one of his associates, he felt a dreadful presentiment as to the character of the others, and rolled himself on his couch with tears and cries of despair. Called before one of the functionaries of the police the day after he had made this fatal discovery, Paul regained, by the lively reaction of this first misfortune, his original ingenuousness, and freely and simply detailed all that had befallen him, from the evening when he found the diamond of the Vouivre to that on which he had been so ignominiously committed to prison. The person who questioned him, however, regarded the greater part of his story as an infamous falsehood, and commanded the guards to reconduct the audacious robber to his dungeon, and watch him more closely than ever. Even at the time of which we speak, people had begun to attach but little faith to popular traditions. The police official had, besides, been long habituated to distrust all fine words and all appearance of innocence on the part of those who were summoned before his redoubtable tribunal. And here he was asked to believe that in a rivulet of Franche-Comté had been found a winged snake, carrying in its forehead, like the luminous pupil of an eye, a diamond larger and finer than all those that glittered in the diadem of the king! In truth, it was a proof of great good nature to have listened with so much patience to such an old woman's tale! changed his embroidered dress for a rustic frock, his lace collar for a cravat of linen, his top-boots for a pair of wooden shoes, and his cap and feathers for a coarse hat. The peasant made a good bargain, and Paul found himself in the simple costume which he had worn before, and which he never again desired to change. He arrived at the summit of the hill whence he had formerly turned to take a last survey of the village, at twelve o'clock on a fine spring day. The environs of the valley were already gay with flowers, which shed their perfume on the air; the hills, the meadows, the fields, were carpeted with fresh verdure; the birds chirped upon the branches of the blossomed hawthorn, the waters of the Loue glittered in the rays of the sun through the branches of the trees, and the bell for midday prayer tolled from the tower of the parish church. Here and there were seen, among the hills and valleys, a peasant returning to his labour, a woman carrying dinner to the workers in the fields, or a child running along a by-path; and there seemed in this grand and picturesque scene, gladdened by a lovely day, animated by rural motion, overrun with innumerable flowers, and decked out with so much grace, an attractiveness and tranquillity which would have ravished the dullest imagination. 'Ah! wretch that I am,' cried Paul, clasping his hands and casting his eyes with profound admiration over the However, it soon came out that the jeweller, locked up prospect which surrounded him; 'here was repose, here like Paul in a close dungeon, barricaded and chained, had was happiness, and I left it all-all for folly-for degraeffected his escape; nor could the sagacity of all the keep-dation! Pardon me, merciful Heaven!' ers united divine by what hole or crevice he had taken flight. This inexplicable incident, which they could attribute to nothing but magical power, threw the first favourable gleam on the cause of the young adventurer. In so strange an affair, when one piece of witchcraft was admitted, it was less difficult to admit a second. Then it happened, luckily for the son of the vinedresser, that he found a judge, highly respected and very learned, who had travelled in Franche-Comté, and had there heard in many parts of the diamond of the Vouivre, and who, having himself examined the youth, felt convinced that he had really found the precious stone on the margin of a stream, and that he was no farther guilty than as having resigned himself to the blandishments of a gay life, and maltreated the jeweller, as witnessed by the archers. On the report of this judge, whose opinion in a great measure ruled the minds of the others, Paul was declared innocent of the crime imputed to him; and as it was thought that he had been punished enough by the grief he had manifested while in prison for the violence towards Finlappi, he was immediately set at liberty by order of the tribunal. The poor boy sprung out of prison with an explosion of joy impossible to describe. He was free, he once more breathed the air of the street, and was able to come and go at his pleasure. But he found himself alone upon the pavement of Paris, despoiled of every thing, without a friend, without a protector, without a single soul who, in this immense city, was likely to take an interest in his extraordinary fate. The thought of his follies, of his extravagance, wrung his heart like an iron vice. He seated himself on a post at the corner of an unfrequented street, and wept, and prayed; and when he had paid this sorrowful but salutary tribute of repentance, he felt himself all at once filled with a new-born resolution, and endowed with a strength he had never felt before. He searched in his pocket, found there yet some pence, the only remains of his wonderful fortune, and then rose and departed. While offering up this cry of regret, he approached the vineyard where he had worked with his brothers, gliding step by step, like a guilty one, behind a hedge of plumtrees. When he gained the field where his father laboured, he beheld all the family seated on the ground, and partaking of the frugal repast of the day; his brothers and sisters eating with a keen appetite, and talking gaily of the good promise of the vines; his father seeming to listen to them, though with a care-worn look; and his mother seated some steps apart-his mother, pale and wasted, her head resting upon one of her hands, who ate not, listened not, and spake not. At this sight he remained master of himself no longer. His heart melted within him, and a cry of anguish escaped from his lips. Mother! mother!' he said, and threw himself into the arms of the poor woman, whose voice became choked with sobs. 