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The seed, when scatter'd on the fertile ground,
The future harvest from its death will grow ;
Resist the streamlet ere its course is wound,

The deeper current from its spring will flow:
So to the Fount of grace and truth we'll go,

Whence fuller, wider streams may yet diverge: Though blighted hopes now fill the heart with woe, From Heber's ashes fairer hopes emerge : Then shall his fall the march of life and glory urge.

Miscellaneous.

SOCIETY.*-How beautifully is it ordered that, as many thousands work for one, so must every individual bring his labour to make the whole! The highest is not to despise the lowest, nor the lowest to envy the highest; each must live in all and by all. Who will not work, neither shall he eat. So God has ordered that men, being in need of each other, should learn to love each other, and bear each other's burdens.

THE HOMILIES.t-The word homily is derived from the Greek term for an assembly. It originally signified a conference, or conversation; but has since been used for an exhortation, or sermon, delivered to the people. The Greek homilia, remarks M. Fleury, signifies a familiar discourse, like the Latin sermo; and discourses delivered in the church took these denominations, to intimate that they were not harangues, or matters of ostentation and flourish, like those of profane orators, but familiar and useful discourses, as of a master to his disciples, or a father to his children. Photius, patriarch of Constantinople, who flourished in the ninth century, distinguishes homily from sermon-in that the former was performed in a more familiar manner, the prelate interrogating and talking to the people, and they, in their turn, answering and interrogating him; so that it was properly a conversation; whereas the sermon was delivered with more form, and in the pulpit, after the manner of an oration. The practice of compiling homilies, which were to be committed to memory, and recited by ignorant or indolent priests, commenced towards the close of the eighth century; when Charlemagne, king of France and emperor of the West, ordered Paul Deacon and Alcuin to form homilies or discourses upon the gospels and epistles, from the ancient doctors of the Church. This gave rise to that famous collection, entitled the "Homiliarum of Charlemagne," and which has been followed as a model by many productions of the same kind, composed by private persons, from a principle of pious zeal. At the time of the Reformation there were several of these homilies composed and printed, and ordered to be read in such churches as were not provided with a sufficiently learned minister, in order to prevent unsound doctrine being taught in remote country places.

ORIGIN OF SACRIFICE.-That the heathen ideas of sacrifices, of which we read in numerous authors subsequent to Moses and Aaron, were originally grounded on the primitive offerings of Cain and Abel, and even

From "Godfrey, the little Hermit; a German Tale." 18mo. Burns, 1839.-A nice little book for young persons.

+ From " Analyses and Scripture Proofs of the Homilies." By J. A. Thornthwaite. London, Groombridge.-The author of this small work testifies no mean acquaintance with holy Scripture, and brings it forcibly to bear on the sound doctrine contained in the Homilies.

From "A Popular Treatise on the Kidney," &c. By George Corfe. 8vo. pp. 304. London, Baisler; Renshaw. 1839.--This is a very extraordinary book. It is not our province, generally, to notice medical works; but there is much in Mr. Corfe's of a religious character. His statements are certainly novel, and his illustrations striking; though we think the volume not so much calculated for general perusal, as for those who wish to investigate the peculiarities of the human frame, and who may seek by such investigation to arrive at the incontrovertible con clusion, that the God of nature is the God of grace.

on Adam's vesture from a slaughtered beast, no one will doubt who attentively peruses the ancient records of the eastern nations. Indeed, it is the opinion of many persons, that as soon as our first parents fell, and incurred God's wrath and displeasure, the very beasts, whose skins covered their bodies, were, for the first time, offered as typical sacrifices to an offended God and Creator. These types were carried down from generation to generation; and whilst all the offspring of Adam's scattered race preserved the substance of the sacrifice, viz. an animal one, yet they lost the particular character of beasts commanded to be offered; and we find from Virgil, Ovid, Homer, and Herodotus, &c., that cows, and other quadrupeds, were used to propitiate their offended deities. Notwithstanding the lapse of nearly six thousand years, we still find the sacrificial offering amongst the heathen; and in an Indian missionary-journal of 1836, there is an account of the sacrifice of 1,000 sheep to a goddess, who was supposed to be highly displeased with the inhabitants of a town, and had sent the plague amongst them, by which many hundreds were carried off. But the particular sacrifices and daily oblations which God had commanded his servant Moses to direct that the Jews should offer, were continued throughout the whole Jewish dispensation, until the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, who was to put away sin by the sacrifice of himself upon the accursed tree, and by his one offering to bring in an everlasting righteousness, which should be unto all and upon all them that believe on his name. "And this man, after he had offered one sacrifice for sins, for ever sat down on the right hand of God" (Heb. x. 12.)

