“I am grieved, old man, to hear you speak this language,” was the grave censure of one who, from his garments, seemed to be very high in authority, and the church. “What thou sayest is in direct reproach of holy church, which has frequently called in the assistance of mortal force and human weapons to put down the infidel, to crush the wrong-doer, and to restore that peace which can only owe her continued existence to the presence ever of a just readiness for war. Methinks thou hast scarcely shown thyself enough reverent in this, thy bold opinion.” “Holy father, I mean not offence! I do not doubt that war, with short-sightedness of human wisdom, has appeared to secure the advantages of peace. I believe that God has endowed us with a strength for the struggle, and with a wisdom that will enable us to pursue it with success. These we are to employ when necessary for the protection of the innocent, and the rescue and safety of those who are themselves unwilling to do harm. But I am unwilling to believe that immortal principles—the truth of man, and the value of his assurances—are to depend upon the weight of his own blows, or the address with which he can ward off the assaults of another. Were this the case, then would the strong-limbed and brutal soldier be always the sole arbiter of truth, and wisdom, and all moral government.” We need not pursue the argument. It has long since been settled, though with partial results only to humanity, as well by the Pagan as the Christian philosopher. But, however ingenious, true, or eloquent, was the venerable speaker, on this occasion, his arguments were entirely lost upon that assembly. He himself soon perceived that the effect was unfavorable to his cause, and exposed his veracity to question. With a proper wisdom, therefore, he yielded promptly to the current. But first he asked:— “And what, may it please your majesty, if I decline this ordeal?” “Death!” was the reply of more than one stern voice in the assembly. “Death by fire, by the burning pincers, by the tortures of the screw and rack.” The venerable man replied calmly. “Life is a duty! Life is precious!” he spoke musingly, looking down as he spoke, upon the little girl who stood before him, while the big tears gathered in his eyes as he gazed. “Do you demand a champion?” was the inquiry of the king. “No, Sire! If, in behalf of my truth, this battle must be fought, its dangers must be mine only.” “Thine!” exclaimed the favorite. “Ay, my lord, mine. None other than myself must encounter this peril.” A murmur of ridicule passed through the assembly. The accused laughed outright, as the exulting warrior laughs, with his captive naked beneath his weapon. A brief pause followed, and a visible anxiety prevailed among the audience. Their ridicule afforded to the accuser sufficient occasion for reply: