Poor Manvers! there was a strange connection in his mind with the past and present. Images seemed to crowd on his heated brain, and, as the balance of reason was lost, to excite and exhaust him by their variety. Now his words were inaudible, then with eyes made brighter still by excitement, and seemingly full of intelligence, he spake distinctly, though without comprehension of his situation. "My honourable friend," said he, "deceives himself; his arguments are as dangerous as they are fallacious. Do you aspire to eminence for your sons? In the maxims of truth, of honour, of consistency, lay deep the foundation of their instruction. Give them living examples of integrity in yourselves,—of integrity that temptation shall assail in vain-which fears neither the piercing glance of heaven nor the suspicious eye of man." He paused, muttered to himself, and again became excited. "Not falsenot cunning-not deceptive! Unhappy father! lay no such unction to your soul. Reproach me not!-you made me what I am, ruined—scorned-despised !" "Hush! hush! my precious!" sighed his mother, lightly pressing his shoulder, while Mr. Weston shrunk still farther back in his chair, and hid his face in his hands. Again Manvers was silent-again his lips moved and his features were distressed. "Name it, name it not," whispered he; "it was a dark deed, but who can prove delinquency? Debt-debt. . . . Nay hear me: there was a time when you hung upon my words, and the charmed ear was soothed with the rich melody of my voice. And now you bid the world look down upon me with contempt-with scorn-with coldness-with neglect that withers the heart-that darkens the understanding, and saps the springs of lifelife" "For pity's sake, say no more," said Mrs. Weston, as she moistened his parched lips. Her words recalled him for a few minutes to a degree of consciousness. "I will be very good now," said he ;-the look he gave her, as he turned on his side, was that of his childhood. The heart of his mother acknowledged it, and she wept. Manvers soon began again to ramble. "Upbraid me if you like," cried he; "heap, heap disgrace upon my name, but spare, oh spare my mother! break not the old man's heart!" Mr. Weston took the hand of his son in his, and uttered his name; but he heeded him not. He continued for some time afterwards to mutter broken sentences, and then lay motionless and exhausted, his features becoming as 'livid as they had been crimson before. In this state he remained for some hours; and as Mrs. Weston caught the expression of Mr. Rose's countenance in the morning, when he felt his pulse, life seemed to recede from her own bosom. "He is worse," said she, throwing herself on her knees beside the couch. Mr. Rose shook his head, and continued to look stedfastly upon Manvers. A slight movement was observed round his mouth. He opened his eyes, gazed vacantly on his mother-then recognising her, he attempted to smile. "Don't leave me," murmured he. A sob from his father, at this moment, startled him. "My poor, poor boy!" exclaimed Mr. Weston, rising and standing beside him: "and is this the end of all my hopes? Manvers continued to look earnestly at him. Something was struggling at his heart; he tried to speak, but utterance was difficult. Mrs. Weston gently raised him, his head drooped on her bosom. Again he made an effort to make himself understood; and low as were his words they were audible. · "Oh, my father!" said he, "talents without principle are not a blessing—but a bane-a snare-a The sentence remained unfinished-the lip of eloquence was hushed for ever! NOTHING. MYSTERIOUS Nothing! How shall I define PORSON. THE sixteenth century is one of the most glorious in the annals of history. It is one of the grand epochs of progress, in which truth and civilization achieved decisive victories. In the grand struggle between the principles of the Reformation and the ecclesiastical supremacy of Rome, France played a distinguished part; and though she failed to emancipate herself from the tyranny of the Vatican, she retired from the conquest without dishonour. Nearly forty years of resistance proved the sincerity of the Protestant party; on the scaffold and on the field they perished with the heroism of martyrs. Of this obstinate and sanguinary contest we propose to give some account, and of the most prominent actors on the scene. Battles, popular tumults, intrigues, of state, and diplomatic negotiations, will be indicated, rather than narrated; our object is to make historical events subservient to the unfolding of the inner life of the people, and the spirit of the age in which they lived. They who seek minuteness of details, may consult the pages of Davila; the student who aims at a comprehensive and severe criticism of the epoch, will take De Thou for his guide. These writers differ little as to their facts, but seldom agree in tracing results to the same cause; for both had a strong bias. At the commencement of the sixteenth century, under the reign of Francis I., the doctrines of the Reformation were introduced into France. In 