SLEEPING-ROOMS.-Care should be taken to provide for the constant admission of fresh air into sleepingapartments, which, instead of being the smallest, ought, in reason, to be the largest rooms of the house. At all events, during the day-time they ought to be perfectly ventilated. Perhaps nothing tends so much to produce disease among the poorer classes of society as the practice of occupying the sleeping apartments throughout the day, a practice which must effectually prevent the complete renovation of the air, in such cases the more necessary on account of the confined situations of their dwellings,-Curtis on Health.

DRESS. Religion takes root in the heart; and when it has once got deeply rooted, it will be sure to regulate every thing without. It will so occupy the mind, that every thing else will begin to lose its importance. Religion puts every thing in its proper place; and makes present things lighter than vanity. Even business, or literature, or science, if any one of these takes full possession of the mind, it makes dress a very insignificant thing, and often neglected, even to slovenliness. How much more indifferent will religion make us about it! Nevertheless, it is good to avoid singularity of habit. No real Christian can give in to the butterfly-fooleries and extravagances of dress, any more than he can run into the dissipation of worldly company. Religion does not bid you turn hermit, but rather to ornament your station. Be careful, in your commerce with the world, to act up to the character you profess. Do not put on a Pharisaical manner of "Stand by, I am holier than thou." Yet let it appear, that while you are under the necessity of hearing their vain conversation, you have no taste for it, no delight or interest in it. A humble, kind silence often utters much.-Rev. R. Cecil, from Remains of Mrs. Hawkes.

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THE SAVIOUR'S ABODE WITH HIS PEOPLE.
BY THE REV. PELHAM MAITLAND, M.A.
Curate of Blackburn, Lincolnshire.

II.

"GUIDANCE and direction" in our Christian course result from the Saviour's abode in the heart; and therefore we are taught by the Church to pray, that we may both perceive and know what things we ought to do, as well as have grace and power faithfully to fulfil the same; for we require the guidance of the Holy Spirit in our prayers. St. Paul tells us, that we know not what things we should pray for as we ought; but the Spirit himself maketh intercession for us. So blind, naturally, are our hearts, that we cannot perceive what things we should ask of God; but when the Comforter influences our minds, then we feel what the nature of our supplication should be at the footstool of the heavenly grace. We are guided in our petitions, and directed by him to ask those things which are pleasing in God's sight. Moreover, the Holy Spirit acts as a guide to our outward conduct. Many are the various situations in which the Christian is placed, in which he would find it difficult to act as becomes his profession, unless aided by Divine assistance; and it is undoubtedly true, that in matters of importance he is directed by an invisible agent, who, though unseen, is at hand to guide him in the way in which he should go. And whereas when Jesus was in the world, he gave directions to his disciples under all circumstances in which it was necessary, so now does he with all his followers by the Holy Spirit abiding in the heart; and like as when God's ancient

VOL. VII.-NO. CLXXX.

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people were led through the wilderness, in their journey to the promised land, by the pillar of fire and of cloud abiding with them. continually, so is it with the Church of God now. No visible demonstration, indeed, of the Divine presence meets our gaze; yet, as we pass through the wilderness of this world to the heavenly Jerusalem, the city of the living God, still does the abiding Spirit direct us, saying, "This is the way; walk ye in it."

One more consequence of the indwelling Spirit's abode is, "peace of mind." The apostle speaks of "the peace of God, which passeth all understanding." How frequently are we in the habit of listening to these words, time after time of our assembling for public worship; and yet how little, it is to be feared, do we enter into them! So accustomed are we to them, that they glide over our ears without producing that impression which, considering their import, they ought to do. Our Saviour's last lesson to his disciples was conveyed in these terms, "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give unto you." Now this peace is produced in the heart of Christians by the influences of the Holy Ghost; for, as the apostle informs us, "the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, and peace." Those who are given up to the world know not what that peace is. The various passions by which their minds are actuated, and the remorse arising from the neglect of duty and the commission of sin, will prevent them from enjoying that repose of spirit which is the lot of the Christian. Troubles, indeed, of various kinds he will have, and many which worldly men know nothing of; as, for example, the inward struggle with corruption

[London: Robson, Levey, and Franklyn, 16 St. Martin's Lane.]