'It is he!' cried the father, wiping with his horny hand a tear from either eye. 'Thou art restored to us again, my poor boy, and we shall not ask thee what thou hast done since thou didst leave us. There is work here; wilt thou set thyself to it steadily, and think no more of those absurd ideas thou hast picked up I know not where?' 'Ah! I desire nothing else,' said Paul, embracing in turn all his brothers and sisters. "Eh, well, wife,' said the vinedresser, 'hand us a spoon. The poor boy is hungry, perhaps, and will not refuse to partake of this dish of curds and whey, although he has doubtless tasted finer viands in his travels.' Paul seated himself upon the ground, and gladly ate of the rustic meal that had been offered him; and to prove that he had returned fully corrected of his errors, he took a hatchet, and worked on till evening with intrepid resolution. But at night he went to find the good old curé, to whom he recounted all that had befallen him. The worthy priest replied 'My child, a fortune which comes to us without being duly earned, engenders nothing but foolish pride and fatal illusions. Enjoyment is to be found only in the wealth which patient labour has acquired, and true happiness in doing our duty.' The old woman who narrated this faithful history, added that Paul profited by these wise advices, and that he became, like his father, a worthy labourer and respect He departed, and went straight along the road to Besançon, which he had formerly traversed under so many foolish illusions. He now walked on foot, his head depressed, his spirit afflicted, but cured of many fatal thoughts and dangerous chimeras. At the end of that road was an assured refuge-the paternal roof-the quiet hearth, which he could again approach, with a heart pro-able head of a family. faned and defiled indeed, but deeply repentant. At some Let us also hope that the well-drawn moral of the old distance from Paris he met a peasant, with whom he ex- curé will not be lost upon our young readers. LECTURES TO YOUNG MEN ON RELIGION, SCIENCE, AND LITERATURE. CATILINE evinced his shrewdness when, having resolved to I. The study of science is, in a certain sense, a religious duty. Man's highest object and aim ought to be, to know God, and Jesus Christ, whom he hath sent,' for this is eternal life. Now, while it is most true, that from the Bible we learn all that we can know of Jesus Christ, and, beyond comparison, the largest share of what we can know of God, it is also true that God speaks to us in the works of his hands. The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth his handiwork. Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night teacheth knowledge concerning him.' While God has spread out the volume of Revelation before us, and enjoined us to search the Scriptures, and learn the testimony they have to give concerning him; he has also spread out the volume of Creation under our eye, and invites us, even in his Word, to read it as a testimony to the perfection and glory of his nature. And as that man would not be guiltless who would shut the Bible and neglect its full testimony, neither is he to be regarded as altogether without sin who neglects or refuses to read the testimony which God gives of himself in all the works of his hand. Nature has many voices whereby to express the glory of the Creator. The starry heavens proclaim his praise, and every object on earth speaks to us of his power and wisdom. It is not only a source of unceasing and most diversified enjoyment, to be able in the whole of the visible creation to trace the handiwork of God; but, moreover, if he has been pleased to inscribe his glorious attribates on the things which he has made, it is our duty studiously and reverently to read the inscription. Every • Dundeo. W Mida'et on. plant, every blade of grass, every drop of dew which Here, however, I must guard against its being supposed that I am a believer in the theory that the prosecution of science will lead us from nature up to nature's God.' I know no instance in which this transition has been effected in which the mere student of nature has been led from bis observation of the evidences of intelligent and beneficent design to the adoration and worship of the Creator. It is true that such marks of design are everywhere ap parent, and force themselves upon the attention of the student of nature; but the use in religion which they are fitted to serve is not to reveal an otherwise unknown God. They have done eminent service in exposing the folly of these who have denied the existence of God, but it is by faith we understand that even the world was framed by the word of God. There is nothing in the mere contemplation of design and adaptation to raise the mind to the contemplation of a designer. But were any one to deny that the design indicated a designer, we would know that he was speaking the language of folly. For example, were you to visit any of the spinning-mills of this town, you could scarcely fail to be struck with the various contrivances which are all subordinated to one end, and, even with but a slender knowledge of mechanics, you would be delighted to trace the method by which the machinery was all adjusted and fitted to serve its purpose. But all the while, there is little probability of your spending one thought on the ingenious contriver of it