his subjects that construing what was only a proof of Luther's acumen into an evidence of poltroonery, he said to those around him, "This man, at all events, won't make a heretic of me."

Further, we must omit all details of the interval that elapsed until the next sitting of the Diet, simply remarking, that pained to the very soul at the precocious distrust of his friends, even the fastest of them; and tempted, but resisting the temptation to reckless hardihood and effrontery by the jibes of his adversaries, this poor monk, on the next day, calmly, dispassionately, and without one defect of reasoning, answered, with the coolest logic, the elaborate propositions of his adversaries, avowed his opinions and refused, even to the beard of the Emperor, to retract one iota of them; and after a peroration in the tongue of his own fatherland, and a second one in Latin, on which his remorseless enemies insisted (so soon as they saw his exhausted state, and hoped by this additional pressure to break him down); after all this, and as if to prove to the world for ever and for ever, how faith in truth and faith in God can reach its climax, in spite of all lowering influences that are physical, he first bent in homage to his earthly Monarch, raised himself erect again and, with his hand raised—in adjuration of the aid of the Eternal Monarch of the universe-he cried, "HIER STAHE ICH: ICH KAUN NICHT ANDERS: GOTT HELFE MIE!"*

# "Here I stand: I can do no otherwise: God help me!"

CHAPTER XX.

SOMEWHAT more than a fortnight after the events which we have just so summarily described, a small but distinguished party were in earnest conversation in the best (poor was the best) room of the sole hostelry in the little town of Eisenach.

They had been travelling hard and far during the day. This was evident, both from the nature and condition of their dress, as also, from those symptoms of fatigue which were betrayed by the ladies of the

company.

"Are you not surprised that your brother fails to meet us, though he volunteered to assure us he would do so, by the trusty messenger who met us, miles from here, this morning?" asked an elderly lady of a noblelooking man, who was engaged in paying the duties of chivalrous homage to another, but much younger, lady.

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Rupert will soon be here, you may be certain, dear mother," quickly returned her son. "And yet," he continued, "his coming is of no moment whatsoever, so far as our morrow's movements are concerned.

I

have already sent Essel forward to the castle, and, after a good night's rest, you will all, will you not, dearest Bianca," he added, addressing her to whom his attentions had been devoted, "you will all, will you not, be fit to scale yonder hill, craggy though it is?"

A smile, and a grateful one, and one which conveyed assent, was the only answer from the wearied maiden.

"Hist! Arensberg," cried his mother, rising and hastening to the window. "There are sounds of an

arrival!"

"Sounds indeed," said her son, smiling, and without leaving the neighbourhood of his enchantment, "but they are sounds of wheels not of cavalry; and I trow they must come from the waggon of some honest burgher, not from Rupert and his troop."

"Thank God! Oh, thank a gracious God!" exclaimed the Countess, clasping her hands in ecstasy, "though it is not my son, it is, nevertheless, one most dear to all of us."

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Who, who?" cried Nina, who was with them, rushing to the window and looking out.

Even the lovers could not withstand the contagion, and they both were instantly among the little party of observers.

Two low, rustic waggons had driven up to the gateway of the hostelry. They were occupied by men, most of whom were wearing the black robes of ecclesiastics. A throng of people was quickly gathering around the humble vehicles-and voices, few at first, but soon growing into one loud and fervent note of

acclaim, shouted, "Doctor Martin! the great Doctor Martin!"

True it was: Martin Luther was among the travellers. He had remained at Worms, for one week exactly, after his second and last appearance before the Diet. That week had been to him one of strife and emotion, almost ceaseless. But his firmness for the truth never deserted him a moment, although he knew that murderous emissaries were panting for his blood, and though the Emperor's fidelity to the safe-conduct he had given him had just undergone an ominous modification.

He is now, as we see him at Eisenach, on his return home to Wittemberg. He is standing up in his waggon, unconcerned with the efforts which several of his fellow-travellers are making, as they alight from their vehicles; nay more, he stands irresponsive to the affectionate greetings and thanksgivings of the crowd that presses around him. His broad-brimmed hat is off his head; he is gazing, with his strong, muscular features quivering with an emotion that even the Cæsar had been unable to extort, upon a house on the opposite side of the street; and soon again, his eyes run over the lanes, and alleys, and the quiet yet gloomy buildings of the old monastic town of Eisenach, and then, at last, they rest steadily and firmly upon the hill (or mountain, we may say) upon the summit of whose beetled brow there stood, and still stands, the castle of the Wartburg.

"Ah! dear brother Amsdorff," sighed Luther, when,

VOL. II.

Q

after this his survey of the little town and its adjoining castle, he sank down upon his seat, "here are scenes, and here associations are there, far more piercing to my poor heart than any I have so recently passed through. I have walked, and with bare and blood-frozen feet, over every causeway here, and have sung carols before every house, my hunger shrieking for a crust of bread. Often have I climbed yon hill, and should have fallen back fainting, for I was starved, but for the kind treeroots that gave me hold, and the kind trees that gave me acorns. Often, often, has the good suttler of yon castle let me share of the crumbs that fell from his master's table. And there, look there," pointing with his finger to a low-gabled house, and his voice choking— "there on the sill of yonder threshold, I should have died, but for the blessed kindness of a second mother. Dear, angelic Frau Cotta!" he murmured, "thou gavest a poor wasted youth more than a cup of cold water. But," and his voice acquired a startling vigour," ten years already hast thou left us, and thou hast meanwhile been drinking of the river that floweth fast by the throne of God!"

Such were the feelings wherewith Luther returned to Eisenach. In that miserable little town, whither for his schooling his poor parents had sent him in his infancy, he had undergone fierce pinches of want of bread; he had stood before the doors of its inhabitants, not clothed in the gay colours of a minnesinger, but in rags, cold and shivering; and when his carol was drawing to its close, he had often grasped with