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The house of Bourbon groaned under the oppression of the house of Lorraine; and Anthony, King of Navarre, quietly submitted to many indignities of a dangerous result. The Prince of Conde, his brother, still more indignantly treated, tried to throw off the yoke, and in this great design associated himself with Admiral Coligni, chief of the house of Chatillon. The court had no more dangerous enemy. Conde was more ambitious, more enterprising, more active; Coligni was of a more sedate character, more temperate in his conduct, more capable of being the head of a party; as unfortunate in fact in war as Conde, but often repairing by his skill what seemed irreparable; more dangerous after a defeat than his enemies were after a victory; moreover, possessing in these stormy times and factions as many virtues as the circumstances admitted. The Protestants then began to be numerous and to feel their power. Superstition, the secret impositions of the monks of that day, the immense power of Rome, the taste of men for novelty, the ambition of Luther and Calvin, the policy of many princes, served to augment this sect, free, indeed, from superstition, but tending as rapidly to anarchy as the religion of Rome was to tyranny. The Protestants had suffered the most violent persecutions in France, the sure way of multiplying proselytes. Their sect grew in the midst of scaffolds and tortures. Conde, Coligni, the two brothers of Coligni, their partisans, and all who had been tyrannized over by the Guises, embraced at the same time the Protestant religion. They united in such concert their complaints, their revenge, and their interests, that there was at the same time a revolution in religion as well as in the State. The first enterprise was to arrest the Guises at Amboise, and secure the person of the king. Although this plot was conducted with boldness and secrecy, it was discovered at the moment it was about to be executed. The Guises punished the conspirators in the most cruel manner, to intimidate their enemies, n '„.n fmiri form

Conde was made prisoner, and accused of treason. His trial took place, and he was condemned to death. While his trial was pending, Anthony, King of Navarre, his brother, raised at Guienne, at the solicitation of his wife and Coligni, a great many gentlemen, both Protestants and Catholics attached to his house. He passed through Germany with his army; but from a simple message from the court, which he received on the way, he bade them farewell with tears: " I must obey," he said; "but I will obtain your pardon from the king." "Go and ask pardon for yourself," said an old captain, "our safety is at the point of our swords." Anthony went on his way, and arrived at court. He then begged for the life of his brother, though not sure of his own. He went daily to the duke and Cardinal Guise, who received him seated and their heads covered, while he stood with bare head. All was ready for the execution of the Prince of Conde, when the king fell suddenly ill and died. The circumstances and suddenness of this event, the inclination of men to suspect that the sudden death of princes is not natural, gave occasion to the general report that Francis II. had been poisoned. His death changed the aspect of affairs. The Prince of Conde was set at liberty; his party began to take breath again; the Protestant faith increased more and more; the authority of the Guises decreased, without, however, being wholly put down; Anthony of Navarre recovered a shade of authority which satisfied him. Mary Stuart was sent to Scotland, and Catharine de Medicis, who began to act her first part on the stage, was declared regent of the kingdom during the minority of Charles IX., her second son. She found herself involved in a labyrinth of insurmountable difficulties, among two different religions and two different factions, who were disputing with each other, and contending for the sovereign power. This princess resolved to destroy them with their own weapons, if it were possible. She nursed the hatred between the Guises and Conde; she sowed the seed of civil war indifferity. The Guises, who were zealous Catholics, because Goligni and Conde were Protestants, were a long time at the head of the army. Many battles were fought; the country at the same time was laid waste by threo or four armies. The Constable Ann, of Montmorenci, was killed at St. Denis in the seventy-fourth year of his age. Francis, Duke of Guise, was assassinated at Poltrot, at the siege of Orleans. Henry III., Duke of Anjou, a great prince in his youth, though a king of little merit in his maturity, gained the battle of Jarnac against Conde, and that of Montcontour against Coligni. The conduct of Conde and his melancholy death at the battle of Jarnac are too remarkable to be passed over without notice. He had been wounded in his arm two days before the battle. When about to engage the enemy, he received an unlucky kick from a fractious horse on which one of his officers was mounted. The prince, without showing any signs of pain, said to those around him: "Gentlemen, you may learn from this accident that an unruly horse is more dangerous than useful in a day of battle. Come," said he, "the Prince of Conde, with his arm in a sling and a broken leg, is not afraid to moot the foe when you follow him." His success did not equal his courage; he was defeated; all his army was routed. His horse being shot under him, he supported himself as best he could against a tree, almost fainting from the pain he suffered, but still undaunted, with his face to the foe. Monte.squion, captain of the guards of the Duke of Anjou, passed by when the prince was in this helpless state, and asked who it was. Being told it was the Prince of Conde, ho killed him in cold blood. After the death of Conde, the whole weight of the party came on the shoulders of Coligni. Jane dAlbret, then a widow, confided her son to his care. Thus young Henry, at the age of fourteen, went within the army, and shared the hardships of war. Labor and adversity were his guides and his teachers. His mother and the admiral had no other view than to render their religion in France independent of the church of Koine, and to secure their own author