all. Even so has experience proved it to be with the student of the works of nature-the vast and complicated machine of the universe. He has measured the stars and traced their courses, or he has traced out on this earth the various marks of contrivance which God has stamped upon it, and yet his mind has never been engaged with the contemplation of the great Author of all, who 'upholdeth all things by the word of his power.' How different would be the result in either case, had we a previous knowledge of and esteem for the designer! Were we to inspect a piece of mechanism invented by some person whom we knew and loved, it would not only be examined with more attentive care, but we would delight to trace in every department of it the evidences of the contriver's skill. So is it with the study of nature. When we have been taught to know, and reverence, and love God, we are then prepared to have our minds raised from the thing made to Him who made it to adore the unseen through that which is visible. It is not, therefore, to science I would direct you to acquire your knowledge of God. This must be obtained from revelation. But, having heard devoutly and believingly the lessons of Scripture, I would have you able to read what God has done and is doing in creation. And if there was formed within you the faith of Christ Jesus, with what delight would you contemplate the handiwork of your Father, and with how much greater devotedness and earnestness would you prosecute researches in science, when in every footstep of your progress you were observing evidences of a Father's unsearchable wisdom and inexpressible kindness! It is thus that religion not only renders the walks of science more pleasant and profitable, but provides the highest stimulus to diligence and activity. It engages not only the powers of the understanding, but the affections of the heart. II. The study of science strengthens the mind, affords a healthful and invigorating exercise to its various faculties, and renders them more capable of useful and vigorous employment in every department of duty. Every one who has been engaged in the business of public instruction, must have had to encounter that most intensely provoking of all states of mind, in which it is altogether inert, and its faculties unmoved and unaffected by any thing which can be addressed to them. In this condition the mere communication of knowledge is vain. Such knowledge lies as a mere burden upon the memory, and is utterly useless to its possessor. Knowledge, in order to be available to any good purpose, must be taken into the mind, digested, and made to constitute a part of its possessor. It is not to be assumed as a dress, but to be taken as food. Thus received, it strengthens the mind, even as meat nourishes the body. Now, the cultivation of science is one of the best and most effective instruments for vanquishing that inertness of which I have spoken, and for this reason it has special and very peculiar claims upon the young. In youth, the mind is more capable of being roused to action, and, when active, is possessed of greater elasticity, enabling it to turn its powers in new directions, than when a profitlessly spent youth is succeeded by the indurated habits of advancing life. Now, when I speak of the power of science to invigorate the mind, and to rouse it to healthful action, I trust you will not misunderstand me so far as to imagine that such reults will follow from merely attending lectures on the various branches of science which your own taste would lead you to cultivate, or which may fall within your reach. Neither is the object to be gained by the mere reiding of books. In both ways, or in either, it is true, much information may be acquired; but still it may be knowledge only imposed upon the mind, not received within it. You may not truly have made it your own. Your minds may have continued in that state of listless inactivity, which leads one to receive without inquiry and examination every thing which is presented. You may have laid up a store of knowledge beside you, but you have not appropriated it to yourself. Science, to be useful, must have the mind exercised upon it-the faculties must be brought in contact with it-it must be assimilated as part of our mental nature. The Scriptures command us to prove all things, by which, among other things, is certainly meant that we are to test and try every opinion and principle subjected to our notice, and either to substantiate or reject it altogether. There is the utmost safety as well as utility in this. We are enjoined to give an implicit and easy credit to nothing-to try, to test, to prove all things. We are to suffer nothing to enter into our minds without a searching examination, and nothing to be established as a belief which we have not submitted to the severest test. The mind is moulded by the opinions and principles it embraces; and it is a matter of infinite concern to each of us, that we suffer nothing to have a place there which may warp it by prejudice, weaken its energies, and deprive it of its free action. If we would judge it necessary to take care that the furniture of our houses be sound and substantial, each article fitted for the use to which it was to be put, and solid and strong enough to endure the fatigues to which it is exposed, with how much greater care ought we to investigate that which is to constitute the furniture of our minds-that precious inward dwelling-the temple of the spirit-so tender and so susceptible of injury, which demands from us the strictest watchfulness, and on the suitable furnishing of which our comfort is made almost wholly dependent. And yet how true is it that in the vast majority of instances, there