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92

HENRY IV. KING OF FRANCE.

son should be a Protestant-a Protestant Christian. In most solemn prayer she dedicated her son to God's service, to defend the faith of the Reformers. In the darkness of that day, the sword was appealed to by the papal power, and often recognized by their opponents as the great champion of truth. Both parties appeared to think that the thunders of artillery and musketry must accompany the persuasive influence of eloquence. If it were deemed important that one hand should guide the pen of controversy, it was considered no less important that the other should wield the sword. Military heroism was thought as essential as scholarship for the defense of the faith.

The young Prince of Bearn had lived in these two rival courts. Love of pleasure, of self-indulgence, of power, urged him to cast in his lot with the Catholics. Reverence for his mother inclined him to adopt the side of the weaker party, who were struggling against fearful odds for purity of morals and of faith. But the conscience and the heart of the young man were untouched. Both parties were aware of the magnitude of the weight he could place in either scale, and each deemed it quite uncertain which cause he would finally espouse. His father had died, contending for the Catholic faith, and the throne of Catholic France was one of the prizes at which the son was aiming. His mother was the most illustrious leader of the Protestant forces, and the crown of the little kingdom of Navarre could not repose quietly upon any brow but that of a Protestant.

Such was the state of affairs when Europe again resounded with the clangor of arms. France was the arena upon which the Catholics and Protestants of England and the continent hurled themselves against each other. Catharine, breathing vengeance, headed the Catholic armies, while Jeanne d'Albret, calm yet inflexible, rode at the head of the Protestant leaders, alike the idol of the common soldiers and their generals. The two armies were assembled in hostile attitude at Rochelle, when the Queen of Navarre, accompanied by her son, and leading a force of four thousand troops, rode into the Protestant camp. Plaudits loud and long penetrated even the encampment of the Catholics, as Jeanne was received with these triumphant acclamations. The queen then solemnly and in presence of the whole army dedicated her son to the defense of the Protestant faith, and published a declaration to the world that she was contending simply for her own personal security and for liberty of conscience. The young prince was placed under the charge of the most experienced generals, to guard his person from danger and to instruct him in the arts of war. The Prince de Condé was his teacher

in that terrible accomplishment, in which both teacher and pupil have obtained such world-wide

renown.

Elizabeth of England sent gold and artillery and troops to the Protestant camp. The banners of the Pope were seen gleaming from the hill-tops and through the valleys of Catholic Europe, as files of soldiers were seen concentrating towards the scene of conflict. The summer passed away in marches and counter-marches. skirmishes and assassination, neither party being able to obtain sufficient advantage to be willing to risk their cause in a decisive battle. The storms of winter came and beat heavily upon the worn and weary hosts. At length the Catholic armies having become far more numerous than the Protestant bands, provoked a conflict. The battle was conducted by the Protestants with a degree of fearlessness bordering upon desperation. The Prince of Condé plunged into the thickest ranks of the enemy, with his unfurled banner, bearing the motto, 66 Danger sweet for Christ and my country." Just as he commenced his desperate charge a kick from a wounded horse fractured his leg so severely that the fragments of the bone protruded through his boot. Pointing to the helpless and mangled limb, he said to those around him, "Remember the state in which Louis of Bourbon enters the fight for Christ and his country." Immediately sounding the charge, like a whirlwind his little band plunged into the ranks of the enemy. For a moment the shock was irresistible, and the assailed fell, like grass before the scythe of the mower. Soon, however, the little band was entirely surrounded. About two hundred and fifty Protestants with indomitable resolution sustained themselves against the serried ranks of five thousand men closing up around them upon every side. It was the last earthly conflict of the Prince of Condé. With his leg broken and his arm nearly severed from his body, his horse fell dead beneath him, and the Prince was precipitated beneath the hoofs of wounded and frantic chargers. Condé, unable either to fight or to escape, was made prisoner, when an officer inflamed by that sanguinary spirit which characterized the times, drew a pistol and exclaiming, "Kill him! kill him!” placed the muzzle upon his brow and shot him dead upon the spot. This defeat was extremely disastrous to the cause of the Protestants, but they retained their firmness unshaken. The Catholics, confident of victory, neglected those precautions which were essential to retain the advantages they had obtained; while the Protestants redoubled their energy and vigilance to repair the losses they had encountered.

(To be continued.)

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"I have seen thy face, as though I had seen the face of God, and thou wast pleased with me."

