forbids him :-
"Stay, ELIAS, inexperienced stripling,
For the Moorish champion will ensnare thee.
Madly rushest thou on thy destruction-
Wilt thou leave thy mother lonely, helpless?"
When the swarthy Moorman saw the matter,
How no hero lived in Salonica
Unafraid to face him in the battle,
Then he laid a toll on Salonica:

"Ho! let every house a wether furnish,
And an oven full of bread the whitest;
And a beaker of the strongest brandy,
And besides, a score of golden ducats:
Furthermore, a maiden fair and lovely—
Virgin she must be, or newly married,
One whom even now the bridal party
Bringeth homeward, knowing nought of kisses."

Then all Salonica paid the tribute,

Till they came before the house of DOYTSCHIN.
Nothing now has DOYTSCHIN for the tribute.
He has only a true-hearted lady,
And JELITZA, the beloved sister.
All the impost now they bring together—
There is none to ransom or deliver,
For the swarthy Moor accepts of nothing
Save with thee, most beautiful JELITZA.

Therefore were they very full of sorrow. By her brother's pillow sat JELITZA ; Tears came down along her sweet pale visage, Trickled down upon her brother's forehead. Then the dying hero spake in anger :"O thou mansion, mayst thou burn to ruins! Through thy roof the rain comes on my forehead, And I cannot even die in quiet."

Answered him the may JELITZA, weeping :"O my brother, thou, my dying hero,

Rain comes never trickling through the house-roofIt was but thy sister's tears, my brother."

Then responding spake the dying hero:"For the sake of God, O tell me, sister,

Dost thou weep because the bread hath failed thee? Is it bread, or is it wine the purple?

Dost thou want for gold or whitest linen?

Hast thou nought within thy frame to broider?"

Unto him the lovely maiden answered :-
"O my brother, thou, my dying hero,
We have now enough of bread the whitest;
Purple wine we have besides in plenty,
Store of gold, and many a piece of linen.
Silk have I within my frame to broider;
But what grieves me is another sorrow-
Lo! the Moorman HUSSEIN is advancing
O'er the far-spread fields of Salonica.

Thus he challenges our knights of prowess :-
Come, and face me on the field of battle;
Stand against me in the bero-duel.'

Not a hero now has Salonica

There is none to face the foe in battle.

When the swarthy Moorman saw the matter,
Heavy tolls he laid on Salonica;

Every house must give a goodly wether,
And an oven full of bread the whitest,
And a beaker of the strongest brandy,
And besides a score of golden ducats.
Furthermore, a maiden fair and lovely-
Virgin she must be, or newly married.

Thessalonick all has paid the tribute.
Now the tribute-gatherers near thy mansion,
And no brother hast thou, dying hero,
None to bring the tribute all together.
We ourselves in sorrow, we have brought it,
We have brought the tribute all together.
Ah, the Moorman never will receive it,
Save with thy JELITZA, O my brother!
Hearken to me now, my dying hero:
Never will I bear the Moorman's kisses-
Never, NEVER; by thy life I swear it!"

Then anew began the dying hero:—
"Salonica, fall in flame and thunder!
Hast thou now no more a single hero-
None to go against the Moor in battle?
Can I never hope for death in quiet?"
And he called his consort ANGELIA.*
"ANGELIA, thou my faithful consort,
Tell me if my beauteous bay yet liveth ?"

Then replied the Lady ANGELIA :—
"Dearest lord and husband, dying DOYTSCHIN,
Yea, thy valiant war-horse still is living;
I myself have tended him and fed him."

Then anew began the dying hero:-
"ANGELIA, thou my faithful consort,
Go, and lead the war-horse from the stable;
Lead him for me to my chosen brother,
To my brother, to the farrier PERO.
Let my brother strongly shoe the war-horse;
I myself will then go forth to battle.

Let him shoe the war-horse well and truly,
Then shall I return and pay him duly."

So the hero's faithful wife obeyed him,
Led the mighty war-horse from the stable,
Took and brought him to the farrier PERO.
PERO spake these words unto the lady :-
"Thou, my sister, slender ANGELIA,
Hath my chosen brother then departed,
That you bring for sale his war-horse hither?"

Answered him the lovely ANGELIA :— "Nay, my worthy brother, farrier PERO, Undeparted is thy chosen brother,

Rather does my husband give thee greeting;
He would have thee shoe his mighty war-horse.
Forth he goes to face the Moor in battle;

Shoe the horse, in faith and truth, O PERO,

Comes he back he'll pay thee for the horse-shoes."