is not only no adequate care in this, but actually no care at all! There is a slumbrous inactivity about many, which makes them the passive instruments of circumstances. They do not exercise their judgment on what is submitted to them, an opinion is tried by no standard, and every thing is passively received. The mind remains inoperative, and does not grasp and embrace that which has been presented to it. Whatever knowledge they may possess, whatever opinions or principles they may seem to have formed, lie beside them as useless lumber. David would not go to fight with the giant Philistine in armour which he had not proved; he would have been encumbered with it, and incapable of using it. And so it is with things thus presented to, and thus reposing upon, the mind. They have not been proved, and therefore, while they may encumber, they cannot aid it in any enterprise. Do not thus use science. Make proof of all the information it offers to you. Learn to discriminate, to receive what is true, and to reject what is false. Let every thing be tested and submitted to a questionary process; and while your progress in this way will not be retarded, you will, by such a process, have made every acquisition really your own. What deductions of science you know, you will know them to be true, not because you have been told, but because you can demonstrate them. A mind habituated to this kind of exercise is in the best condition for turning all its faculties to account. By constant exercise, it acquires both strength and alertness, a patience under restraint, and a perseverance in activity, which are essential to success in every enterprise. It becomes burdensome not to labour, but to be idle. III. Science has a powerful claim upon the attention of young men, from the benefit it has conferred, and is yet capable of conferring, upon society. If the Gospel be the best gift of Heaven to men, signalized from all other gifts by the infinite preciousness of its benefits, and the unspeakable love of which these are the proof and the fruit, science is also eminently distinguished by its character of beneficence. It is to things of time what religion is to things of eternity. It bears pleasant fruit wherever it has taken root and grown. If it is not the prime instrument of civilization (for this honour, too, must be awarded to the Gospel), it at least advances its character, increases its resources, and confers some of the most precious benefits which men possess. Science has opened up all seas to our ships, and all lands to our commerce. It has prevailed against winds and tides, and marked out for us a distinct pathway over the pathless ocean. It has brought together the opposite ends of the earth, and brought to our homes all the varied products of every various clime. Science spreads our tables for us, and furnishes us with clothing. It has increased our capacities of motion, and promises to bring us yet greater benefits in the time to come. For who will say that science has reached its limits, that no further progress is to be made, and no better fruit reaped from it? Such a conclusion would be alike unwarranted by the experience of the past, and by the nature of science itself. The discoveries most fraught with blessings to man are all comparatively of recent origin, and almost every day is adding to their number. The face of society has been almost entirely changed by them within the memory of an existing generation. It is not long since the first steam-ship was launched, and we are every day learning more of the countless variety of ways in which the power of steam may be made available to the use and the comfort of man; and even contemplating what we have already acquired, who is there that would not account James Watt one of the most generous benefactors of our race? Who is there that would not wish to possess a fame as wide-spread and as deserved as his? But surely such discoveries as his are not beyond the reach of possibility. They are not beyond the reach of the humblest disciple of science; and it ought to give an impulse to your minds to know this fact, to labour in the hope that even you may be rewarded by some discovery which shall not only gain for you an imperishable renown, but which shall crown all posterity with manifold benefits. The laurel of the conqueror is stained with blood, and his path marked by desolation. The conquests of the man of science are more honourable and more pure. His path is like the fertilizing river, which covers the earth with riches, and adorns it with beauty. Why not enter upon and prosecute this path? IV. Science has its special claims upon the Christian youth, because of the position to which it elevates the possessor of it. The ignorant Christian incurs the contempt of the world. He incurs such contempt, it is true, most unjustly, for he who knows his Bible, and is walking in the light of its truth, is in reality in possession of a higher philosophy than the proud infidel who despises him. At the same time, it is important to take the argument from the infidel, that the Christian believes his Bible because he is the victim of a blind superstition, and is ignorant of that which wise men ought to know. The cultivation of science would produce this result, and might operate most beneficially in securing for Christianity the respect of the world, and possibly in inducing them to believe and embrace it. The Apostle Paul, when addressing the learned audience who assembled to hear him at Athens, did not disdain to commend himself to them by displaying his knowledge of their literature. We find him, in his brief discourse, quoting from their own poets, and showing that he was not a believer in the Gospel