ity against the power of Catharine de Medicis.

Catharine was already quit of many of her rivals. Francis, Duke of Guise, the most dangerous and injurious of them all, although of the same party, had been assassinated at Orleans. Henry of Guise, his son, who has acted so great a part since on the stage of the world, was then very young. The Prince of Conde was dead. Charles IX., son of Catharine, had taken the turn she desired, and was blindly submissive to her will. The Duke of Anjou, since Henry III., was absolutely in her interests. She only feared Jane d'Albret, Coligni, and the Protestants. She imagined that a single blow could destroy them all, and render her power absolute.

She made the king and even the Duke of Anjou acquainted with her design. Everything was concerted; the snare was prepared. An advantageous peace was offered to the Protestants. Coligni, tired of the civil war, warmly accepted the offer. Charles, to remove all suspicion, gave his sister in marriage to young Henry of Navarre. Jane d'Albret, deceived by the flattering appearances, came to court with her son, Coligni, and the principal Protestants. The marriage was celebrated with due pomp, the most cordial manners, every assurance of friendship, every kind of oath, so sacred among men, was lavished by Catharine and tho king. The rest of the court was occupied with feasts, sports, and masquerades. At length one night, the eve of St. Bartholomew, in the month of August, 1572, the signal was given at midnight. All the houses of the Protestants were broken into and entered at the same time. Admiral Coligni, alarmed at the noise, jumped out of bed. A band of assassins entered his chamber. A certain man named Berne, from Lorraine, who had been brought up a domestic in the house of Guise, was at their head. He thrust his sword into the body of the admiral, and gave him a cut across the face. Young Henry, Duke of Guise, who afterwards formed the Catholic league, and was assassinated at Blois, stood at the door of Coligni's house awaiting the end of the assassination, and asked in a loud voice,

"Is it done?" Immediately the assassins threw his body out of the window. Coligni fell and expired at the feet of Guise, who walked over his body, not that he was carried away with that Catholic zeal for persecution which at that time had infected half France, but he was pushed on by the spirit of revenge, which, if not as cruel as a false zeal for religion, often leads to greater baseness. In the mean time, all the friends of Coligni were attacked in Paris; men, children,— all were massacred without distinction. All the streets were blocked up with the dead. Some priests, holding a crucifix in one hand and a sword in the other, went at the head of the murderers and encouraged them in the name of God to spare neither relatives nor friends. The Marshal Tavannes, an ignorant and bigoted soldier, who united the madness of religion with the rage of party, rode through Paris, crying to the soldiers, "Blood! blood! Bleeding is as healthy in the month of August as in the month of May!" The king's palace was one of the principal scenes of carnage; for the Prince of Navarre lodged in the Louvre, and all his domestics were Protestants. Some were killed in bed together with their wives; others fled naked, and were pursued by the soldiers down-stairs and through the apartments of the palace, even to the king's ante-chamber. The young wife of Henry of Navarre, awakened by this frightful tumult, fearing for her husband and herself, seized with horror, jumped out of bed to go and throw herself at the feet of her brother, the king. Scarcely had she opened her chamber-door, than some of the Protestant domestics ran in for security. The soldiers entered afterwards, and pursued them in presence of the princess. One of them, who had crept under the bed, was killed; two others were wounded in the feet by halberts; she herself was covered with blood. There was a young gentleman in great favor with the king from his noble bearing, his politeness, and a happy turn of expression in his conversation.

