we were brothers-so long, that you at last learned to forget it too." enough for George. I have been fond of you ever he asked mournfully, as he laid his head on her captivity. Forgive me, Johan, that I so long forgot since you were a child-will you be my wife now?" shoulder. "Tell me do you really believe that we Ellen looked down for a moment; then, raising shall be happy?" her eyes to his, she said— "Ah, Johan! I saw very well how matters stood between you and George; but I will tell you frankly, that I would have preferred to have taken poor George for my husband, and kept you as my brother. However, since it was God's will to remove him from this world, there is no one whom I would rather marry than you. Are you content with this acceptance?" "Why not, dear Johan ?" said Ellen in a soothing manner. “We are both young-we have a sincere affection for each other-we will do all we can for our mutual happiness through life-and when one has a good conscience everything goes well." Her last words pierced Johan to the very soul; he felt perfectly wretched-he became as pale as death and a confession which would have crushed his hearer's heart trembled on his lips; but he forced it "I suppose I must be," replied Johan; but he be-back to the depths of his own soul, and was silent. came very pale, and he added, in a lower and somewhat discontented tone-"There was no need for your saying all this, Ellen; you may believe my assurance, that I am as much attached to you as ever George could have been." After a few moments she seemed to be listening to something, and suddenly she exclaimed"Hark! the church bells are ringing! They are coming-I must hasten to our poor mother." After she had left him, Johan remained for a time "Yes, Johan, yes!" said Ellen; "but it is need-in speechless anguish. "When one has a good conless to make comparisons now; nor ought you to be angry at what I have said. You are dearest to me after him; and, even if he stood here in your place, I would not be happy, if you were dead and gone." “Hush, Ellen, hush!" cried Johan, as he glanced over his shoulder with uneasiness. "Let us speak about our wedding-day; for my mother cannot live long, and we could not reside together after her death, unless we were married." After a little more conversation, Ellen shut the window, and withdrew; and the subject was not again alluded to the whole evening. When Johan went to bed, the thought occurred to him-"It was very strange that I forgot to seal our engagement with a single kiss. Am I never more to feel that I have a right to be happy?" science," he repeated at length. "Yes--it is true! But I, who have not a good conscience, how shall I become fortunate and happy? Oh! if she adored me—if she would be everything to me-of what avail would that be to me? Do I not feel that every endearment is a crime-every word of love an offence to him in his grave? Oh! if she knew all, she would spurn me from her, order me out of her presence, and heap curses on my head! But soon -soon-she will not be able to do that. We shall become man and wife—aye, man and wife before God's holy altar... but-will that ever be? When I walk with her up the church's aisle when the bells are ringing, the church adorned with green branches and flowers, and the rich tones of the organ make the heart swell in one's breast-can I be proud He could not sleep that night-he could not help or happy? Can I help looking back to see if a reflecting how it would have been, if it were George bloody shadow be not following me amongst my who was about to marry Ellen, and he who was kindred and my friends, who are the bridal guests? lying in the grave. "But George would then have Oh! horror, horror! And when the pastor procaused my death, and perhaps things are better nounces that those whom God has joined together as they are He tried to escape from thought-he no man shall put asunder-Oh! the blood will tried to sleep, and at last sleep came; but it brought freeze in my veins. No-living man-but a shadow no relief, for he found himself again standing in that from a tomb-a spectre-a murdered brother's rewell-remembered wood, and saw again before him that small house, with its dreadful recollections. He felt himself struggling violently to keep the trap-door shut, till the perspiration poured down his face ; and then he awoke in his agitation, and anything was better than the horror of such a vivid dream. "Oh! why is it not all a dream!" he exclaimed, as he wrung his hands in agony of spirit. And there he stood now upon the hill, hiding his face from the sweetness of the morning, and the cheerful rays of the sun, as if he feared to pollute the glorious gifts which God had bestowed on creation and felt that they were not intended for his enjoyment. Suddenly, he flung himself down, and buried his face amidst the early dew that stood upon the ground, mingling with it the hot tears that chased