about it which made it a terror to them. They knew not whence it came, nor whereunto it might grow, nor how it was to be met. Still the sword was the only weapon they knew to wield, and this caused them to meet often together and to consult and plot. The Council of Trent, which had just closed its sittings, had recommendedindeed enjoined-a league among the Catholic sovereigns and states for the forcible suppression of the Reformed opinions; and Philip II. of Spain, who lived in the odour of Catholic sanctity —that is, of heretical blood-took the lead in this matter, as became his position. His morose and fanatical genius scarcely needed the prompting of the Council. Catherine de Medici was now on her way to meet the envoy of this man, and to agree on a policy which should bind together in a common action the two crowns of Spain and France. Her steps were directed to Bayonne, the south-western extremity of her dominions; but her route thither was circuitousbeing so on purpose, that she might, under show of mutual congratulations, collect the sentiments of neighbouring rulers. As she skirted along by the Savoy Alps, she had an interview with the ambassador of the Duke of Savoy, who carried back Catherine's good wishes and other things besides to his master. At Avignon, the capital of the Papacy when Rome was too turbulent to afford safe residence to her popes, Catherine halted to give audience to the papal legate. She then pushed forward to Bayonne, where she was to meet the Duke of Alva, and who, as the spokesman of the then mightiest monarch in Christendom, was a more important personage than the other ambassadors to which she had already given audience. There a final decision was to

be come to.

We now behold the royal cavalcade drawing nigh that quiet spot on the shores of the Bay of Biscay, where, amid flourishing plantations and shrubs of almost tropical luxuriance, and lines of strong forts, nestles the little town of Bayonnethe "good bay"-a name its history has sadly belied. A narrow firth, which terminates in a little bay, admits the waters of the Atlantic within the walls of the town, and permits the ships of friendly powers to lie under the shelter of its guns. The azure tops of the Pyrenees

appearing in the south notify to the traveller that he has almost touched the frontier of Spain. Here, in the chateau which still stands crowning the height on the right of the harbour, Catherine de Medici met the plenipotentiary of Philip II The King of Spain did not come in person, but he sent his wife, the daughter of this same Catherine de Medici,-who was thus furnished with a pretext for the journey,—and specially his general, the well-known Duke of Alva. This man was inspired with an insane fury against Protestantism, but which, as it met a fanaticism equally ferocious on the part of his master, became a link between the two. Alva was the right hand of Philip; he was his counsellor in all evil; and by the sword of Alva it was that Philip shed those oceans of blood in which he sought to drown Protestantism. Here, in this chateau, the dark sententious Spaniard met the crafty and eloquent Italian woman. Catherine made a covered gallery be constructed in it, that she might visit the duke whenever it suited her without being observed. Their meetings were mostly nocturnal; but as no one was admitted to them, the schemes discussed at them and the plots hatched must, unless the oaken walls should speak out, remain secrets till the dread judgment-day, save in so far as they may be guessed at from the events which afterwards transpired, and which have found recital on the page of history.

They throw n

It has been conjectured that here and now Catherine and the Duke of Alva determined on the St. Bartholomew massacre, and arranged its plans. Recent historical discoveries, however, throw doubt on this point. doubt on the fact that the general policy to be pursued towards the Protestants was here discussed, and that it was resolved upon that the staple of that policy should be war and massacre; but that this particular massacre was planned is not so clear. It is certain from an expression of Alva's, caught up by the young son of the Queen of Navarre, the future Henry IV., whose spright liness had won for him a large place in Catherine's affections, and whom she at times permitted to go with her to the duke's apartments, thinking the matters talked of there altogether beyond the boy's capacity, that massacre was mooted at these

