Magical rings are often mentioned.  There is some pretty sentiment in the story of Vespasian and a wife whom he had married in a distant country.  She refuses to return home with him, and yet declares that she will kill herself if he leaves her.  The Emperor orders two rings to be made, one bearing the image of Oblivion, the other that of Memory.  The former he gives to the Empress, the latter he wears himself.

Virgil, who is represented as an enchanter, places a magical image in the centre of Rome, which every day communicates to the Emperor Titus all the secret offences committed in the city.

From such fanciful sources, and with a discrimination such as they display, Geoffrey of Monmouth drew up in the eleventh century a fabulous history of England.  His story of Gogmagog, the British giant, supposed to have been destroyed by Brutus, the great grandson of AEneas, on his landing in this country, is said to have been derived from that of two Arabian giants Gog and Magog.  The stones which compose Stonehenge, each containing some medicinal virtue, are fabled to have been transported by giants from the deserts of Africa to Ireland, and to have been carried thence by Merlin’s enchantment to form a monument over the British slain by Hengist.  The state of criticism existing at this time may be imagined from the fact that even afterwards, in the reign of Edward I., the descent of the Britons from the Trojans through Brutus was solemnly alleged in a controversy of great importance concerning the subjection of the crown of England to that of Scotland, showing an amount of credulity which might almost have credited the legend that St. James, mounted on horseback, led the Christian armies in Spain in their battles against the Moors, or that there was in that country a golden image of Mahomet as high as a bird could fly, in which the false prophet had sealed up a legion of devils.

But the imaginative powers were soon to be developed upon more attractive themes.  War and Religion were about to be blended in the grand drama of the Crusades, prompted alike by zeal for the faith, by hatred of the Moslem, and by thirst for military glory.  The first nobles of the West arrayed themselves in their armour, collected their retainers, and set out for the lands of the rising sun.  Here they came into contact with an Eastern civilization, ornate and dazzling, superior to their own, but still in a state of childhood, and revelling in the fanciful creations which please the infantine mind.[38] Foremost among the Christian knights went the Barons of Provence, accompanied by troops of minstrels—­troubadours to sing their praises; and we might well suppose that some of the wonders of the dreaming East would now find their way into Europe, interwoven with the doughty deeds of the Christian heroes.  This view is corroborated by the fact that almost all our early romances recount some great exploits performed against the Saracens; but the marvels they relate, from whatever source they