BY REV. JOHN

S.

C. ABBOTT.

ABOUT three hundred years ago, there was a small kingdom, spreading over the cliffs and ravines of the eastern extremity of the Pyrenees, called Navarre. Its population, of about five hundred thousand, consisted of a frugal and industrious people those living upon the shore washed by the stormy waves of the Bay of Bisay, gratifying their love of excitement and adventure by braving the perils of the sea-those who lived in the solitude of the interior, on the Funny slopes of the mountains, or by the streams which meandered through the verdant valleys, fed their flocks and harvested their grain, and pressed rich wine. from the grapes of their vineyards, in the enjoyment of the most pleasant duties of rural life. Proud of their independence, they were ever ready to grasp arms to repel foreign aggression. The throne of this kingdom was, at the time of which we speak, occupied by Catharine de Foix. She was a widow, and all her hopes and affections were centered in her son Henry, who was to receive the crown when it should fall from her brow, and transmit to posterity their ancestral honors.

Ferdinand of Arragon had just married Isabella of Castile, and thus united those two kingdoms And now, in the arrogance of power, seized with the pride of annexation, he began to look with a wistful eye upon the kingdom of Navarre. Its comparative feebleness, under the reign of a bereaved woman, weary of the world, invited to the enterprise. France might interpose should he grasp at all. Should he take but the half, which was spread out upon the southern declivity of the Pyrenees, it would be virtually saying to the French monarch, "the rest I genesly leave for you." The armies of Spain were soon sweeping resistlessly through these sunny valleys, and one half of her empire was ruthlessly torn from the Queen of Navarre, and transferred to the dominion of imperious Castile and Arragon.

Catharine, with her child, retired to the colder regions of the northern declivity, and as she sat down gloomily in that portion of her dismembered domain, she endeavored to foster, in the bosom of her son, the spirit of revenge, and to inspire him with the resolution to regain those

lost acres which had been wrested from the inheritance of his fathers. Henry imbibed his mother's spirit, and chafed and fretted under wrongs for which he could obtain no redress. Ferdinand and Isabella, in their pride and power, could not be annoyed even by any force which feeble Navarre could raise. The queen, however, brooded deeply over her wrongs, and laid her train for retributions of revenge, the execution of which she knew must be deferred until long after her body should have mouldered to the dust. She courted the most intimate alliance with Francis I., the king of France. She contemplated the merging of her own little kingdom into that powerful monarchy, that the infant Navarre, having grown into the giant France, might crush the Spanish tyrants into humiliation. Nerved by this determined spirit of revenge, and inspired by a mother's ambition, she intrigued to wed her son to the heiress of the French throne, that even in the world of spirits she might be cheered by seeing Henry heading the armies of France, the terrible avenger of her wrongs. These hopes invigorated her until her fitful dream of life was terminated, and her restless spirit sank into the repose of the grave. She lived, however, to see her plans apparently in progress towards their most successful fulfilment.

Henry was married to Margaret, the favorite sister of the king of France. Their nuptials were blest with but one child, Jeanne d'Albert, the prospective heiress to both the thrones of France and Navarre. This child, in whose destiny such ambitious hopes were centered, bloomed into most marvellous beauty, and became also as conspicuous for her mental endowments as for her personal charms. She had hardly emerged from the period of childhood when she was married to a near relative of the royal family of France. With her husband she left Navarre to reside in the metropolis of that powerful empire. One hope still lived with unabated vigor in the bosom of Henry. It was the hope the intense passion, with which his departed mother had inspired him, that a grandson would arise from this union, who would, with the spirit of Hannibal, avenge the family wrongs upon Spain. Twice Henry took a grandson into his arms, with

34

the feeling that the desires of his life were about to be gratified. And twice, with a broken heart, he saw these hopes blighted, as he committed the little ones to the grave. Henry had now become an old man. Disappointment and care had worn down his frame. World-weary and joyless, he still clung to hope. The tidings that Jeanne was again to become a mother, rekindled the lustre of his fading eye. The king sent importunately for his daughter to return without delay to the paternal castle, that the child might be born in the kingdom of Navarre, whose wrongs it was to be his particular destiny to avenge. It was midwinter. The journey was long and the roads rough. But Jeanne promptly obeyed the wishes of her father, and hastened to his court.

Henry could hardly restrain his impatience as he waited for the long looked-for avenger. With the characteristic superstition of the times he constrained his daughter to promise that during the most painful moments of her trial, she would sing a mirthful song, that her child might possess a sanguine, joyous, and energetic spirit. This promise the heroic mother had the fortitude to fulfill. The old king received the child, at the moment of its birth, into his own arms, totally regardless of a mother's rights, and exultingly enveloping it in soft folds, bore it off, as his own property, to his private apartment. He rubbed the lips of the plump little boy with garlic, and then, taking a golden goblet of generous wine, the rough and royal nurse forced the beverage he loved so well, down the untainted throat of his new-born heir. "A little good old wine," said

