224 THE HUNS OF ATTILA. 



the destiny of tlie world ? From the merciless and exterminating 

 warfare of the Huns, and their inveterate hatred of the Roman's 

 new religion, it is but reasonable to suppose that the Bible had 

 been buried beneath the chaos of barbarian riot ; that none had 

 been left to repeat the story of the prophets and the apostles, or 

 to worship any spiritual God. On the valleys and hill-sides of 

 Europe had gloarned the increasing darkness of heathenism. 

 The soothsayer, on every mountain top, had scraped the bones of 

 animals slain, to divine the presages of futurity ; and the altar, 

 reeking with the blood of human victims, had sent its odious 

 incense up to an angry Heaven. The sun it may be had risen 

 and set on a hemisphere, and again had risen and set on another, 

 but had looked in all his round only on benighted millions of 

 paganism. 



But this dismal panorama was never to be unrolled on earth. 

 The arm of the arrogant Attila w^as stayed in the moment of 

 victory ; and lo, along the paths of pagan conquest the lights of 

 Christianity blazed forth. The Holy Book, the germ from 

 which was to spring the giant oak of civilization, was scattered 

 on the farthest wilds of Europe. Refinement sprung out on the 

 rude impress of barbarism. Sage wisdom stepped forth from 

 the turmoil of savage passion. Wealth, at the Midas touch, 

 poured its full horn into the lap of diligence. Science began to 

 dawn on the night of ages. Invention teemed with its multiform 

 enginery. And the elements bowed down at the bidding of man. 

 In>every dell where rises the hamlet of the husbandman, the 

 sound of the school-call gathers in the truant and the student ; and 

 from every hill-side rings the echo of the church-going bell. On 

 every land of the white man there are loud cries for liberty and 

 self-government. While on all the lands of the dark races the 

 voice of the preacher is heard amidst the jargon of idolatry. 

 The heart of every freeman swells with the proud boast of 

 civilization's heritage, of the glories of his father-land, and of 

 the endearing ties of home. And still sweeps on this majestic 

 tide of prosperity, whose tiny source lies in the far distant past, 

 when the champions of progression and of retrogression stood 

 marshaled on the plains of Chalons, and for the first time the brawny 

 arm of old might fell palsied before the power of the right. 