each other swiftly down his cheeks. At that moment, a soft hand was gently laid upon his head, and a mild voice exclaimed "But, Johan! why are you lying here? What can be the matter with you?" And when he raised his head, and Ellen saw his disturbed look, she sat down by him, and put her arm affectionately round him. 44 vengeful ghost-will appear. Oh! George, George! arise from your grave, and let me change places with you!" Drops of agony are falling from his brow, every joint seems rigid in his closely-clasped hands, and every limb of the unhappy sinner is trembling. But what angel from heaven is yon? He kneels by his side-he pushes back the thick hair, and wipes off the clammy dew of mortal anguish from his forehead. Johan looks up. "Oh! is it a spectre from the grave, or is it he? George !-George! No-no-no!-he smiles-it cannot be himself!" Johan stretched out his feverish, trembling hands, and grasped his brother's arm. "Is it you, George? Merciful God, can it be yourself?" "It is I—I myself!" replied George, approaching closer to his brother. "And you are not dead?" cried Johan. "Answer me, for God's sake! Have I not murdered you?" "Hush!-hush!" said George; "you pushed me back from the trap-door, indeed, but I fell down flat, and the guns did not injure me. The enemy took Do you believe that we shall be happy, Ellen?" me prisoner, however, and I have just come from Johan stood for a few moments as if he had been turned into stone, then raised his eyes, and cast one long, earnest look towards heaven; but in that look there was a world of gratitude and delight. He then threw himself on his brother's neck, and embraced him warmly. "Go to your bride!" he cried, as he withdrew his arms, and pointed to the cottage in the vale. "I have not killed him!" he shouted; "I have not murdered my brother!—he lives! Oh! thou God of goodness, I thank thee that thou hast saved my brother!" And he kissed the flowers, he embraced the trees, he rolled on the grass in the wild delirium of his joy; but he became calmer by degrees, his thoughts seemed to become more collected, and he raised his tearful eyes to the blue heavens above, while his lips murmured his thanks and praise for the unexpected blessing vouchsafed to him. Several days have passed since then; the wedding morning has come at last; the bells ring; the church is decorated with fresh flowers and green boughs, and the pealing organ is heard outside in the church-yard. See; here comes the bridal party, gaily dressed, and adorned with garlands of flowers. The bride advances between two young men, each holding one of her hands. The one brother gives her to the other. Long had they disputed in a friendly spirit which should be permitted to sacrifice himself, and to yield Ellen; but one of them had a crime to expiate; he was most anxious to make reparation for it, and he triumphed in the fraternal struggle. See how his eyes sparkle! See with what firm and elastic steps he advances! And, though deeply agitated as he holds out his right hand to place the bride by his brother's side at the altar, how earnestly he joins in prayer, and how distinctly gratitude and peace are depicted in bis countenance! It is night in the valley; the wind is hushed, and not a leaf is stirring; all is so still, that the gentle trickling of the water in the little rivulet near can be heard at an usual distance. The quiet moonbeams shine on the windows of the cottage where George and Ellen, the newly-married couple, are; and the roses which cluster round them exhale their sweetest perfumes. But what wanderer is yon, who, with a knapsack on his back and a staff in his hand, stands beneath the oak trees on the hill? He stretches out his arms towards that lowly house in a last adieu, for his path must henceforth lead elsewhere. Why does he now kneel on the grassy height? why does he lift his hands to heaven in prayer? Can it be possible that he thanks God because his beloved is his brother's bride? Can it be possible that, with a heart unbroken by grief-that with tears, which are in his eyes, he can leave all he has ever loved, to become pilgrim in a foreign land? It is for a conscience, released from the heavy burden of guilt, supports and blesses him, and transforms every sigh into gratitude and joy. not of sorrow, "WALLED TOWNS," says Bacon, "stored arsenals and armouries, goodly races of horse, chariots of war, elephants, ordnance; all this is but sheep in a lion's skin, except the breed and disposition of the people be stout and warlike.” Contributed to the Illustrated New York Journal. STA ST. PAUL'S. mands. And if the carved statue can lift one poor soul out of its misery, not in vain was it lifted to its high place. Contributed to the Illustrated New York Journal A HORSEBACK RIDE. TANDING the other day underneath Mr. Barnum's balcony, looking wistfully towards St. Paul's opposite, and wondering by what ingenious means we