through those wild regions. The expanse around was sparsely settled by a few hardy peasants, who, by feeding their herds and cultivating little patches of soil, obtained a humble living; and by exercise, and the pure mountain air, acquired a vigor and an athletic hardihood of frame which had given them much celebrity. To the stormbattered castle of Courasse, lowering in congenial gloom among these rocks, the old king sent the infant Henry to be nurtured as a peasant boy, that, by frugal fare and exposure to hardship, he might acquire a peasant's robust frame. Bareheaded and barefooted, the young prince, hardly emerging from infancy, rolled upon the grass, played with the poultry, and paddled in the pools of water with which the mountain showers often filled the court-yard. His hair was bleached and his cheeks bronzed by the sun; and few would have imagined that the unattractive child, in its studiously neglected garb, was the descendant of a long line of kings, and was destined to eclipse them all by the grandeur of his name. He advanced to energetic boyhood, the constant companion, and, in all his sports and modes of life, the equal of the peasant boys by whom he was surrounded. He hardly wore a better dress than they. Shoeless he climbed the mountains and leaped the streams. He struggled with his youthful competitors in all athletic games. His daily fare was only the common food of the peasants-brown bread, beef, cheese, and garlic. His grandfather had decided that this regimen was essential for the education of a prince, who was to humble the proud monarchy of Spain, and re

his ancestors.

His grandfather immediately assumed the direction of everything relating to the child, apparently without the slightest consciousness that either the father or the mother of Henry had any prior claims. The king possessed, among the wild and romantic fastnesses of the mountains, a strong old castle, around whose solitary towers the eagles wheeled and screamed in harmony with the gales and storms which often swept

Henry was still quite young when his grandfather died and his mother ascended the throne of Navarre. Her husband, Antony de Bourbon, was a fearless old soldier, with nothing in his character to distinguish him from the multitude who do but live and die. The whole world was then agitated with the conflict between the Catholics and the Protestants. Antony, espoused the Catholic side in this controversy. His wife, Jeanne d'Albert, conscientiously devoted to the principles of the Reformers, and not very ardently attached to her husband, to whom she had been married merely as a matter of state policy, and with whom she cherished but few congenial sentiments, adhered to the cause of the Protestants, or Huguenots, as they were then called in France. A separation. though not a hostile one, was the result. Antony de Bourbon, taking his son under his care, thathe might be educated in the Catholic faith, and that he might be surrounded by the influences of the court, took up his residence in Paris. Jeanne

d'Albert retired, with a little daughter, to the more humble metropolis of her paternal domain. The queen of Navarre, however, most deeply in terested in the spiritual welfare of her son, induced her husband to place Henry under the instruction of a gentleman of very distinguished attainments named La Gaucherie, who was himself a very decided advocate of the reformed religion. The two parties of Catholics and Protestants about the court, struggling for the supremacy, were pretty nearly equal, though the great mass of the people were firmly wedded to the ancient faith.

With the two factions contending

around the throne, there was not, on either side, apparently much conscientious religious zeal, but merely a struggle for political power.

Henry was at this time an exceedingly energetic, active, ambitious boy; very inquisitive respecting all matters of information, and passionately fond of study. Dr. Johnson, with his rough and impetuous severity, has said, "it is impossible to get Latin into a boy unless you flog it into him." The experience of La Gaucherie, however, did not confirm this sentiment. Henry always went with alacrity to his Latin and his Greek. His judicious teacher did not disgust his mindwith long and laborious rules, but introduced him at once to words and phrases, while gradually he developed the grammatical structure of the language. The vigorous mind of Henry, grasping eagerly at intellectual culture, made rapid progress, and he was soon able to read and write both Latin and Greek with fluency, and ever retained the habit of quoting with facility from the classical writers of Athens and of Rome. Even in these early years he seized upon the Greek phrase, “ η νικᾶν ή άποθανειν,” to conquer or to die, and adopted it for his motto.

Catharine de Medicis, who at this time reigned over France, as regent in behalf of her son, Charles IX., who was not yet of age, contemplated these indications of genius and energy with no inconsiderable apprehension, lest the proud boy might crowd her own feeble children from the throne of France. There were many providential indications that, erelong, Henry would be the most prominent candidate for that throne, in demanding which, many claimants would probably soon rise.

Plutarch's lives of the ancient heroes has perhaps been more influential than any other uninspired book, which was ever written, in invigorating genius, and enkindling a passion for great achievements. Bonaparte imbued his mind, in early youth, with the heroic deeds of the leaders of the Greek and Roman republics. And Henry read and re-read the pages of Plutarch with the most absorbing delight. Catharine, with an

35

eagle eye, and with no little solicitude, watched these indications of an aspiring genius. She, at first, requested his teacher to endeavor to check his enthusiasm for lofty exploits, to guide his reading to themes more tame and luxurious, and endeavor to interest him in the pursuits and amusements of the young men flitting about the court. But the penetration of this extraordinary woman soon taught her that all such endeavors were unavailing; and she resolved to endeavor to attach so firm a character to herself, by all the chains of indulgence she could throw around him.