cution less sanguinary but equally unjust. Ilochefoucault had passed the evening with the king in pleasing familiarity, and had given reins to his imagination. The king felt some remorse, ana was touched with compassion for him. He told him two or three times not to go home, and to sleep in his room; but the count answered he wished to go to his wife. The king pressed him no further, and said, "Let him go, I see God has decreed hia death." That young man was killed two hours afterwards. Very few escaped this general massacre. Among them was the deliverance of young La Force, a remarkable instance of what men call destiny. He was a lad of ten years old. His father, an elder brother, and himself, were arrested at the same time by the soldiers of the Duke of Anjou. These murderers fell upon all three of them in a scuffle, and struck at random. The father and sons, covered with blood, fell on each other. The youngest, who had not received any wound, counterfeited death, and the day following was placed out of danger. A life thus wonderfully preserved lasted eighty-nine years. This was the celebrated Marshal de la Force, who is now in England. In the mean time, many of these unhappy victims fled to the river. Some swam over to reach the suburb of St. Germain. The king perceived them from a window that looked out upon the river, and, what is almost incredible but too true, he fired at them with a carbine. Catharine de Medicis, quite unmoved, and with a calm and tranquil air in the midst of this butchery, looked down from a balcony that commanded a view of the city, excited the assassins, and laughed at hearing the groans of the dying, and the cries of those who were slaughtered. Her maids of honor came down into the street, and, with an unblushing curiosity worthy of the abominations of that period, looked on the naked body of a gentleman named Soubise, who was suspected of impotence, and who had been killed under the queen's window.

Tk«i noiirt still I.qoh»»» TMit)i (.h" kl""J formality of law. To justify the massacre they calumnibusly imputed to Admiral Coligni a conspiracy which no one believed. The Parliament was ordered to proceed against the memory of Coligni. His body was hung by the feet with an iron chain on the gibbet of Montfaucon. The king himself had the cruelty to go and witness the horrid spectacle. One of his courtiers advising him to keep at a distance as the body smelt badly, the king answered, "The body of an enemy always smells well." It is impossible to know whether it is true that the head of the admiral was sent to Eome. What, however, is very certain, is that there is in the Vatican at Borne a picture representing the Massacre of St. Bartholemew with these words, "The pope approves of the death of Coligni." Young Henry of Navarre was spared rather through policy than from compassion by Catharine de Medicis, who made a prisoner of him until the king's death, as an hostage for the submission of the Protestants who would have revolted. Jane d'Albret had died suddenly three or four days before. Though her death might have been from natural causes, it is not an absurd opinion to believe that she had been poisoned. The massacre was not confined to Paris. The same orders were sent to all the governors of the French provinces. Only two or three governors refused to obey the king's orders. One of them, named Montmorin, Governor of Auvergne, wrote the following letter to the king, which deserves to be transmitted to posterity:

"sib,—I have received an order, under the signature of Your Majesty, to put to death all the Protestants in my province. I have too much respect for Your Majesty not to believe that these letters are spurious; and if (which God forbid) they should be genuine, I respect Your Majesty too much to obey the order."

These massacres carried to the hearts of the Protestants both rage and terror. Their irreconcilable hatred seemed to acquire new force. The spirit of revenge rendered them stronger and more desperate.

A little while after, the king was at

tacked with a strange malady which. proved fatal at the end of two years. His blood was continually escaping through the pores of the skin, — an incompreheDsible disease that baffled the art and ski 11 of the physicians, and which was looked upon as the effect of divine vengeance.

During the illness of Charles, his brother, the Duke of Anjou, had been elected King of Poland. He owed his elevation to the reputation he had acquired as a general, and lost it in ascending the throne.

(To be continued.)

THE BATTLE-CRY OF THE NORTH.

By Mrs. C, M. Sawyer.