K

The language

and resistance to the attacks of the great
adversary of the soul. But what can equal the
blessedness of that inward peace which "the
world can neither give nor take away?" In
such case we may set at nought those adverse
circumstances which so much affect others.
How many are there who are led by untoward
events rashly to put a period to their own
existence, or who, if they are not so har-nothing; and the Saviour refuses to listen to
dened as to be guilty of this sin, yet spend
their days in misery,-who, if they were pos-
sessed of that peace of which the Christian
can boast, would recognise in their afflictions
the hand of a merciful Father, and look for-
ward, still more devotedly, to the prospect of
another world, and of that "city which hath
foundations, and whose builder and maker is
God!" Under every trial and difficulty,
therefore, if the Holy Spirit be dwelling in
the heart, the Christian will be enabled to
bear up under them; and the promise will be
made good, "Thou wilt keep him in perfect
peace whose mind is stayed on thee, because
he trusteth in thee." Such, then, are some
of the blessed effects of the abiding of Jesus
with us by the Holy Spirit. And can it be
that there are any who are careless of his
presence; any who, instead of giving a cor-
dial welcome to him, when he promises to
take up his abode with them, reply, "Depart
from us, for we desire not the knowledge of
thy ways?" We may do so now, but it will
not be so always: a time will come when
those who have set at nought the offers which
have been made to them by the Saviour, will
call upon him in their extremity, when,
perhaps, it may be too late. Go to the sick
chamber, or to the chamber of dissipation; see
him who, while health and strength lasted, set
at nought the willingness of Jesus to be his
guide and his friend, laid upon that couch
from which he shall never more rise. In his
extremity he sends for his spiritual guide,
till then neglected and despised, to pray with
him, and speak to him of an eternal world.
By this he discovers that all that was for-
merly held dear, is now considered of no
value; that the desire for those objects,
which were before so largely coveted after,
vanishes; and that there is now but one
wish, which is for the presence of the Saviour.
See the strong man bowed down and become
weak as the infant; look at the sunken eye
and the faltering tongue: what think you in
this hour is his support and consolation?
Will he call upon those who were in times
gone by his companions in sin or in neglect
of duty? Will he say to them, Abide and
continue ye with me; in your company I
have lived, and in it I wish to die? No; he
calls upon the name of his Saviour,-that
Saviour whom for so long a time he has

neglected and set at nought.
of his heart is, "Abide with me, for I have
now no other confidence, no other depend-
ence." But it may be too late; Jesus may
refuse to listen to the prayers of one who
for so long set him at nought; and then
who can think of the dreadful alternative with-
out horror? Earthly friends can avail him
his supplication. He is about to quit the
earth, and is at the same time an outcast
from heaven. Nor is this the picture only of
the death-bed of ordinary men; for, as it is
well known, this has also been the case with
those who have pre-eminently excelled their
fellows in mental acquirements; and philo-
sophical scoffers, who have all their life long
ridiculed Christianity, and blasphemed the
name of their God and Saviour, have on their
death-beds called upon that Saviour's name
in an agony. Let none, therefore, presume
upon a death-bed repentance, and upon that
account refuse to admit Jesus Christ into
their hearts now. It may be that there are
some here of whom it may be said, that it
is towards evening with them, and the day
is far spent; the shadows of age are fast
coming on, and the night of death will soon
close in the scene. Let me, with all earnest-
ness, ask such, what will be their dependence
in that hour. Be assured that you will
require something upon which you may rest;
in the contemplation of eternity, your mind
will need a stay and a resting-place.
world it cannot be, for that will be passing
from you; and nothing will then give you
consolation but the presence of Christ. Let
your language then be the same as that of
the disciples at Emmaus-" Abide with us,
for it is toward evening, and the day is far
spent." And, indeed, the night of death will
quickly envelope us all. Happy they who,
having been blessed with the presence of
their Saviour during their lives, feel that he
is doubly present with them when they are
most in need of his aid. Consider the case of
the dying Christian, as opposed to that of the
unbeliever and the careless. He who has
been blessed with the presence of Jesus during
his life, will find that he is with him in his
greatest extremity. When flesh and heart
are failing, he will realise the truth, that his
Lord and Master stands near to succour and
aid him. His language will be, "Yea, though
I walk through the valley of the shadow of
death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with
me." Like the first martyr, St. Stephen, he
will entirely resign his soul into the hands of
that Saviour who is waiting for it, saying,
"Lord Jesus, receive my spirit." There may
be no transport of joy; no ecstatic longings
for the heavenly world; but there will be a