could reach it through the solid bulwark of jammed-up vehicles that interposed, we chanced to look up, when our gaze suddenly rested THE hired man had saddled the horse, and brought upon the benign face of the old Apostle, looking him round to the side where he stood proudly down from his lofty niche in the church upon the pawing the dirt with his hoof. He was a new horse, frightful clatter at his feet. He looked so majestic, that had been purchased but a few days before of so calm, so passionless, that it seemed to us that he one of the farmers in an adjacent town; and being would extend his arm, and calm down into awful young, spirited, and handsome, he was just such a silence the irreverent bustle of the scene. We won- creature as Martha would be likely to pet And dered that his lips did not open, and that the grand while the man was still engaged in smoothing out his old eloquence that inspired of yore those of Rome mane, and the two sisters stood regarding him, and Corinth, did not flow out to hold spell-bound Martha declared she would give him a name; all that he looked upon. But, sternly motionless," and it shall be Button!" she exclaimed, holding there he stood, strangely contrasted with the fran-out her hand to receive the caress she fancied he tic babel, of which we formed a part. The clashing would repay her with for her compliment. of vehicles, the angry oaths of excited drivers, the swiftly-moving, jostling, and impatient crowd, the clang of a dozen hoarse instruments of music, that brayed out distracting discord from Mr. Barnum's show windows, the jargon of trade-a strange scene, indeed for St. Paul to preside over. To preside over ! It is profanation to him that he should forever be bound to such a scene, that around him there should prevail so much discord, passion, and worldliness, without even a reverent thought, or a holy impulse floating up to him. His statue should stand in a more congenial place, where brows might be bared, and hearts bow down to him. But as it is, we wonder when it occurs to any of the crowd passing by of the nearness of his symbolized presence? Not often. The church itself, with its old grave-yard, so full of many associations, that in another place would awaken emotions of reverence and holiness, here possesses no such influence, or possesses it but faintly! The monuments to Montgomery and Emmet elsewhere would attract pilgrims but here, rarely is an eye turned upon them. The crowds rush on in choked and angry streams, full of all the mad hopes, passions, fears, and aspirations of human nature, muttering curses at the church door, and and hurling maledictions up into the face of the Apostle above them. "Now be very careful that your Button doesn't run away with you, Mat!" warned her sister Mary, assisting her into the saddle with her hand and shoulder. "I wish you had promised to ride first," returned Martha. "I'm sure I had much rather you would." "Ah, that indeed, now! When you begin to think that somebody's neck is likely to be broken, then you feel a little more willing it should be mine than your own! No, I thank you. I must positively decline your kind offer. Pray, let me insist on your making the first experiment yourself." Martha turned upon her a face of innocent surprise, and exclaimed—“ Why, sister! you know I meant no such thing! How cruel!" "Well, well, Mat,” broke forth her sister, eager to smooth out the wrinkles caused by the speech, "it will be soon enough for me to ride, when you return. I'm in no particular worry to view the country to-day. So cut up your little Button, and away with you!" The little horse laid his ears back close to his head, not wickedly so much as playfully, and began switching his long tail hither and thither, whilst Martha self-possessedly kept her seat in the saddle, and commenced stroking his glossy neck ever so gently with her hand. On his back, she looked like a picture of health and beauty. The blood richly mantled her cheeks, from merely the inspiriting thoughts that danced in her brain; and her eyes glowed and sparkled with pleasure, in expectation of nothing but the beautiful evening ride she was going to have. But stop! Here is one as calm, as passionless, as rigid as the stone figure of the Apostle itself. Can there be any sympathy between them? It is the bent and withered form of a hag seated upon the Museum steps. By her side there is a mean basket half full of decayed apples. Observe how immov- It was just at the close of a charming spring day, able, how calm she is. The furious clatter disturb the sun playing about the summits of the hills, gildher not; she heeds not the passing of the multi-ing the wood-spires that shot up in serried rows from tude. One would think that to sit so, hour after their soil, and throwing back over the lowlands and hour, in so much noise, would madden her poor, old, the plains the reflections of its dying brilliancy. weak