1519, two years after Luther had openly denied the infallibility of the church of Rome, the College of Theology at Paris denounced the new opinions; and in 1521, the Sorbonne published their famous condemnation of the Lutheran heresy. Francis was not a tolerant prince, but careless or indifferent as to modes of faith. He hated his rival Charles V. of Spain, and on that account favoured the Protestants of Germany: this was a matter of policy not of religion. He also overlooked the tendency manifested by his own subjects to secede from Rome, for he was warlike and ambitious, and wily enough to know the value of a sword wielded by a Lutheran arm. However, he was an occasional persecutor of consciences, and is reported to have said "If he thought the blood in his own arm was tainted with the Lutheran heresy, he would order it to be cut off; and further that he would not spare his own children, if they entertained sentiments contrary to those of the church of Rome.* In the case of Louis Berquin, a private gentleman at Artois, he acted on this principle, for the king ordered him to be burned alive on the Place de Grêve at Paris: still justice requires it to be stated that Berquin had been frequently admonished, and even pardoned; but the strength of his convictions impelled him to continue preaching the prohibited doctrines. However, though it was notorious that his sister Margaret de Valois, Queen of Navarre, openly avowed Protestantism, he steadily refused to interfere with her creed or conduct, though strongly and repeatedly urged to drag her within the pale of the law. Brantome relates that the Constable, Anne de Montmorenci, conversing with the king on the most effectual method of extirpating heresy, made no scruple of saying "that his Majesty should begin with the court and his own relations," naming the queen his sister, as one of the most dangerous enemies of the orthodox faith; to which Francis replied "Speak of her no more; she loves me too well, not to believe as I * Histoire de la Naissance et du Progrès de l'Hérésie, par Flor de Remenard, cited by Mosheim, vol. iv., p. 89, in notes. believe, nor will she ever adopt a creed incompatible with the dignity and safety of my crown." The court of Francis was not celebrated for its morality. The courtiers of both sexes were dissolute, intriguing, and avaricious. Many outraged public decency by their scandals. Bishops even were noted for profligacy, and brought discredit on their order. On the other hand the Lutherans were austere, self-denying, rigid in precept and in practice; their preachers denounced the prelates from their pulpits; they taunted them with living at the court instead of at their dioceses. With these denunciations and upbraidings, the people sympathized, and the Huguenot party (for so the reformers were styled) increased in numbers and influence. The courtier prelates, conscious of the decline of their authority, determined to intimidate Francis by the threat of eternal perdition, if he did not exterminate the heretics; at the same time assuring him that if he did, all his past and future sins would assuredly be pardoned. What influence these counsellors had on the mind of Francis, may be judged of from the following estimate of his character, painted by the historian Père Daniel : "Notwithstanding the passion of love, to which this prince too greatly abandoned himself, he always preserved a great fund of religion, as well as from true piety as a wise policy; he took all the precautions possible to prevent novelties in religion being introduced into the kingdom; he gave terrible examples of severity." On this curious encomium the Abbé de Condillac makes the following just remarks :— "If there be no religion without faith in dogmas, faith in dogmas does not constitute the whole of religion; the complete fulfilment of the duties of our station is an essential part of it. Consequently, to praise the piety of sovereigns who violate their duties, is to prostitute religion in order to flatter the vices of the great. Now, without speaking of the amours of Francis of those amours which, according to Père Daniel, did not prevent him from being truly pious-he may be reproached with devoting to pleasure the time that he owed to the cares of government. His want of economy, his magnificence, and his festivals, impoverished his finances; for so little order was observed, that no account was kept of the expenditure. He was then reduced to the necessity of surcharging the people with taxes to carry on his wars; and what wars! were they undertaken for the advantage or protection of the STATE? No; it is a false glory which takes up arms without any combination for success, or any foresight of the result. What remained to him? victories and defeats, conquests quickly lost, a prison, a disgraceful treaty, a ruined kingdom. Such is the account which this religious prince might have given of his reign. He believed in certain dogmas, and burned those who did not believe in them; such is the sum total of his great fund of religion; such |