THIS language, were it not inspired, might seem to argue idolatry. Yet who, that has had any experience of life and its vicissitudes, can fail to appreciate the beauty and wisdom of the Divine sanction which is thus put on human friendship? The brother of Esau had just come from the conquest of the God of Israel, whom he had seen "face to face," and from whom he had received the appellation of "prince,” because of his prevalence with Omnipotence. But the blessing for which he had wrestled was not consummated until he had prevailed with man also, even with an alienated and disaffected brother. How touching his exclamation, "I have seen thy face, as though I had seen the face of God, and thou wast pleased with me." He now pursued his journey without reluctance or fear. His heart was fixed, trusting in God; and his brother was reconciled. How great the value of human friendship! Its smile of complacency and love is next only to seeing the "face of God." The beloved disciple, leaning on the bosom of Jesus,

knew this. And so did the sisters of Lazarus, when they sent to him, saying, "Lord-he whom thou lovest is sick." What mighty upheavings of the God swelled that gracious heart as he lingered "two days still in the same place where he was," are declared in those simple words of the narrator-"Jesus wept." Not as when he shed tears over Jerusalem, saying, "how oft would I have gathered you, and ye would not;" but, about to restore the dead to life; about to wipe away the tears from the eyes of the weeping beholders, yet sparing not to shed his own. In all their affliction, He was afflicted. Blessed Master let us learn of thee.

In vain may proud philosophy rear her altars and her groves. In vain may she fortify her fastnesses, making the human heart a "munition of rocks." Religion teaches us that the "secret place of tears" is, and shall be, the home of Him who, when on earth, had not where to lay his head,

THE WIDOWED MOTHER.

SHE gazed upon her slumbering babe,

And, as she gazed, she wept, And her tears fell fast on its rosy cheek, Yet still the infant slept.

Her looks bespoke the anguish and grief That preyed upon her mind;

For her bosom friend was dead, and she And her infant were left behind.

And methinks, as she looked on that infant's face, to Heaven she'd send

This prayer
"Oh God, be the father of my poor child,
Be the widow and orphan's friend!

For thy hand it is that each gift bestows,
The same that takes away;

Then help me in this great trial, Lord,

Thy will be done to say."

And now doth she strive her grief to calm,
But the task is no light one;

For his father's image she can trace,
In the features of her son.

And oft she roams with her darling child,
And wanders the church-yard round,
And bids him a tear of affection shed,
On that well-remembered mound.

And thus he is taught to revere that spot,
And, when childish years are no more,
He will often remember the tears which there
Were shed in the days of yore.

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HEARTS AND HOMES.

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Hearts and

ho-ly; Be the dwelling e'er so small, Having love, it boasteth all. breathing, Emblems fair of realms above, "For love is heav'n,and heav'n is love." Hearts, &c.

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ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE POETS. NO. I.

SEE PLATE.

THE present is the first of a series of illustrations of favorite scenes and passages of the principal classic poets of our language, which it is our design to add to the usual embellishments of our Magazine, from time to time. Aside from their intrinsic beauty as works of art, we trust they will tend to awaken a new interest in the great and most admirable works which they illustrate, and promote, in some degree, a greater familiarity with, and better appreciation of, the beauties of thought and expression with which they abound. Our present illustration refers to the incomparable poem of Campbell, Lord Ullin's Daughter. The aptness and beauty of the artist's design will be seen by a perusal of the poem itself.

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.

A chieftain, to the Highlands bound,
Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry!
And I'll give thee a silver pound
To row us o'er the ferry."

"Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water ?" "Oh, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,

And this Lord Ullin's daughter.

And fast before her father's men

Three days we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather.

His horsemen hard behind us ride; Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride, When they have slain her lover?"

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight,
"I'll go, my chief-I'm ready :
It is not for your silver bright;
But for your winsome lady :

And by my word the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry:

So though the waves are raging white, I'll row you o'er the ferry."

By this the storm grew loud apace, The water-wraith was shrieking; And in the scowl of Heaven each face Grew dark as they were speaking.

But still as wilder blew the wind, And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men,

Their trampling sounded nearer

"Oh haste thee, haste!" the lady cries, "Though tempests round us gather; I'll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father."

The boat has left a stormy land,
A stormy sea before her-
When, oh! too strong for human hand,
The tempest gathered o'er her.

And still they rowed amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing:
Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore,
His wrath was changed to wailing.

For sore dismayed, through storm and shade,
His child he did discover :-
One lovely hand she stretched for aid,
And one was round her lover.

"Come back! come back!" he cried in grief, "Across this stormy water: And I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter!-oh my daughter!"

'Twas vain :-the loud waves lashed the shore, Return or aid preventing

The waters wild went o'er his child,

And he was left lamenting.

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