brain. What is there within her? Light or darkness? Lethargic despair, or brilliant hope? Who knows but that her soul is only dead and deaf, because it soars beyond the clamor and clatter of the world, with her gaze fixed upon the brow of the Apostle, whose presence is as sunlight to her. If so, what is it more than the re-acting of the scenes of old, when Paul went forth at his Master's com The air of the evening was bland and soft; just strong enough, thought the fair horseman, to be a little invigorating. It would serve to heighten still more the fresh color of the rider's cheeks, and excite to still a pleasanter pitch the tone of her sympathizing spirits. “Possibly you are anxious to get rid of me!" said she, in reply to her sister's urgency. "Very well, then; here we go. Come, my little Button! Come up, Button!" And gracefully, but firmly, reining him in, she started out of the yard on a slow and very agreeable canter. The girl was a good horseman, and entertained not the first fear for her ability to keep her seat in almost any emergency. The horse, to be sure, was a new one, and she quite unused to him; but she had unbounded confidence in herself, and that is invariably the first and last requisite of good horsemanship. In her hand she carried a light ridingwhip, with the silky end of which she patted ever so gently the little horse's mane, while she continued talking to him almost as to a child. As he bore her away, she turned her face around just as she was going into the arched avenue of a wooded lane, and beheld her sister still standing in the yard, looking after her with an appearance of deep interest. Martha hastily waved her hand, spoke encouraging again to Button, and in another moment was lost in the winding aisle of the forest by-road. As she got on, and as she felt her confidence each moment more and more established, her interest in the natural objects around her engrossed nearly the whole of her attention; and she fell into her wonted habit of admiration and reverie immediately. Her eyes ran quickly up and down the moss-spotted trunks of the trees, and lodged their arrowy glances in the thick clusters of the green leaves; or swept away with a single, far-reaching gaze over meadows and hillsides, scouring the whole country for objects of beauty. After a while, she suffered the horse to walk; and she thought he threw down his head upon his breast, and arched his neck with such a proud prettiness, that he was perfectly satisfied with the character of both his rider and the excursion. The cool air in the glades fell refreshingly on her forehead and cheeks, and insensibly almost her spirits passed from a state of exhilaration to one of comparative repose. The pictures such as her imagination had hitherto painted for her, were now about her on every side; and she felt that the mere paintings had never yet equalled the realities. It seemed to do her eyes good, to get unbounded views of such beautiful landscapes. The horse walked slowly on. The bridle rein hung loosely about his neck. The air was enticing. And the girl was in a dream; and a dream, too, on horseback! She could not help thinking-as indeed all think who know anything about it-that views from the saddle are brighter views, and fresher views, and broader, and far more beautiful than from almost any other situation; and the heightened spirits never fail to flush them with the warmth of their own coloring, and to impart to them the glowing life with which they are themselves overflowingly full. Her enjoyment she thought was perfect; indeed, she questioned if ever in her life she had been happier than she was at this moment. Down into a beautiful dell she slowly trotted, her face turned first to one side of the road and then to the other. It was a spot-she thought within herself-quiet enough for the fairies to hold their midnight revels in. The broad bands of green turf striped the road, and little Button trotted evenly between them. She had gathered up the reins a trifle, though they still hung rather loosely over his neck, as if she would say to him in all candor and friendliness-"Now, you mustn't play me false, Button! I put full confidence in you, you understand; so be sure and do your very best for me this time, and you will find me the truest of friends hereafter! You hear me, Button-don't you?" As if he really did hear her, he laid his small ears back close upon his head, switched the air briskly with his tail, and fell forthwith from a trot into quite a lively canter. "Not too fast, Button! Not too fast, sir! I want time to look about me a little, you know!" said she, reining him in somewhat. "Button," she went "I like the scenery hereabouts, and I mean to try to make you like it too!" on, Out from the forest-road she emerged upon the broad and open plain, where the fading sunlight lay with a dying glory, gilding leaves, and grass, and rocks together. The