The

otherwise, if one reflects on all that passed from that fatal moment to the peace of 1598. 'Tis with regret that I cannot omit what happened upon this occasion to the prince who is the subject of these memoirs, and to myself."

calm and peaceful serenity, arising from the and twenty years; for it is not possible to judge presence of Christ. And although not visible to mortal sight, yet Jesus will as surely be present to whisper those words of comfort, "It is I, be not afraid," as he was to the terrified disciples in the days of his flesh. The dying Christian, feeling all other aids ineffectual in that awful hour, will address the Saviour in such terms as these: "Abide with me, for the day of life is spent, and the night of death draweth on: abide with me, for I already feel the waters of that chill flood over which I must pass ere reaching the promised land." We shall behold Him who was once crucified for us, and whose brows were lacerated with the crown of thorns, now adorned with the diadem of glory; those who have loved and served him on earth shall then be ever with him; and this will constitute the great happiness of heaven. Will it not be a delightful thing to meet the patriarchs, the apostles, and the martyrs, and to sit down with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, in the kingdom of God? But all this must fade when put in comparison with the presence of our Lord and Saviour; for he, who constitutes the happiness of angels, shall constitute ours also; and then shall he abide with us, and we with him, through the countless ages of eternity.

MASSACRE OF ST. BARTHOLOMEW'S DAY
AT PARIS.-A.D. 1572.

I.

THERE is not upon record a more atrocious act of barbarity than the massacre of the Huguenots in Paris, on the feast of St. Bartholomew, A.d. 1572. Treachery and cruelty went hand in hand; and amidst the fearfully numerous crimes justly chargeable on popery in its vain attempts to extirpate what it is pleased to designate heresy, this was certainly one of the blackest dye. "If I was inclined to increase the general horror," says the Duc de Sully, "inspired by an action so barbarous as that perpetrated on the 24th of Aug. 1572, and too well known by the name of the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, I should enlarge upon the number, the quality, the virtues, and great talents of those who were inhumanly murdered on this horrible day, as well in Paris as in every part of the kingdom; I should mention at least the ignominious treatment, the fiend-like cruelty, and savage insults these miserable victims suffered from their butchers, and which in death were a thousand times more terrible than death itself. I have writings still in my hands, which would confirm the report of the court of France having made the most pressing instances to the neighbouring courts to follow its example with regard to the Protestants, or at least to refuse an asylum to those unfortunate people; but I prefer the honour of the nation to the satisfying a malignant pleasure, which many persons would take in lengthening out a recital, wherein might be found the names of those who were so lost to humanity as to dip their hands in the blood of their fellow-citizens, and even their own relations. I would, were it in my power, for ever obliterate the memory of a day that Divine | vengeance made France groan for, by a continual succession of miseries, blood, and horror, during six