interviews, and was relied upon as one of the main instrumentalities for cleansing Christendom from the heresy of Calvin. The expression has been recorded by all historians with slight verbal differences, but substantial identity. Its idea was embodied in a vulgar but most expressive metaphor, namely, that "the head of one salmon is worth that of ten thousand frogs." This expression, occurring, as it did, in a conversation in which the names of the Protestant leaders figured prominently, explained its meaning sufficiently to the young but precocious Henry of Navarre. He communicated it to the lord who waited upon him. This nobleman sent it in cipher to the prince's mother, Jeanne D'Albret, and by her it was communicated to the heads of Protestantism. All the Protestant chiefs, both in France and Germany, looked upon it as the foreshadowing of some terrible tragedy, hatched in this chateau, between the daughter of the fanatical house of Medici and the sanguinary lieutenant of Philip II; retained meanwhile in the darkness of these two bosoms, and, it might be, of one or two others, lut destined to write itself one day on the face of Europe in characters of blood; whispered in the deep stillness of these oaken chambers, but soon to break in a thunder-crash upon the world, and roll its dread reverberations along history's page till the end of time. This in all probability was what was resolved upon at these conferences at Bayonne. The conspirators did not plan a particular massacre, to come off on a particular day of a particular year; what they agreed upon was rather a policy towards the Protestants of treachery and murder, which, however, should circumstances favour, might any day explode in a catastrophe of European dimensions.

We return to the consideration of the condition of the Protestants in France. The pacification of Amboise, imperfect from the first, was now flagrantly violated. The worshipping assemblies of the Protestants were dispersed, their persons murdered, their ministers banished or silenced; and for these wrongs they could obtain no redress. The iron circle was continually narrowing around them. Were they to sit still till they were inextricably enfolded and crushed? No; they must again draw the sword. This brings us to the second civil war, which we shall narrate in a few

sentences. The second Huguenot war was a campaign of but one battle, which lasted barely an hour. This affair, styled the Battle of St. Denis, was fought under the walls of Paris on November 10th, 1567. The Catholic army numbered eighteen thousand men, the Protestant forces scarcely amounted to three thousand; but the superior bravery of the latter compensated for the inequality of their numbers. The royalists, after a short fight, retired within the walls of Paris, leaving the field in possession of their opponents; and when the latter offered the royalists battle on the following day, they declined it, so giving the Protestants the right of claiming the victory. The veteran Montmorency, who had held the high office of Constable of France during four reigns, was among the slain. Thus fell the last of the Triumvirs. The Duke of Anjou, the favourite son of Catherine, succeeded him as generalissimo of the French army, and thus the chief authority was confirmed in the hands of the queen-mother. The winter months passed without fighting. When the spring opened, the Protestant forces were so greatly reinforced by auxiliaries from Germany, that the court judged it the wiser part to come to terms with them; and on March 20th, 1568, the short-lived peace of Longjemeau was signed.

The terms of the peace amounted only to this, that the queen gave her word that the former pacification would be renewed; and the soldiers and some of the officers, not unwilling to have an excuse for returning to their homes, affected to rely upon it. The army under Condé melted away, and then the queen forgot her promise. All the while the peace lasted, which was only six short months, the Protestants had to endure even greater miseries than if they had been in the field with arms in their hands. Again the pulpits thundered against heresy, again the passions of the mob broke out, again the dagger of the assassin was set to work, and the blood of the Huguenots ceased not to flow in all the cities and provinces of France. It is estimated that not fewer than ten thousand persons perished during this short period. The court did nothing to restrain, and is believed to have secretly instigated, these murders. One gets weary of writing so monotonous a recital of outrage and

Some

massacre. This bloodshed, it must be acknowledged, was not all confined to one side. two hundred Catholics, including several priests, were massacred by the Protestants. This is to be deplored, but it need surprise no one. Of the hundreds of thousands of Huguenots in France, all were not pious men; and further, while these two hundred or so of Catholics were murdered, the Huguenots were perishing in tens of thousands by every variety of cruel death and of shocking and shameful outrage. There was no justice in the land. The crew that occupied the Louvre, and styled themselves the Government, were there, as the Thug is in his den, to entrap and despatch their victims. There were men in France doubtless who reasoned, that although the laws of society had fallen, the laws of nature were still in force.

Matters were brought to a head by the discovery of a plot which was to be immediately executed. At a council in the Louvre, it was resolved to seize the two Protestant chiefs-the Prince of Condé and Admiral Coligny-and put them out of the way, by consigning the first to a dungeon for life, and sending the second to the scaffold. The moment they were informed of the plot, the prince and the admiral fled with their wives and children to Rochelle. The road was long and the journey toilsome. They had to traverse three hundred miles of rough country, obstructed by rivers, and beset by the worse dangers of numerous foes. An incident which befell them by the way touched their hearts deeply, as showing the hand of God. Before them was the Loire.