little brooks went singing along by the roadside, gurgling and gushing with a perfect joy. Squirrels began to chirp and chatter upon the gray stone-walls, now racing along on their tops, and now hiding themselves a moment over the other side, whisking their bushy tails in the fullness of their delight. Birds were putting up their grateful evening chorals, their feathered throats swelling and ruffling with song. If ever beauty was to be found anywhere, surely, thought Martha, here it was all about her. If any where nature was charming, throwing out her arms —as it were—for one, smiling broadly and benignantly, blessing her children and asking to be blessed in return-surely, surely, it was here. in a small coppice of chesnuts, accompanied too wrought up to its highest tension, and that they "Whoa, Button! Steady, Button!" spake she, in the firmest voice she could command, while she grasped the reins and drew upon them with all her might. the But every second now that he ran, he seemed to As excellent a horseman as Martha knew herself Her grasp on the bridle was tight and firm, yet it seemed as if her hand had no strength left to check his impetuous career. She was unable even to guide him. He had his head, and threw out his fore feet with a swift stretch that told the observer at a glance that the animal was a desperate runaway. She watched as closely the changing hues of the clouds, as the manifold pictures the landscape offered her; and her soul seemed to have put on etherial wings, that wafted her far beyond the atmosphere of sordid realities, and bathed itself in the resplendent colors that floated in the heavens. What poetry her One moment the girl's cheeks would be highly nature possessed was excited now to its extreme flushed with color, red and burning; and the next, limit of passionateness. What dreams had ever they were as pale as whiteness itself. As she dawned on her soul's sight before, at this time swept swiftly through the air, the wind shrieking seemed to clothe themselves with the attributes of a with a fearful sound in her ears, cold chills crept living reality. Oh, those evening clouds !—those over her, the dampness stood in the palms of her evening clouds! Grand, massy, and glorious-piled hands, and the strength slowly left her limbs. She up in battlements of such gorgeous colors, with knew too well how fearful a ride she was taking, streamers sailing and swimming away from them all-rolling slowly hither and thither, like great billows, in the far off sea of cloudless ether-showing mysterious cliffs, and suggesting unfathomable deeps beyond, where only brightness and unbroken blue stretched away for ever and for ever-how they wrought in the soul of the enthusiastic girl, kindling struction-on, on, on! her emotions to a warmth that was little less than a living ecstasy! She soliloquized all the time, in low and broken sentences, on the beauties and the splendors that so held her enchanted. Forgetful of her situation, and thinking only of the scenes that so enraptured her vision, she had thoughtlessly suffered the bridle to lie loosely over Button's neck again, leaving him to pursue the course that best pleased himself. It was but a moderate gait, and such as assisted her greatly in her tranquil enjoyment. But the sharp and sudden report of a gun from very near the roadside, just and could clearly calculate the very few chances Her sensations now were indescribable. There She She finally reached a spot where the country road forked. If she could guide him to the left, he would be obliged to climb a long and precipitous hill; that much she could sufficiently collect her thoughts to understand. And she pulled with all her failing strength of hand upon the rein. But she might as well have pulled at a rope around an oak, so little heeded he the power that should have directed him. He tore along by the other road, and now she knew nothing of what was next to come. Her heart sunk now quite within her. Hardly had she proceeded a dozen rods, when the figure of something-she could not tell whatsprang out of a thick clump of bushes near the roadside, and the next instant was hanging and dangling from her horse's neck. For the first time since the beginning of this terrific race, she uttered A voice shouted to the horse in shrillest a low cry. tones, and a person was perseveringly dragging and pulling his head downwards to the earth. The animal shook--became irregular in his motion—trembled convulsively-and as a last resort tried to rear on his hind feet. But the grasp upon the bit was as the hold of a vice. It was not to be shaken off at all. It finally succeeded in breaking down the mad strength of the runaway, and bringing him to a complete stand still. Martha almost fell into the stranger's arms, while, without a syllable, he offered to assist her from her dizzy seat in the saddle. She leaned heavily on his shoulder, and