Softly, then, the brawny blacksmith answered :"ANGELIA, thou my sweet fair sister, Never will I go and shoe the war-horse, If thou give me not in pledge, O fairest, Thy dark eyes, and give them to my kisses, Till thy husband come again and pay me."

Pronounced Angcleea.

ANGELIA then brake forth in fury;
Like a living fire she flamed in passion;
And she led unshod the war-horse homewards
To the mansion of the dying hero.

Then the dying DOYTSCHIN asked her feebly—
"ANGELIA, thou, my faithful consort,

Has my brother shod the war-horse truly ?"

Then with vehement wrath the lady answered :"God, may God, O thou my lord and husband, May God strike thy brother down for ever! PERO will not shoe thy war-horse truly; He must have as pledge, until thou pay him, My dark eyes, to cover them with kisses. I will never have the blacksmith kiss me; Never, NEVER, by thy life, O DoYTSCHIN!"

When the dying hero heard the answer,
Thus he spake unto his faithful lady :-
"ANGELIA, thou, my faithful consort,
Saddle thou for me the mighty war-horse;
Go, and bring me then my battle-javelin.”
Then the hero called upon JELITZA:—
"O JELITZA, thou, my darling sister,
Bring me hither now a web of linen,
Wind me round and all enwrap me, sister,
Round my limbs, half broken, worn and weary;
Then my bones, that ever writhe and tremble,
May not fall asunder, sinking downwards."

Lightly, then, the ladies both obeyed him;
ANGELIA Saddled soon the war-horse,
Brought him then the mighty battle-javelin;
Thither, then, the sisters bore him linen,
And they gently swathed the dying hero,
Closely wrapping round his limbs all broken.
Then they girt him with a German sabre;
And they led the mighty war-horse onward.
To the horse's back they lift the hero,
Place within his hand the battle-javelin.

Straightway did the war-horse know his master; Then the barb began to bound beneath him.

To the market-place the hero turneth ;
Bounding flies the horse along the market,

And the flints leap flashing from the pavement.
Spake the merchants all of Salonica :-
"Now give glory unto God, the truthful!
Never since our DOYTSCHIN sank in slumber
Hath a nobler hero galloped hither,
Through the white-walled fort of Salonica,
Nor a braver war-horse bounded thither!"
Down rode DoYTSCHIN to the spacious meadow,
To the swarthy Moorman's white pavilion.

When the swarthy Moorman saw him enter, Full of terror, on his feet upspringing, Hurriedly the Moor addressed the hero :"DOYTSCHIN, thou! O may the Lord destroy thee! Sickly, yet the life is still within thee.

Come, O comrade, let us drink together;

When the Voivode DOYTSCHIN saw the matter,
How the Moor would never dare the combat,
Onwards, then, he drove his mighty war-horse,
Spurred him on below the white pavilion.
See, below the awning, what a wonder!
Thirty maidens lie below the awning,
And among them sits the swarthy Moorman.
When he saw the Voivode coming nearer,
So that he could never hope to 'scape him,
On the shoulder of his steed he springeth,
And his battle-javelin then he graspeth.
Forth they gallop to the field of combat,
And their battle-horses snort in anger.
Spake the dying hero to the Moorman :-
"Take the lead, and smite or fling thy javelin,
Coward! then thou canst complain of nothing."

And the swarthy Moorman flung his javelin;
Quivering forth it flew against the hero,
But his war-horse well was trained to battle.
Down the war-horse knelt upon the meadow;
Far above him flew the Moorish javelin,
Deeply sank below the sod, and straightway
Half remaining there below the herbage,
Half upsprang, and flew in thousand splinters.

When the swarthy Moorman saw his failure,
Turning round, he fled away in terror,
Fleeing toward the white-walled Salonica;
But behind him flew the Voivode DoYTSCHIN.
To the castle gate the Moor had galloped,
When the dying hero came a-near him.
DOYTSCHIN grimly grasps his battle-javelin,
Nails him to the gate of Salonica;
Then the hero draws his German sabre,

Hews the Moorman's head from off his shoulders.

Then he takes the head upon his sabre,

Draws the Moorman's eyeballs from the sockets,

That is to say, "Dismiss from your mind all thoughts of battle, and banish the evil Ej tl at excited our feelings of hostility."