Saw ye the storm-clouds that darkened the sky T

Heard ye the tempest go hurtling by T

'Twas a Nation uprising, stern, wrathful, and

grand,— 'Twas a great people's cry that rolled over the land. Strike for the Union our fathers achieved: Strike for the flag that from them we received; Strike and spare not, till, through all the

wide land. Old Liberty's altars triumphantly stand!

From the homes of New England, the plains

of the West; From the lakes of the North to the Cumberland's crest; Like the leaves of the forest, the waves of the sea, Swept on the proud ranks of the loyal and free! Strike for the Union our fathers achieved; Strike for the flag that from them we received; Strike, and spare not, till, through all the

wide land, Old Liberty's altars triumphantly stand!

The Capes of the Delaware caught the refrain; Blue Chesapeake thundered it over the main; Old dark, stormy Hatteras reeled at the sound; And the Isles of Port Royal re-echoed it round.

Strike or the Union our fathers achieved;

Strike for the flag that from them we received;

Strike, and spare not, till, through all the wide land,

Old Liberty's altars triumphantly stand!

From the founts of Missouri far down to its

grave, Where the Mexican gulf rolls its billowy wave 'Mid thunder of cannon and clashing of steel,

Ever sterner we hear the same battle-cry peal. Strike for the anion our fathers achieved; Strike for the flag that from them we received; Strike, and spare not, till, through all the

wide land,
Old Liberty's altars triumphantly stand!

On to the strife, then, invincible Grant;
On Farragut,—hero, whom death cannot daunt;
On Oillmore, and sweep, like the besom of God,
The shores where the foot of rebellion first trod.

Strike for the Union our fathers achieved;

Strike for the flag that from them we received;

Strike, and spare not, till, through all the wide land,

Old Liberty's altars triumphantly stand!

Who is he shall dare say, " Thrust the blade in its sheath,

And with garlands of peace the torn battle-flag wreath,"

While Rebellion still rears its red front to the day, And Treason stalks boldly to ruin and slay?

Strike for the Union our fathers achieved;

Strike for the flag that from them we received;

Strike, and spare not, till, through all the wide land,

Old Liberty's altars triumphantly stand!

Ay, swell the grand war-cry! Ne'er let it be hushed

Ell rebellion and treason lie broken and crushed,
And the sun, as it dips in the far Western wave,
Sets not on a land that is trod by a slave.
8trike for the Union our fathers achieved;
Strike for the flag that from them we received;
Strike, and spare not, till, through all the

wide land,
Old Liberty's altars triumphantly stand !

Which Is Better ? — Rev. Wm. Jay gays, "I have known individuals of [no enviable talents, and of no previous acquirements, who have even given less time and attention in preparing their three sermons for the week than Robert Hall, with all his powers and education, employed in preparing one, and that only his week

THITHER-SIDE SKETCHES.

NO. XXXIX.

Her Mnjcsty en Suite — Westminster Abbey — The Poet's Corner — Statue of Mrs. Siddons — Sydenham Palace—The Poor.

Who would not willingly encounter some difficulty, and submit cheerfully to annoyance, for the purpose of beholding a live queen en suite? Certainly no republican, to whom the sight is a novelty, could resist this temptation. Thus feeling, two individuals from hither-side formed an infinitesimal part of the human throng gathered in St. James Park, awaiting the brilliant spectacle of State carriages and their occupants, which was to precede the greater attraction of royalty itself! For Her Majesty held a levee at the Palace of St. James that day; and her nobles, as in duty bound, would appear in all the splendor of full court dress upon the occasion.

The hour of expectancy, beneath the shadow of those grand old trees which skirted the broad avenue of the park, was by no means wearily passed.

Snatches of conversation among our transient neighbors, illustrative of everyday English life; here and there a bit of acting in the side scenes, with occasional touches of hearty good-nature, made the time glide pleasantly along. The persons here collected appeared to belong principally to the medium and lower classes, with a sprinkling of strangers, children, and babies, and not a few well-to-do family men, surrounded by domestic groups, entering into the enjoyment of the occasion with a hearty good-will quite comfortable to witness.

At length, one by one, the splendid equipages rolled along the shaded avenue. With heraldic devices emblazoned upon their panels, drawn by glossy steeds shining in the added lustre of silver mount

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