immediately sank down on a rock by the side of the road. The reaction from excessive fear to calmness of perfect safety, was too overwhelming. Securing the horse to a tree close at hand, the stranger hastened to lend assistance to the fainting girl; and lifting her again from her seat, he carried her slowly to a little run of water that fortunately was but a few paces off. There he bathed her temples in the cooling stream, dipping it up in the palm of his hand, and still supporting her with his arm. It was with a feeling of profound joy, therefore, that he heard her exclaim at length in a low voice"I am better now! Oh, what an escape!" was a swimming in her eyes, and a giddiness in her M. LIEBIG. HEMISTRY enters into all the businesses and employments of life, and civilisation can no more do without this assistant and ally, than animal life can do without food and air. The great men, therefore, who have devoted their talents to this wonderful, and, we may say, exhaustless science, may truly be placed on the roll of the great names of their age. Such names as Liebnitz, Davy, Franklin, Priestley, Liebig, and Faraday, have already their places there in undying characters. Every one of them is an intellectual star of the first magnitude, shedding a light before which the angry blaze of a warrior's fame dies away like the last streak of red the young moon extinguishes in the western horizon. Of this splendid galaxy of genius, the name of Liebig, the great German chemist, is one of the most distinguished. His labors, not alone in chemistry, but in connection with almost every science, have made him known in every region where civilisation has penetrated. His researches prove him to be one of the most original and accurate philosophers of the day. And if we were to review all the achievements of this great man, we should scarcely know which to admire most, his indomitable energy, untiring sagacity, or his prodigious industry. Second only to Liebnitz in profundity of suggestion, he excels him in detail and explicitness. Seldom obscure or tedious, he has contributed as much as any chemist of this or any other period to make chemistry a popular study His treatises on food are accepted, as containing the soundest doctrines, by the medical faculty; and if to this we add his contributions in promotion of manufactures and the arts, we think we are entitled to hold him up to the eulogy of the public, with whom his name is so familiar, as one of the greatest men of the age. ST. FLORE. * A NEW HISTORICAL ROMANCE. (FROM THE GERMAN OF HORN.) Gui listened with breathless interest; but every word added to his grief, and when Rabaud had con "No, Gui. I believe that the criminal may become an honest man, but never can I believe that D'Arbèque's hatred will be changed to love. I know him. I know all thy father did to win him back, but in vain." Gui was in despair. A bitter grief filled his heart. He felt that its wounds were beyond all power to heal. Gabrielle was lost to him. The dream of his happiness, in which in the quiet night he had so often indulged, was dispelled, and with a sorrowful step he pursued his homeward path. When Salers met him at the door he was startled by his dejected appearance. "What has happened?" he inquired anxiously, but at a sign from Rabaud he was silent. "I have news for thee, Gui," said Salers, turning to him. "An old gipsy woman was here a few days since; Adelma they call her the same who was so often at St. Flore-and she gave me this piece of necessary; and the conviction that he was poor was forced upon him, from the knowledge of the fact that all his father's estates had been forfeited to the crown, and that he himself was an outlaw, with a name in ill odor with so many of his fellow-countrymen. His mind revolted from asking assistance of Rabaud or Salers, and many a time he resolved to go with such worldly effects as he possessed and offer himself to Coligny just as he was. That he would be rejected on account of his youth and inexperience he had no apprehension; but the consideration was somewhat galling to a youth of spirit and enterprise, that he could not enter on his duty to his country in a style befitting his real rank and station. One day in April, when storms of rain and hail were raging, and few who had no business to call them out of doors left the house, Gui sat still in a corner of the window seat, gazing absently on the wild sky. He was alone in the room, for Salers and Rabaud were closely occupied in the adjoining apartment in the examination of papers, and as Gui could overhear them extremely earnest and animated in their conversation-an event so rare in their usually quiet house-his curiosity was greatly excited. "The storm of which I told thee is gathering, but it has not yet burst. Not until streams of blood flow In a short time the door opened and they entered around thee shall there be peace-that lies, however, the