The bridges were watched, and how were they to cross it? A friendly guide, to whom the by-paths and fords were well known, conducted them to the river's banks opposite Sancerre, and at that point the company, amounting in all to nearly two hundred persons, crossed without inconvenience or risk. Two hours after, the heavens blackened, and the rain falling in torrents, the waters of the Loire, which a little before had risen only to their horses' knees, were now swollen, and had become impassable. In a little while they saw their pursuers arrive on the further side of the Loire; but their progress was stayed by the deep and angry flood, to which they dared not commit themselves. "Escaped as a

bird out of the snare of the fowlers," the company of Coligny exchanged looks of silent gratitude with one another. What remained of their way was gone with lighter heart and nimbler foot: they felt, although they could not see, the Almighty escort that covered them; and so, journeying on, they came at last safely to Rochelle.

Rochelle, at this period, was a great mart of trade. Its inhabitants shared the independence of sentiment which commerce commonly brings in its train. Having early embraced the Reformation, the bulk of its inhabitants were now Protestants. An impression was abroad that another great crisis impended; and under this be lief, too well founded, all the chiefs and captains of the army were repairing, with their followers, to this stronghold of Huguenotism. We have seen Condé and Coligny arrive here; and sona thereafter came another illustrious visitor-Jeann: D'Albret. The Queen of Navarre did not come alone she brought with her her son, Henry, Prince of Bearn, whose heroic character was just then beginning to open, and whom his mother, it that dark hour, dedicated to the service of the Protestant cause. This arrival awakened the utmost enthusiasm in Rochelle among both citizens and soldiers. Condé laid his command of the Huguenot army at the feet of the young Prince of Bearn-magnanimously performing an act which the conventional notions of the age exacted of him, for Henry was nearer the threte than himself. The magnanimity of Condé evoked an equal magnanimity. "No," said Jeanne D'Albret; "I and my son are here to promote the success of this great enterprise, or to share its disaster. its disaster. We will joyfully unite beneath the standard of Condé. The cause of God is deare: to me than my son."

At this juncture the queen-mother published an edict, revoking the Edict of January, forbidding, on pain of death, the profession of Protestantism, and commanding all ministers to depart the kingdom within a fortnight. If anything was wanting to complete the justification of the Protestants, in this their third war, it was now supplied. During the winter of 1569, the two armies were frequently in presence of one another; but as often as they essayed to join battle, storms of unprecedented violence burst out, and th

assailants had to bow to the superior force of the elements. At last, on the 15th March, they met on the field of Jarnac. The day was a disastrous one for the Protestants. Taken at unawares, the Huguenot regiments arrived one after the other on the field, and were butchered in detail, the enemy assailing in overwhelming numbers. The Prince of Condé, after performing prodigies of valour, wounded, unhorsed, and fighting desperately on his knees, was slain. Coligny, judging it hopeless to prolong the carnage, retired with his soldiers from the field; and the result of the day as much elated the court and the Catholics as it engendered despondency and almost despair in the hearts of the Protestants.

While the Huguenot army was in this moodbeaten by their adversaries, and in danger of being worse beaten by their fears-the Queen of Navarre suddenly appeared amongst them. Attended by Coligny, she rode along their ranks, holding in one hand her son, the Prince of Bearn, and in the other her nephew, Henry, son of the fallen Condé. "Children of God and of France," said she, addressing the soldiers, "Condé is dead; but is all therefore lost? No; the God who gave him courage and strength to fight for this cause has raised up others worthy to succeed him. To those brave warriors I add my son. Make proof of his valour. Soldiers! I offer you everything I have to give-my dominions, my treasures, my life, and, what is dearer to me than all, my children. I swear to defend to my last sigh the holy cause that now unites us!" With these heroic words she breathed her own spirit into the soldiers. They looked up; they stood erect; the fire returned to their eyes; Henry of Navarre was proclaimed general of the army, amid the plaudits of the soldiers; and Coligny and the other chiefs were the first to swear fidelity to the hero, to whom the whole realm was one day to vow allegiance.

him. The Huguenots rushed with fury into action; but their ranks were broken by the firm phalanxes on which they threw themselves, and before they could rally, a tremendous slaughter had begun, which caused something like a panic amongst them. Coligny was wounded at the very commencement; his lower jaw was broken, and the blood, oozing from the wound and trickling down his throat, all but choked him. Being unable to give the word of command, he was carried out of the battle. A short hour only did the fight rage; but what disasters were crowded into that space of time! Of the 25,000 men whom Coligny had led into action, only 8000 stood around their standards when it was ended. Ammunition, cannon, baggage, and numerous colours, were all lost. Again the dark night was closing in around French Protestantism.

