the subjective and the objective world. And it was on the whole well
for him and for mankind, that he should think that he saw them, and
tremble before the spiritual and the invisible; confessing a higher
law than that of his own ambition and self-will; a higher power than
that of his brute Tartar hordes.

Raphael's design is but a famous instance of an influence which
wrought through the length and breadth of the down-trodden and dying
Roman Empire, through the four fearful centuries which followed the
battle of Adrianople. The wild licence, the boyish audacity, of the
invading Teutons was never really checked, save by the priest and the
monk who worshipped over the bones of some old saint or martyr, whose
name the Teutons had never heard.

Then, as the wild King, Earl, or Comes, with his wild reiters at his
heels, galloped through the land, fighting indiscriminately his Roman
enemies, and his Teutonic rivals--harrying, slaughtering, burning by
field and wild--he was aware at last of something which made him
pause. Some little walled town, built on the ruins of a great Roman
city, with its Byzantine minster towering over the thatched roofs,
sheltering them as the oak shelters the last night's fungus at its
base. More than once in the last century or two, has that same town
been sacked. More than once has the surviving priest crawled out of
his hiding-place when the sound of war was past, called the surviving
poor around him, dug the dead out of the burning ruins for Christian
burial, built up a few sheds, fed a few widows and orphans, organized
some form of orderly life out of the chaos of blood and ashes, in the
name of God and St. Quemdeusvult whose bones he guards; and so he has
established a temporary theocracy, and become a sort of tribune of
the people, magistrate and father--the only one they have. And now