sitting-room. There was something of a dignifar, far from thee. Thou didst not tell me thy pur-fied solemnity in their manner which was unwonted pose; but I knew it, and I followed thee. Thou hast suffered for thy rashness; but Adelma is not angry with thee." either with Rabaud or Salers, and to the young man's astonishment Rabaud thus formally addressed him: "Gui de Viole de St. Flore, you have, as we know, "A new riddle,” said Salers; "where didst thou long cherished the desire to lift up your arm in the meet with that unhappy woman?" service of your holy religion and that of your country. Gui then related without any reservation the con- Right worthy the name you bear is your determinaversation he had with the gipsy. "It is no longer safe for us to remain here," said Salers. "Our peace is at an end. God grant that no harm may come of this." "Not your peace," said Gui; "mine is, it is true, destroyed for ever; therefore let me depart. This is not the life for me now. I see signs of a struggle in my fatherland, and my resolution is taken. I will go to the wars, and fight manfully for my faith and for my rights." tion to assist in delivering our land from the hated yoke of Papacy; but that you may acquit yourself in a manner worthy of that name, you must have those means which, as your devoted servants, it is our duty to provide. We now, therefore, render you a faithful account of the money which we have been enabled to save from the wreck of your father's property, and herewith present you with a correct statement of the accounts. See that it is right." Gui looked at Rabaud in astonishment, but his surA fiery courage gleamed in his fine eye, and Ra- prise was not unmixed with pain at the altered man baud looked at him with astonishment. "Not too rashly," they said. "Let us, like wise men, consider and weigh it well; for, remember, it is God's cause!" cluded, it seemed to him that the gates of Paradise CHAPTER VII.-THE BUTCHER had closed behind him. "D'Arbèque's hatred," said Rabaud, "knows neither limit nor cessation. He never forgives; therefore our remaining here is impossible." "How?" said Gui. "Will he not forgive the father for the sake of the service of his son? Surely his heart must relent, and kindly feelings succeed to hatred and anger." “Canst thou soften these stones? rect the course of yon stream which precipice, and bid it retreat? stern winter into genial summer? bèque relent." Canst thou dirushes down the Canst thou change Then can D'Ar "Your judgment is very hard. You doubt, apparently, in the possibility of changing man's heart." This tale was commenced in the July number. OF VASSY-GUI FINDS A FRIEND IN NEED THE QUEEN MOTHER AND THE ASTROLOGER. ner of his friend. The fatherly "thou" had indeed been frequently dropped of late by Rabaud, and there was at times a cold formality, and a measured manner of speaking, existing only since their return from the Castle D'Arbèque, which had wonnded the youth. "What does this mean?" he said tenderly, for his heart was full. "Would you banish me from your love, which has hitherto been my only protection and THE peace and joy which had formerly reigned in refuge? What have I done to merit the loss of that the home of the three friends were banished. On Gui's spirit a cloud rested, which seemed to gather thicker day by day; and willingly as the young heart usually rests on the anchor of hope, Gui's blessing?" Tears stood in the eyes of both the servants, and Rabaud was too greatly agitated to speak. At length, Salers replied that the time was come appeared to have abandoned it. Rabaud's words when some change in their conduct was requisite, were ever present with him, and on every dark pre- and when the character of servants, only laid aside sage of Adelma's, to which, with the credulity of the for the purpose of disguising his true rank, must be age in which he lived, he attached a literal meaning, resumed; and-but before Salers could say any he dwelt with a morbid sensitiveness which destroyed more, Gui was in Rabaud's arms. He entreated his happiness and activity. In this state of mind his them, with an earnestness which could not be denied, desire to enter the army became irresistible; but that they would never more allude to any change in with this desire came a practical difficulty, that of their manner to him. His thanks, his devotion were poverty. In order to join the ranks of the Protest-breathed forth with a fullness of gratitude which ants, led by Coligny, a horse and arms were at least overpowered the faithful Rabaud, who, when a little [LIEBIG, THE CHEMICAL PHILOSOPHER.] Engraved expressly for The Illustrated N. Y. Journal. tranquility was restored, entreated the young man to attend to the accounts which they had prepared. The sum which he found to be saved, was larger than he could have anticipated. “But,” said he, “ when I have purchased my horse pistols, sword, and