As Coligny was being carried out of the field, another litter, in which lay a wounded soldier, passed him by. The occupant of that other litter was Lestrange, an old gentleman, and one of the admiral's chief counsellors. Lestrange happening to draw aside the curtains and look out, recognized his general. "Yes," said he, brushing away a tear that dimmed his eye-"Yes, God is very sweet!" This was all he spoke. It was as if a divine hand had dropped a cordial into the soul of Coligny. Speaking afterwards to his friends of the incident, he said that these words were as balm to his spirit, then more bruised than his body. There is here a lesson for us; nay, many lessons, though we can particularize only one. We are apt to suppose that those exemplify the highest style of piety, and enjoy most of the Spirit's presence, who are oftenest in the closet engaged in acts of devotion, whereas controversy and fighting belong to a lower type of Christianity. There are exceptions, of course; but the rule, we believe, is the opposite. We must distinguish between a contentious lot and a contentious spirit; the former has been assigned to some of the most loving of natures and the most spiritual of men. The presence of God is promised to the Christian, not in the closet or in the sanctuary only, but wherever he has occasion to be on God's work, whether on the arena of controversy, or on the arena of the battle-field., That is the healthiest piety that best endures the tear

and wear of hard work, just as those are the healthiest plants which, in no danger of pining away wanting the shelter of a hot-house, flourish in the outer air, and grow tall, and strong, and beautiful amid the rains and tempests of the open firmament. So now: breaking through the clouds and dust of the battle-field, a ray from heaven shot into the soul of Coligny.

The admiral had now touched the lowest point of his misfortunes. We have seen him borne out of the battle vanquished, and wounded almost to death. His army lay stretched on the field. The few who had escaped the fate of their comrades were dispirited and mutinous. Death had narrowed the circle of his friends, and of those who remained, some forsook him, and others even blamed him. To crown these multiplied calamities, Catherine de Medici came forward to deal him the coup de grâce. At her direction the Parliament of Paris proclaimed him an outlaw, and set a price of 30,000 crowns upon his head. His estates were confiscated, his castle of Chatillon burned to the ground, and thus was he driven forth homeless and friendless. Were his miseries now complete? Not yet. Pius V. (Michael Pius V. (Michael Ghisleri) cursed him as an infamous, execrable man, if, indeed, he deserved the name of man." It was now that Coligny appeared greatest.

Furious tempests assailed him from all quarters at once, but he did not bow to their violence. In the presence of defeat, desertion, outlawry, and the bitter taunts and curses of his enemies, his magnanimity remained unsubdued, and his confidence in God unshaken. A glorious triumph yet awaited the cause that was now so low. Perish it could not, and with it, he knew, would revive his now sorely tarnished name and fame. He stood upon a rock, and the serenity of soul which he enjoyed, while these tempests were raging at his feet, is finely shown in the letters which at that time he addressed to his children; for his wife, the heroic Charlotte Laval, was dead two years, and saw not the evil that came upon her house. "We must follow Jesus Christ,” wrote Coligny, October 16th, 1569, "our Captain, who has marched before us. Men have stripped us of all they could; and if this is still the will of God, we shall be happy, and our condition good, seeing this loss has not happened through any injury we have done to those who have inflicted it, but solely through the hatred they bear towards me, because it has pleased God to make use of me to aid his Church. For the present, it suffices that I admonish and conjure you, in the name of God, to persevere courageously in the study of virtue."

B

SHAKSPEARE.

other patients were waiting in the ante-chamber for the sound of his silver bell, but I saw him by the dim light place it amongst his drugs, in the recess which has so often been mentioned. I had noticed during the long space of time that

shrouded recesses, four contained doors-two for the ingress and two for the egress of patients

while the remaining three held shelves and presses, containing drugs of varied descriptions,