because he was ignorant of every other subject. And doubtless there was wisdom in seeking to commend his doctrine in this way to a learned and contemptuous people, who regarded all men besides themselves as barbarians. And in the history of the church, Christianity has certainly lost nothing, but may have gained much, through the scientific acquirements of those who have professed it. It is a felt advantage to the cause of Christianity that we have the name of Sir Isaac Newton on its side. This fact helps to commend the study of it to those who have become vain in their foolish philosophy. It has put to silence many an objection, and demonstrated that our holy faith is capable of securing the cordial assent of the greatest and most powerful minds which adorn the annals of philosophy. On the other hand, it is far from desirable that science should be allowed to remain as the exclusive possession of the enemies of religion, and that the acquisitions of men in secular knowledge should be unsanctified. How much better were our Christian men also our scientific men-that those who are the directors of the world's mind should also be lights in the firmament of religion. Nor, in the common intercourse of life, is it without obvious and eminent advantage that the Christian youth shall be in a position in which, however much the scorner may mock his piety, he may stand forth as his equal or superior in all intellectual acquirements. He should not be exposed to the charge of being weakminded and ignorant. And the Christian youth should be stimulated to avoid the charge, not only because it is disgraceful to underlie it, but because his liability to it will deservedly make his Christianity itself less influential and effective for good. I have anticipated much of what might have been said regarding the way in which the study of science should be regulated. I shall only now make the following brief observations: 1. Those who are engaged in business, and have a calling to attend to, should take care not to let their study of science interfere with that calling. Of most of young men it is true that their time has been lent to their employers, and it would obviously be sinful in them to neglect the business intrusted to them, even for such a praiseworthy object as the study of science. If the study of science be commenced and prosecuted under a violation of a plain moral duty, it can lead to no beneficial issue, and it were better to abandon it altogether. But while young men ought to do their employers' work, it were well also that the employers should not be so exacting in their demands, as to prelude young men from the possibility of prosecuting any kind of study with success. 2. Let not science take precedence of religion. This were to alter the proper relations of things. The most important should be first. Science is fitted to become the handmaid of religion. It is destructive to both when science takes the place and the authority of a mistress. 3. The study of science is to be prosecuted with a humble mind. Humility is the foundation of greatness both in science and religion. Pride is ruinous to both. | It was the humility of Newton which constituted his greatest glory. He felt himself as a 'child gathering shells beside the great ocean of truth.' And if, with his mighty acquisitions, he could sincerely experience and give utterance to such a feeling, how much more is it becoming in those who can scarcely yet be said to have begun to gather the shells, but who have been merely hearing the sound of the mighty billows of the ocean! He who has begun to entertain the conceit that he knows something, would do well to retrace his steps, and become persuaded that he knoweth nothing yet as he ought to know. SKETCHES OF PARIS AND THE PARISIANS. PART IV. REMARKABLE PLACES IN PARIS. THE BASTILE. IN our preceding number we gave a short account of the history of the Bastile, and a sketch of the building; we shall now select some of the historical anecdotes connected with it. The lofty circular towers of the Bastile derived their respective names from the most distinguished of the prisoners they once contained, or from some historical event of which they have been the scene. Thus the Tour de la Comté is said to have been so called because the unfortunate Count of St Pol-who held at bay the united forces of the Duke of Burgundy and Louis XI. of France, till he was entrapped in his own toils-had been confined in it in 1475, during the short interval that intervened between his arrest and his execution. The Tour de la Berthaudère derived its name from a like source; but it himself with the greatest ability. The king had fully is principally remarkable from having been the prison of pardoned him at Lyons, and all his misdemeanours had the mysterious Iron Mask-that enigma and disgrace of been committed before then. But the Parliament would the reign of Louis XIV. This unfortunate person, about not listen to this ;-they said the king did not then know whom so many conjectures have been advanced, seems to of his crimes, and consequently could not pardon them. have been a brother, legitimate or illegitimate, of Louis Paris was greatly excited during the trial, and the popuXIV.; and it was within the walls of this tower that his lace were almost unanimously in favour of his acquittal; lingering existence was passed, after being transferred but he was condemned-and to death. Great intercession thither from the Isle of St Marguerite. When death was made for him, but in vain. Henry, however, was ended his sufferings, the governor of the Bastile had the deeply moved. Had he told me the truth,' said he, interior of his apartment carefully scraped, so as to pre-though I have