Although in France there were, at that time, about one hundred Catholics to one Protestant, yet Germany and England sustaining the Reformers, it was difficult to decide which party, on the whole, was the strongest. Nobles of the highest rank were ranged under either banner, and the ambitious queen-mother was greatly undecided as to which cause she should espouse, and which party, as the stronger, she should call to her aid. Hesitatingly, however, she adopted measures of government to win the favor of the Protestants. The Catholics rose, took her and her son prisoner, in their palace at Fontainbleau, and carried them, in magnificent captivity, to Paris; the proud queen weeping with chagrin and indignation at the insult. A bloody war ensued between the two rival parties. Germany and England came with eager armies to the aid of the Protestants. Catharine, jealous of the power of the haughty and hated Elizabeth, England's domineering queen, resolved that she would not be helped by her, and with her whole soul espoused the cause of the Catholics. France was deluged with blood. At the seige of Rouen, Antony de Bourbon, the father of Henry, was shot, and died in his carriage, as his attendants were endeavoring to remove him to a place of safety. Many of the prominent leaders on both sides fell during the sanguinary conflict, either in the midst of the carnage of the battle-field, or falling before the dagger of fanaticism. Churches were sacked and destroyed; vast extents of country were almost depopulated; cities were surrendered to pillage, and atrocities innumerable perpetrated; from which it would seem that even fiends would revolt. At last, wearied with the horrors of war, a treaty was made, allowing the Protestants a degree of liberty of conscience which many of the Catholics deemed highly dangerous to the interests of the Papal Church. There was deep-seated enmity remaining in the bosom of both parties, and each waited but for an opportunity to grasp arms again, with a prospect of success.

(To be continued.)

THE condition of the Hebrew nation at the period of Eli's priesthood, contributed to increase the weight of priestly influence and power. The frontiers harassed by enemies, to oppose whom a continual struggle was necessary-the central territory of Ephraim became the most powerful province among the tribes. The tabernacle and ark -the strength and hope of Israel, as the symbol of the presence of Deity-were at Shiloh, whither the people went up at stated times to worship; that place, therefore, was acknowledged as the capital, and Eli was invested with civil as well as religious supremacy, being both judge and highpriest in Israel. His own character, as an individual, appears to have been upright and blameless; he had a knowledge of the attributes of God, and worshipped Him in sincerity; he manifested submission, patience, and penitence when punishment was denounced upon his house; and at the last, when he watched, with a fearful looking for judgment—when overwhelming ruin was upon him his apprehensions and his anguish were more for the ark of God than even for his doomed children. It was in his relations as a father and ruler, in his public capacity, that he was so culpably defective; that he was judged worthy of the terrible punishment under which he sank in his old age.

Two sons had Eli-Hophni and Phinehas-who also were engaged in the sacredotal service at Shiloh. They had been brought up to the sacred office, and probably instructed according to the law; but they had no real acquaintance with the perfections of the Being they professed to serve, nor any disposition to honor his ordinances. Their unjust and illegal exactions from those who came to offer sacrifice, their insolence and tyranny, caused the people who suffered from such abuses to "abhor the offering of the Lord." Evils yet more scandalous and disgraceful were introduced, by them, into the very courts of the tabernacle; till the heaven-appointed rites of Hebrew worship, thus shamelessly profaned, were in danger of being assimilated to the corrupt practices of the votaries of Baal, or the Babylonian deities. Such abandoned conduct in men so eminent in official position, whose power and influence were

doubtless considerable, could not fail to degrade. in the eyes of the people, the sacred ceremonies in which they ministered, and induced so general a neglect of religious observances as tended to bring divine displeasure upon the whole nation. All Israel suffered from the wickedness of those sons of Belial in high places; and times of profligacy, apostasy and idolatry were likely to ensue upon their sacrilegious insults to the institutions of Jehovah. While these atrocious abuses were going on, the pleasing interlude, described in the foregoing chapter, took place; and it is a relief to turn from the sight of the wicked priests to the picture of innocence, faith, and pious confidence and gratitude presented on the other hand. There was doubtless a congeniality of disposition between the aged high-priest and the consecrated child entrusted to his care. Eli addresses him as a son, endeared to him by affection and knowledge of the high destiny in reserve for him; and sore indeed must have been the father's heart, when he reflected on the contrast between this artless boy and those who were indeed his sons. The rumor of all they had done to the people who came to worship at Shiloh, and of the effects of their heinous example, reached the old man's ears, and drew from him a mild reproof for their evil doings. He appealed to them as if they had possessed consciences, and had been capable of being moved by the reasons he alleges, to amend their course. Vain expectation; its indulgence only proves how ignorant was the father of the depravity of the human heart, and the fearful state of those who are given up to impenitence and condemnation. He executed not upon them the punishment their crimes deserved, and which was imperatively called for, to vindicate the honor of the priesthood and counteract the tendency of their example; he expelled them not from the office they had profaned; and listened rather to the dictates of parental feeling, which prompted to a light passing over of their offenses, than to the stern requirement of his duty as head of the church and ruler of the people. His rebuke, so inadequate in severity, had no effect, for they had spurned the mercy of God, and were marked out as victims to his justice.