Necessary measures having been taken, and plans regularly organised, the ringing of the bells of St. Germain l'Auxerrois for matins was the signal for commencing the work of blood. The Admiral de Coligny was first put to death, in the midst of his domestics, by a man named Besmes -a dependent during his whole life of the Duke of Guise-the duke and the Chevalier de Guise remaining below. A sword being driven through his body, and a deep gash made across his face, his remains were thrown out of the window; and his head being cut off, it was, with a box of papers, containing, as was affirmed, a memoir of his own times, conveyed to the queen mother. After heaping other indignities on the corpse, it was hung on the gibbet of Montfaucon, whence the Mareschal de Montmorency caused it to be removed in the night and buried at Chantilly. The domestics of Coligny were immediately butchered, and a simultaneous work of blood commenced. Many of the attendants on the king of Navarre and the prince of Condé were put to death one by one; many persons of importance fell a sacrifice of these the most distinguished was Francis de la Rochefoucault, in whose gay and brilliant society, to use the words of Mr. Smedley, "the king professed to find extraordinary attraction; and he granted him, although a Huguenot, unreserved access to his privacy. It was near midnight, on the eve of the massacre, that this seeming favourite prepared to retire from the palace, after many hours spent in careless hilarity. More than once did the king urge his stay, that they might trifle, as he said, through the remainder of the night; or, to obviate all difficulty, the count, if he so pleased, might be lodged even in the royal chamber. But La Rochefoucault pleaded weariness and want of sleep; and in spite of all opposition, took leave of his perfidious friend and sovereign in sportive words, which implied the freedom and familiarity of their intercourse. Even when he was afterwards roused from sleep by the morning tumult at his door, no misgiving crossed his mind; he imagined that the king had followed him, to inflict one of those practical jokes which suited the boisterous taste both of the times and of the individual; and hastily throwing on his clothes, he assured the masked band, which he did not scruple to admit, and among whom he supposed Charles to be included, that he was not taken at advantage-that they could not now feel privileged to flog him, for he was already up and dressed. The reply was a thrust of the sword, by one of the disguised company, who prostrated the unsuspicious victim at the feet of his murderers."

About two thousand Huguenots are supposed to have been murdered on the first day of the massacre, and the king and court, including Catherine and her ladies of honour, promenaded at night to view the mangled and naked remains. Among the victims were Antony de Clermont, marquis de Resnel, murdered by his own kinsman; and others of equally noble blood.

Orders were issued, enjoining the Huguenots to abstain from public and private assemblies, with the threat, that if they disobeyed, the provincial governors were instructed to fall upon them and cut them in pieces, as enemies of the crown.' From the day on which the messenger arrived, the streets of Lyons ran with blood; and the most barbarous enormities were committed in many other parts of France. At Orleans 1000, at Rouen 500 Huguenots were put to the

History of the Reformed Religion in France.

sword. In two months the victims fell little short of 30,000, whereof one third were of Paris.

On the first day of the massacre the young king of Navarre and the prince of Condé were arrested, and threats were employed to force from them a recantation of their religious principles. The former was easily tempted into compliance; but even the threat of the Bastile and of death failed to shake the constancy of Condé. At length, however, he was rather cheated than forced into compliance.

The account of the Duc de Sully is peculiarly interesting. "I was in bed, and awaked from sleep (says he) three hours after midnight by the sound of bells, and the confused cries of the populace. My governor St. Julian, with my valet de chambre, went hastily out to know the cause, and I never afterwards heard more of these men, who, without doubt, were amongst the first that were sacrificed to the public fury. I continued alone in my chamber, dressing myself, when in a few moments I saw my landlord enter, pale, and in the utmost confusion: he was of the reformed religion, and having learned what the matter was, had consented to go to mass to save his life and preserve his house from being pillaged. He came to persuade me to do the same, and to take me with him. I did not think proper to follow him, but resolved to try if I could gain the college of Burgundy, where I had studied; though the great distance between the house where I then was and the college made the attempt very dangerous. Having disguised myself in a scholar's gown, I put a large prayer-book under my arm, and went into the street. I was seized with horror inexpressible at the sight of the furious murderers, who, running from all parts, forced open the houses, and cried aloud,' Kill, kill! massacre the Huguenots!' The blood which I saw shed before my eyes redoubled my terror. I fell into the midst of a body of guards; they stopped me, interrogated me, and were beginning to use me ill, when, happily for me, the book that I carried was perceived, and served me for a passport. Twice after this I fell into the same danger, from which I extricated myself with the same good fortune. At last I arrived at the college of Burgundy, where a danger still greater than any I had yet met with waited me. The porter having twice refused me entrance, I continued standing in the midst of the street, at the mercy of the furious murderers, whose numbers increased every moment, and who were evidently seeking for their prey, when it came into my mind to ask for La Faye, the principal of this college, a good man, by whom I was tenderly beloved. The porter, prevailed upon by some small pieces of money which I put into his hand, admitted me; and my friend carried me to his apartment, where two inLum in priests, whom I heard mention Sicilian vespers, wanted to force me from him, that they might cut me in pieces, saying, the order was not to spare even infants at the breast. All the good man could do was to conduct me privately to a distant chamber, where he locked me up. Here I was confined three days, uncertain of my destiny; and saw no one but a servant of my friend's, who came from time to time to bring me provisions.