the proofs in my hand, he would not have vent the possibility of any writing on the walls betraying the secret of his name. In the Tour de la Coin the Marshal Bassompierre was imprisoned for twelve long years, from 1631 to 1643; and here he wrote his celebrated memoirs. In this tower, also, the Maître de Sacy was immured from 1666 to 16C9; during which period he executed the greater part of his translation of the Bible. been where he is. I would have given two hundred thousand crowns to have had the means of saving him. I never loved any one so much as I loved him. I could have intrusted him with my own son-with my kingdom itself!' The morning of his execution came. The fatal sentence was read over to him, and, kneeling before the altar, he listened to it attentively. When the registrary came to But it is chiefly in connexion with the name of the the words, for the crime of leze majesté,' he said brave and unfortunate Biron that we would now mention nothing; but when he heard him read on, 'for having the Bastile. His father had rendered important services compassed the king's life,' he turned round, and exelaimto Henry IV., and as a general had contributed much to ed-It's false, it's false !-take that out.' Then hearing the success of that monarch in the field; and he was con- that the Place de Grève, where malefactors were exsequently created Maréchal de Biron. His son no less ecuted, was appointed for his death-What, on the distinguished himself by his gallantry in battle; and was Grève!' he exclaimed. They told him that the king had first created Marshal and then Duke de Biron. He was remitted this part of the punishment as a special favour. as gallant a soldier as ever led the armies of France. His 'What a favour!' rejoined the duke. With a slight fault, however, appears to have been his pride and his abridgment we shall follow the account given in the ambition; and he would frequently exclaim to his inti- chronicle. The scaffold was erected in the court of the mate friends- Aut Cæsar, aut nullus.' When com- Bastile. Being led forth, the duke, having descended the manding the French forces in the Low Countries, the stairs, advanced ten paces without uttering a word, except Spanish general seems to have discovered this failing; Ha!' three times, and rather loud. He then came to and tampered with him, holding out to him the post of the scaffold-having marched thither, says the chronicle, generalissimo of the Spanish forces if he would change as if he were going to battle. Arrived there, he prayed sides. He was further led to his ruin by the hope of to God in a low voice for a quarter of an hour. After this obtaining in marriage a princess of Savoy, and thereafter he mounted the scaffold and received absolution: then acquiring from his own sovereign the hereditary govern- he looked at the soldiers who were guarding the gate, and ment of the dutchy of Burgundy. Henry heard of the said- Oh, how I wish that some of you would send a enemy having tried to tamper with him, but would not bullet through me! Alas, what a pity-mercy is dead!' believe the report; and in an interview with the Duke at When the registrary said 'Sir, your sentence must be Lyons, in which Biron confessed to have acted hotly in read." 'I have already heard it,' he replied. Sir,' resome matters, the king forgave him fully and freely what- joined the registrary, we must read it again.'-' Read, ever offences he might have committed up to that time. read!' said the duke. Still the duke talked on all the Evil reports, however, continued to blacken his name at while-at first calmly, but when he heard the words, court; and La Fin, a real or supposed agent in his trea-for compassing the king's life; Gentlemen,' he exsonable correspondence, made revelations which deeply implicated him. Henry was warmly attached to Biron; but he could no longer overlook his faults, and he summoned the duke to attend him at Fontainbleau-resolving that his clemency should be commensurate with his favourite's candour. In spite of the opposition of his friends, Biron obeyed the royal message. He was at first kindly received; but, ignorant of the revelations of La Fin, he stoutly protested his innocence. Again and again the king tried him, but still his pride would not let him confess. Henry was very uneasy about his obstinacy; and after one of his interviews with the duke, he paced up and down his apartment in much excitement, exclaiming, 'He must bend or break. At another time, when Biron was playing whist with the queen, Henry moved rapidly about the room, in the greatest agitation; and at length, as the chronicle says, unable to contain himself, rushed into his cabinet, and falling upon his knees, prayed long and earnestly that he might come to a right determination in this difficulty of mind. A final interview followed, in which the king told Biron that he knew all, but promising his clemency if the duke would confess. Still the duke was obstinate. His obstinacy was fatal ;— -as he left the king's chamber, he was arrested. The passage was lined with soldiers; his sword was taken from him; and thinking that he was to die on the spot, he endeavoured to snatch a weapon from those around him, and called on them to give him some weapon that he might at least die with arms in his hand. He was conducted to the Bastile, and shortly afterwards was tried before the Parliament of Paris. They refused him an advocate, but he defended claimed, this is false! Take that out of the sentence ! Thus died, in his fortieth year, one of the most gallant commanders and most accomplished courtiers ever produced by France. His tragic end still remains as a difficulty to be solved by the panegyrists of Henry IV., |