Concerning the “good old days” of chivalry and the crusades, the London _Quarterly Review_ once said: “Life was earnest in its beliefs, stormy in its ambition, hearty in its sports.” There is a funny story going the rounds in these “degenerate days” of a disciple of Peter Cartwright, who resisted a western rough’s invitation to drink and to fight. The concluding remark of the bully, as he picked himself out of the elder bushes, was, in the tones of a deeply-deceived man: “What do you come around here for, with a long face on, saying you ‘never have fun with the boys,’ when you are chock full of fun? You’ve nearly broke my back.” In this contest the champions of religion and of “fun” were arrayed against each other, but it was the advantage of the old crusaders that both religion and “fun” lay in the same direction. The chief of those romantic bruisers, King Richard Cœur de Lion, is thus practically described by Charles Dickens: “He was a strong, restless, burly man, with one idea always in his head, and that the very troublesome idea of breaking the heads of other men.” Anyway, the crusades were the great safety-valve of Europe for surplus religious zeal and pugnacity, and a great relief they proved to the people who stayed at home, as Motley and Prof. Fiske have splendidly argued. Richard sought this outlet for his “idea.” His career in the Holy Land was romantically ferocious. He was, indeed, so impatient to get to business that he fought two or three battles with Christians on the way. He showed but one redeeming trait, brute courage; and a historian declares that the Saracen Saladin shows as the Christian statesman, and Richard as the fighting barbarian in these crusades. He was far more considerate of his Saracen prisoners than of his own soldiers, and treated the Mohammedan leaders with more chivalry than he did the allied kings and dukes. His hot temper and overbearing manner really defeated the crusade, for it drove every other prince and general home in anger. The Duke of Austria, for instance: The walls of Ascalon had to be hastily repaired to repel an assault, but the Duke held back from manual labor, saying he “was no stone mason.” Whereupon King Richard incontinently kicked his Grace till he went to work.