We may read the best history of the crusades, page by page, line by line, only to forget the next month, or the next year, everything save the issue of the long struggle; but “The Talisman,” by its wondrous reality, makes a lasting impression upon our minds. We see Richard tossing upon his couch, impatient of his fever and protracted delays. We see the Marquis of Montserrat, and the Grand Master of the Knights Templar walking together in close-whispered conspiracy. We see Leopold, the Grand Duke of Austria, lifting his own banner, with overweening pride, by the side of England’s standard. We see Richard dashing aside the attendants of his sick bed, half-clad, rushing forth to avenge the insult, splintering the staff, and trampling upon the Austrian flag. We stand with Kenneth under the starlight, guarding alone the dignity of England’s banner, but decoyed away in an unlucky hour by the ring of King Richard’s sister, which had been obtained by artifice. We see the flag stolen in that fatal absence, and the noble knight condemned to death, to be saved only by miracle from the fierce wrath of Richard. He is given as a present to the Arabian physician whose art had restored the king to health. We see him again with Richard in the disguise of a Nubian slave. We see a strolling Saracen with poisoned dagger attempting the life of Richard, but saved by the faithful Kenneth. We find Richard considering in his mind the giving of his royal sister in marriage to Saladin; an affair which fortunately needed the lady’s consent, who had in her veins too much of the proud Plantagenet blood to know the meaning of compulsion. We see the tournament which decided the treachery of Conrad, and the triumph of Kenneth, who turns out to be no other than the Earl of Huntingdon, heir of the Scottish throne. The comrade of Kenneth, and the physician who waited upon the king, chances to be the same person, and no less renowned a hero than the Emperor Saladin, who sends as a nuptial present to Kenneth and Edith Plantagenet the celebrated talisman by which he had wrought so many notable cures; which, according to Scott, is still in existence in the family of Sir Simon of Lee.