coat, I shall need nothing more, and the surplus I will therefore leave with you, my trusty friends. Your old days must not be saddened by want, for sure I am that if I eeded succor, you would never deny it to me." "Let it then remain in trust for you," said Salers; "for who knows but that the time may come when you will require it even more than at present?" Genlis, and Grammont decided to enlist on the side of the Huguenots. Francis, at the head of his adherents, eft Joinville, at the end of February. On the 1st of March, 1562, he arrived at Vassy, a small town in Champagne (Haute Marne), intending to remain there a few hours, for the purpose of recruiting himself after his rapid journey from Joinville. Accompanied by a small number of his party the Duke at once repaired to the Church of Vassy for the purpose of hearing mass; but the accommcdation in the building being insufficient for the larger portion of his retinue, many of them were left standing idly without the doors, waiting for the termination of the service, when at a short distance they heard the sound of a Protestant hymn proceeding from a barn where the Huguenots were, according to their customs, offering their simple tribute of praise to Almighty God. It was a welcome opportunity for the Catholics to fall upon the unoffending and unarmed heretics; and, accordingly, hastening to the spot, they commenced their attack by gross insult and abusive language, accompanied by a pelting shower of stones, which, although for a few moments the Protestants endured with patience, so provoked the indignation of the injured party, that they finally came to blows The alarm spread to the church, and the Duke leaving the service unfinished, proceeded towards the scene of action, where he immediately received a blow on the cheek from a stone. The sight of his bleeding face roused the fury of the Guise party, and a pitiless slaughter followed Sixty bodies of the Protestant party lay dead on the field. and above two hundred were seriously wounded. Guise's men had not escaped unhurt, and the number of their wounded was considerable. The magistrate of Vassy, alarmed at the tumult, sought an audience of the stern Duke, and entreated for pity on the unhappy Protestants, who were still struggling for life on the scene of conflict. "Are you, then, a heretic ?" he inquired, fiercely. "I am not, my Lord," was the bold reply. 'I am a Catholic, like yourself; but my heart bleeds at this massacre, so much the more as it is unlaw cope with the Queen Mother. But the Triumvirate* ful and cowardly-cowardly, because the Huguenots were unarmed; faithless, for the Edict of St. Ger main has permitted the Huguenots to hold meetings for worship without fear of interruption or disturbance." In this season of public irritation at Paris, Francis received an intimation from the Catholics there that his presence was absolutely necessary for their support, as the Queen Mother seemed to ally herself From this day everything was in a state of prepa- more and more closely with Condé and the leaders of ration in the humble cottage, in anticipation of the the Huguenot party, and matters were assuming a young adventurer's departure, which took place at a very serious aspect. Francis gladly obeyed the sumcrisis when the affairs of the Protestant party seemed mons, and his train was so numerous when they left peculiary favorable for Gui's entrance into military | Lorraine, that it resembled a little army. Coligny life. Meanwhile the favor which Catherine de Medicis had manifested towards the Huguenots had an appearance of sincerity which, whilst it wholly deceived, seriously alarmed the Catholic party. Montmorency and St. André, bigoted Papists, were the only staunch supporters of the Catholics who remained at Court, and were far from being able to also was on the alert, and the union between him * By the Triumvirate is intended the party of the Guises Francis Duke of Guise; his brother, the Cardinal of Lorraine ; The Duke glanced angrily at the magistrate, and, "This sword shall cut asunder the cursed Edict." With deep horror at the unrelenting Duke the magistrate left his presence, and the massacre continued, without mercy, until the darkness of night veiled the slaughter of the day. The Protestants fled into the mountains and forests, and the fearful news of the butchery at Vassy was borne to Coligny's ears on the wings of the wind. The brand of a civil war was lighted in France, and its consequences will be seen here?^er.* The history of the time gives a frightful picture of the massacre at Vassy. Women, children, and aged persons were fallen upon by Guise's party, without mercy, and more than eighty persons fell victims to their rage. Every one that could not escape was murdered, and Francis of Guise well deserved his unenviable title of the butcher of Vassy. (See "Browning's History of the Huguenots" "Vie de Coligny," &c.) |