"At the end of these three days, the prohibition for murdering and pillaging any more of the Protestants being published, I was suffered to leave my cell; and immediately after, I saw Ferriere and La Vieville, two soldiers of the guard, who were my father's creatures, enter the college. They were armed, and came, without doubt, to rescue me by force wherever they should find me. They gave my father a relation of what had happened to me; and eight days afterwards I received a letter from him, in which he expressed the fears he had suffered on my account, and advised me to continue in Paris, since the prince I served was not at liberty to quit it. He added, that to avoid exposing myself to an evident danger, it was necessary I should

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resolve to follow that prince's example, and to go to mass. In effect, the king of Navarre had found no other means of saving his life. He was awaked, with the prince of Condé, two hours before day, by a great number of soldiers, who rushed boldly into a chamber in the Louvre where they lay, and insolently commanded them to dress themselves and attend the king. They would not suffer the two princes to take their swords with them, who, as they passed, behield several of their gentlemen* massacred before their eyes. The king waited for them, and received them with a countenance and eyes in which fury was visibly painted; he ordered them, with oaths and blasphemies, which were familiar with him, to quit a religion that had been only taken up, he said, to serve them for a cloak to their rebellion. The condition to which these princest were reduced, could not hinder them from discovering that they should obey him with grief. The king, transported with anger, told them, in a fierce and haughty tone, That he would no longer be contradicted in his opinions by his subjects; that they, by their example, should teach others to revere him as the image of God, and cease to be enemies to the images of his mother.' He ended by declaring, that if they did not go to mass, he would treat them as criminals guilty of treason against human and Divine majesty. The manner in which these words were pronounced, not suffering the princes to doubt if they were sincere, they yielded to necessity, and performed what was required of them. Henry was obliged even to send an edict into his dominions, by which the exercise of any other religion but the Romish was forbid. Though this submission preserved his life, yet in other things he was not better treated; and he suffered a thousand capricious insults from the court-free by intervals, but more often closely confined, and treated as a criminal, his domestics sometimes permitted to attend him, then all on a sudden not suffered to appear." Y.

[To be concluded in next Number.]

AMERICAN RELIGIOUS DENOMINATIONS. IN classing American Christians by their theological affinities and general sympathies, it may be proper to rank the Congregationalists of New England with the Presbyterians of the south and west; at the same time, it should be remembered, that some of the nicer shades of theology, and difference of ecclesiastical organisation, have divided them into several parts. Until recently, however, they have had a tolerable fellowship, and have been accustomed to interchange relations on very amicable terms, a Congregationalist having been easily transformed into a Presbyterian, out of the bounds of New England; and, vice versa, the Presbyterian in New England could, with nearly equal facility, accommodate himself to Congregational modes-the difference between the two having been chiefly that of modes. The emigration from the east to the west and south resulted in introducing into the Presbyterian Church Congregationalists in sufficient numbers to gain a nearly equal balance of influence.

James de Segur, baron of Pardaillan, a Gascon; Armand de Clermont, baron of Piles, a Perigordin, &c. Gaston de Levis, lord of Leyran, took refuge under the queen of Navarre's bed. who saved his life. Some persons were sent to Châtillon to seize Francis de Châtillon, the admiral's son, and Guy d'Andelot's son; but they both escaped, and fled to Geneva. Armand de Gontault de Biron was saved by fortifying himself in the arsenal.

As Henry went to the king, Catherine gave orders that they should lead him under the vaults, and make him pass through the guards drawn up in files on each side in menacing postures. He trembled and recoiled two or three steps back, when immediately Nançai la Chatre, captain of the guards, endeavoured to remove his apprehensions by swearing they should do him no hurt. Henry, though he gave but little credit to his words, was obliged to go on amidst the carabines and halberts.- PEREFIXE'S History of Henry the Great.

From "A Voice from America to England." By an American Gentleman. London, 1839. Colburn.

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